Buck returned to them in December, his skin paler than the winter sky. He was a phantom of the loud and confident man that she had allied herself with. But then again, Zhanna wasn't the same girl he had found in England and offered his popularity to. They had both changed in this war, ghosts of who they were when their feet hit British soil. Buck had been a ray of bright sun, golden and fierce. Now he shone dimly, his light dulled by the cold and the things he had seen.

Buck wasn't the strong man he had been, his fingers shook, and though his wounds were healed, he seemed to waver. Zhanna had never been strong, never been the one to take the lead off the battlefield but someone had to be strong. Someone couldn't waver so Zhanna had to be strong. She couldn't grieve, not with Buck frail and withdrawn, so she pushed down raw feelings and became what he needed. Zhanna couldn't grieve and be strong, so she didn't unpack the thoughts that had still haunted her. The ghostly hands and the whispered voices, those had to be ignored, pushed to the side so that Zhanna could lead Buck through the motions of each day.

They didn't speak often. Their voices were rough when they did, thick with emotion and unused. She told him about her parents, he told her about the hospital. He had listened to the screams of patients, hurting and dying. She listened to the whispers of her dead mother and father. Buck didn't want to talk often and Zhanna found that ignoring things was easier when you didn't talk about them. So silence stretched between them, for days on end, only broken by the menial discussions of Military life or what Skip and Malarkey were up to these days. Simple things. Safe things. Because thinking too hard was dangerous. Thinking was Zhanna's enemy and it was Buck's worst nightmare.

She didn't allow herself to think of Paris, either. It was another world. One where barriers had been knocked down in one fell swoop. One where Zhanna had forgotten her rank and so had WInters. She didn't avoid him but maybe he avoided her? Their paths didn't cross much and for that she was thankful. She couldn't think about the cold way he had made her feel, the chill that had sent shivers down her spine but there had been no numbness. Zhanna didn't freeze in his gaze, almost warmed under it. But she couldn't thaw or still, not when Buck needed her and the cold of December had gripped Mourmelon.

Zhanna had taken to spending as much time in the warm hall that played films on a projector for hours, settled in the uncomfortable chairs. Buck would sit with her and they would spend a whole afternoon watching movie after movie on that crackling screen. It was one of the only warm places in camp, a particularly frigid winter had gripped Europe that year, and Zhanna meant to take advantage of it.

The film, Seven Sinners, seemed to be a particular favorite among the volunteers who ran the cinema and Zhanna found herself sitting through it for the fifth time on a very cold night, Buck motionless by her side. Luz, a frequent visitor to the hall, seemed to know every word and had no qualms with spouting the lines along with the actors, much to Toye and Lipton's annoyance. Zhanna didn't mind it as much. She had seen the movie too much and Luz's commentary made it more enjoyable. Malarkey's poor attempt at a whisper did more to jar her from her thoughts. The men had been traversing to and from Paris with more frequency. Malarkey had been given a day pass and, while Zhanna had returned with only a headache and a stabbing pain in her heart, he had a handful of cash. Zhanna twisted around, wondering how much he owed her in cigarettes by now.

"Skip, where have you been?" Malarkey hissed, loud enough that Zhanna wouldn't have been surprised in the German line had heard him. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Well, Don," Skip deadpanned. "I was at home in Tonawanda but then Hitler started this whole thing so now I'm here."

Zhanna shook her head as Perconte gasped in disbelief at the money in Malarkey's hands and earned a sharp reminder to shut up from Lipton and Toye. She would have tried to join them, maybe weaseled a few bucks off of the mortarman for cigarettes and the money she had lent him but a familiar voice sent shivers down her spine.

"Hey Buck," Winters succeeded in whispering, something that not all of the enlisted had learned yet. Zhanna glanced over her shoulder but Buck hadn't moved, or made any sign that he had heard Dick. He continued to stare vacantly at the flickering film, neither understanding it or the world around him.

"How are you feeling?" Winters continued, not taking his silence as an answer. "Your wounds heal? All four of them?"

