True to his word, Winters did his best, which seemed to be enough. Zhanna was discharged the following day. Her return to Easy was a joyous one, if not overdue. She had attempted to find Winters after she had been released, to thank him for his help but he was nowhere to be found. And while she would have liked to hunt him down, Buck, Skip, and Malarkey seemed keen to make up for lost time and Zhanna didn't have a chance.

Skip and Malarkey took her to the pub on her first night back, determined to recreate their first trip together. Before Normandy. "The good old days," as Skip called it. She was more careful this time, never reaching the point of inebriation that she had that first night. They were a little disappointed that the giggling Zhanna didn't make an appearance but Skip just seemed happy to have her back.

Buck had kept her rifle in his possession, refusing to return it to Sveta for safe keeping. He insisted on returning it to Zhanna herself. When she finally ran her hands over the smooth wood, she found it freshly cleaned. While Buck's hands, much larger than her own, had struggled with the finer cleaning Zhanna usually gave the gun, the gesture still touched her. Sveta seemed to have enjoyed a wild adventure while Zhanna was in the hospital. The men of Easy Company were thrilled to retell the motorcycle thieving that had taken place and Malarkey was seen zooming across camp in the vehicle on more than one occasion. He offered to take Zhanna in the sidecar but she didn't seek the adrenaline thrill quite like he did and graciously declined.

While Zhanna may have left the hospital behind, her injury hadn't loosened its grip on her. Her left arm remained weakened, trembling when lifting even the lightest loads. Zhanna's rifle was a struggle to lift to the shoulder, let alone holding it steady. She knew that she would have to strengthen the muscles to bring back the peak condition that had been lost.

Buck had joined her for several physical training sessions, assisting her in hand to hand combat in the attempt to rebuild the muscle. While he was easily double her height and weight, Zhanna refused to give in. Soon it became a comical spectator event among the enlisted to watch Lieutenant Casmirovna and Lieutenant Compton sparring in that sand box. Skip joked that they should have sold tickets.

Though small, Zhanna had learned hand to hand combat in Sniper training as well as a refresher course in her time with the Airborne. She was no stranger to throwing a punch and her opponents were usually larger than her. Buck was at first hesitant.

"Don't go easy on me," she had warned.

"I won't," he had said. Within a few heartbeats, he was flat on his back, gasping for air.

He quickly learned his lesson and while Buck could never be accused of going easy on her, he wasn't trying his hardest. Zhanna quickly gained confidence and regained some of her strength and the enlisted began to rise to the challenge. She took down Skip, Tab, and Christenson before the others admitted that the odds weren't in their favor. Bull Randleman refused to take part but liked to watch the show, a loyal spectator with his cigar. Captain Winters would wander by the training ground, on occasion and before Zhanna could thank him for freeing her from the prison of the hospital, the enlisted would start egging him to join.

"I heard he cracked a paratrooper's back before D-Day," someone would hiss.

"I bet he couldn't take down Short Stuff over here," another would whisper.

But Winters would never accept the challenge and Zhanna would never be able to thank him.

Once the few brave men who had challenged Zhanna that day had been thrown into the dirt mercilessly, they would march as a company into town and occupy a pub for the next several hours. || It was a time-honored tradition of drinks and shouting songs, with the occasional loss of money and dignity to a fellow paratrooper.

Zhanna's friendship with the men of Easy had grown more comfortable since their return from Normandy. While Sveta seemed content to return to their billet at the Connors, Zhanna didn't want to be trapped inside those walls, surrounded by the lacy curtains and things that her family would never be able to have. Sveta would return to the billet after a long day of training while Zhanna would go with the enlisted to the pub.

Zhanna's comfort around the men was obviously an annoyance to Sveta, that she hadn't earned their trust. Being a Samsonov gave power but it didn't always lend trust. Zhanna could have felt sorry for her. She could have invited Sveta along, insisting that they go together to the pub where the vodka and spirits would take the edge off their pain. But Zhanna hadn't always had something