Buck had been left with more than just bullet wounds and that was difficult to comprehend. Outwardly, he looked the same, maybe a little more distant but Zhanna knew that his shoulders would flinch at a loud sound and he hadn't smiled in the three or four days he had been back. The Buck they had known always had some flirtatious or mischievous grin.

Buck didn't answer but still, Winters pressed.

"You've seen this before?"

Zhanna laid a hand on Buck's arm, startling him. But the contact brought him back to the land of warm people and visible emotion. He flinched hard but finally acknowledged the world around him, as if he had been deep asleep.

"Hey," He greeted Winters as if seeing him for the first time. That drove a knife deep into Zhanna's heart. He had looked at her the same way, when he had first stepped on the transport. They had regarded each other with caution before he wrapped his arms around her small frame and held on tightly. She hadn't been sure who needed reassurance more, Zhanna or Buck?

"Is it any good?" Winters asked.

"Yeah, yeah it's a real corker."

The chair creaked as Winters leaned back, silence falling over the three of them. Zhanna was just thankful he wasn't trying to bridge that chasm between them, the one she had made on the train home from Paris. It was easier just to keep it all inside. She was fine. Everything was okay and it couldn't be anything else, not when Buck was vacant and Skip and Malarkey were wreaking havoc in the city every weekend. Not with Sveta still in the hospital. It was just easier to lean against the hard back of the chair and listen to Luz repeat the same line over and over and over. At least that was consistent. At least then she knew what to expect. Predictable. That was all she wanted.

But Winters's eyes were heavy on the back of her head, almost willing her to turn around. She looped her hand through Buck's arm, trying to anchor herself and him to this room. To this camp. They weren't in Paris anymore. They weren't in Russia, Poland, or England. They were in France. Predictable. That's what she wanted. She couldn't think too hard about anything. Thinking was her enemy.

The doors to the hall opened and the harsh, deliberate steps of officers with a purpose pounded against the floor as they called for the lights.

They flickered on and Zhanna withdrew her hand from Buck's arm, as light flooded every surface. The men booed, protesting the abrupt end to their cinematic experience but the officers shouted. "Quiet!"

Once at the front of the room, the officer spoke quickly and with the weight of orders behind them. "Elements of the 1st and the 6th Panzer Division have broken through in the Ardennes Forest,"

The anger at the movie being stopped dissipated. Zhanna's palms began to sweat. Uncertainty took the place of the anger, sending worried glances between platoonmates. They were going to be sent out into the snow and the cold. Zhanna's mind threw her back to the cold attic room of Maria's home, where she curled up in the night, shivering. Her breath would form ice crystals on the blankets. Her toes would be purple before dawn. Zhanna didn't want to go out into the snow. She could already feel her fingers growing numb.

"They have overrun the 28th infantry and elements of the 4th."

And now, they would be sent to slow their approach, nothing but roadblocks. Zhanna looked over her shoulder at WInters but he didn't meet her gaze. His mind seemed to be working.

"All officers report to respective HQs and all passes are canceled." That got the men into an uproar. The officer had to shout to be heard. "Enlisted men report to barracks and your platoon leaders."

They left as quickly as they came, leaving the cold air of the night in their place and the rippling fear that was always present after orders. Every man had seen a friend fall by now. Every man knew that they could be next. These orders might be the last that they would get.

Skip and Malarkey rose before Zhanna did, marching through the doors with shoulders hunched in resignation. Zhanna watched as the enlisted men rose and left. Predictability. That's what she had wanted. She should have known that in war there was no such thing. Buck, Zhanna, and Winters were the last ones. Still seated, staring at the now empty screen. Zhanna almost wished that she could watch the damn movie one more time. Just to stall the inevitable.

Winters stood first, as a good leader did. He paused, unfolding his cap and staring down at Buck and Zhanna. There was something unspoken that passed between them. A wish that things were different. But every soldier wished that. Every soldier wished that they were hundreds of miles away from war, that they were home, that they were safe. Zhanna still wished for that but she couldn't picture where home was anymore. Slowly, under Winters's watchful eye, she stood.

If she was going to be killed in battle, fate would have it be in the snow, Zhanna thought bitterly.

Buck didn't speak, following her out of the hall, in Winters's careful footprints.

She let him lead her to HQ where she packed up the last of her belongings, a meager portion of ammunition, her rifle, her journal, and the pen that had been dulled down to a nub. It seemed that her winter coat had never arrived and neither had the thick sweater that some of the men wore under their ODs. Zhanna was shivering before her feet touched the frozen ground. She let Buck and Winters lead her through the throngs of people, nowhere else for her to go. She was an officer, even if it was only in title.

"Captian Winters," Peacock pushed his way through the crowd of soldiers.

"Lt. Peacock?"

"Have you seen Colonel Strayer?" Winters asked. "Where's the company commander?"

He didn't even bother to utter Dike's name which was the only opinion of him Zhanna needed.

"Oh, Lt. Dike, I've been looking for him all day," Peacock said. "How is it that the 4th Army's problem gets dumped on the Airborne?"

Before Zhanna or Buck could give an answer, Dike appeared as if uttering his name in a less than favorable tone had summoned him. "Lieutenant Peacock, Lieutenant Compton. Captain Winters, sir,"

"Lieutenant Dike, I've been looking for you," Winters didn't have to use words to express his annoyance. Zhanna could hear it dripping from every syllable. They paused beside a barrel filled with flames that barely penetrated the cold settling deep inside her bones.

"Sir, we've got a problem. Colonel Strayer has not yet returned from some wedding he's attending in London." Lieutenant Dike blustered. He sounded astonished that an officer wouldn't be at his post in their hour of need. Zhanna wondered why this scenario was so foreign to him. "Can you believe that? We are going to the front and our CO isn't even in the same damn country,"

"You have a bigger problem, Lieutenant Dike," Winters said, the flames dancing off his red hair. Even though his voice didn't show a drop of fury, his appearance was all fire. "You have men returning to action without proper cold-weather clothing and not enough ammo."

"Sir?" His disbelief was incriminating. Dike didn't know what was happening, just as Dike hadn't known who or what Zhanna was.

"I suggest you take a canvas of the entire base. Get what materials you have before you roll out. Or have you done that already?"

"No sir," Dike said, almost sheepishly.

"K-rations, as many as you can scrounge. We don't know if we'll be resupplied or not."

"What about ammo?" Peacock asked.

"There is no more ammo."

That hit Zhanna harder than the orders. She had only a few rounds left in her pockets.

"Distribute it amongst the men as best you can so at least everyone has something."

"Yes, sir," Dike said. But instead of owning up to his oversight and correcting it, he did exactly as Zhanna expected him to. Dike turned to Compton and Peacock and said, "Lieutenant Compton, Lieutenant Peacock, inform Lieutenant Shames of the situation. Get all your platoons as best equipped as you can and then report back to me, understood?"

"Yes sir." Buck and Peacock nodded, forced into compliance by orders and rank. They disappeared into the crowd.

Zhanna had wanted predictability and she had gotten her wish. When Dike turned to her, he didn't even get a chance to open his mouth.

"I'll see that Lieutenant Casmirovna is placed safely on a transport," Winters said, dismissing Dike with a wave of his hand.

Zhanna breathed a sigh of relief but it caught in her throat. She shivered beneath the ODs that did little to stave off the winter chill.

"Thank you," She said. "I didn't want to fetch and carry."

Winters nodded. "Let's get you on a transport before they all fill up."

Zhanna preferred the trucks to the C-47s. They were packed with soldiers, benches and floor, and they were all grateful for the close proximity. Body heat kept them from shaking too much. Zhanna sat in the middle of the pack, closed in by Skip and Penkala in the attempt to keep her warm but there was still a chill in the pit of her stomach, a cold that couldn't be warmed away. The engines were loud and the road bumpy, making conversation difficult but that didn't stop Easy Company from trying.

"I guess the blackout's not in effect," Buck said, the headlights of the transport behind them illuminating the truck bed. Zhanna could see the nervousness on every man's face, even though she could feel it taught in the air. "Luftwaffe must be asleep,"

"What a difference a day makes, huh, Lieutenant?"

"Christ I miss those C47s," Guarnere grumbled, though Zhanna couldn't imagine why. She wouldn't be landing in some field on her own, at the mercy of the winds and the timing of a green light. Zhanna was assured of company and allies by her side this time and she was grateful.

"Gotta tailgate jump here," Talbert said, wryly.

"I just wanna know why they are sending us," Heffron asked, his accent thicker in the cold. "What the hell are we supposed to do with no ammo?"

Zhanna buried her face in the collar of her coat, trying to keep her nose from freezing. Already she had been told it was as "Bright as Babe's hair," and "Didn't Russians know how to handle the cold?"

Guarnere had gone AWOL with Sveta, though Zhanna had yet to lay eyes on her fellow Russian. She was in one of these transports, somewhere in the line. She didn't think she had the energy or the willpower to find her in this cold. She was sure they would cross paths on their own, once they were out on the line. Zhanna shivered again though it wasn't the cold. Being out on the front line without a parachute felt strange. Being out on the line that was said to be a frozen forest in virtual seclusion wasn't much better.

"You got any ammo?" Heffron had turned his attention to a replacement whose name Zhanna didn't bother to remember.

"Just what I'm carrying," Came the familiar reply.

"What about socks?" Toye asked. "Got any extra socks?"

"A pair," Came the naive reply. Zhanna shook her head, ready for Skip's rhyme before he even opened his mouth.

"You need four, minimum," His finger waved to emphasize his point. "Feet, hands, neck, balls."

"Extra socks warms 'em all,'' Came the chorus of voices in the back of the transport, amid a few eyerolls. They had all heard this ditty at least once.

"Good, we all remember that one," Skip said. "But did we remember the socks?"

"I'm sure Casmirovna has an extra pair for you, Junior," Guarnere said. Zhanna could only shiver in response. He muttered bitterly. "Give my goddamn boots for a cigarette,"

We are all out of ammo and socks, Zhanna thought. She prepared herself for the cold feet and the trembling body that she had once been familiar with but had since forgotten. Zhanna had taken warmth for granted. She had taken the layers she had worn for granted. Even her undershirt, buttoned uniform shirt, and OD jacket weren't enough.

"Anybody got a cigarette?" Penkala asked. "Anyone but Casmirovna?"

"I got some smokes," the replacement said and suddenly, as Easy was wont to do, he became their best friend. Hands appeared from jacket pockets, reaching for a Lucky Strike. Zhanna would have tried to play a joke on the new man, offering him a cigarette from the infamous pack but she had long since run out.

With a shudder and a bump, the transport abandoned the gravel road they had been following and pulled into the frozen mud and fields of farmland, following the direction of several soldiers on the side of the road. The tailgates were dropped and they were told they had only a few minutes.

"Where the hell are we?" someone asked.

'Sure we ain't in hell," Malarkey said. "It's too damn cold."

"Casmirovna, this remind you of home?" Sergeant Grant asked. She didn't answer.

The men ran off to the side to relieve themselves and Zhanna wrapped her arms tight around herself, wandering away towards the jeeps that had been charged with delivering the officers and HQ. She could have found Sveta. She could have found Winters. But her feet were frozen to the ground.

Remind you of home? If home was Russia, and the frozen fields were the snowy plains of cobblestone streets, where men and women shivered, barely covered in the thin clothing, then yes, it reminded her of home.

The smell of gasoline filled the air and flames burst into life along the trail, and men flocked to them like moths to a light. She didn't move towards them. She didn't bother. Home, the feeling and the family, seemed to be floating down the road toward her. Lines of men trailed past the transports, ignoring the Airborne like they were ghosts bound for the land beyond. Zhanna shivered, not from the cold or from fear. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing your future. While Easy fought and wrestled for ammo from the ghosts of soldiers, Zhanna just stood. If she was going to die in battle, of course it would be in the cold. Life had a sense of humor and it was paying her back for avoiding its path so often. If she kept cheating death, Zhanna should have known that it would find some despicable way for payback.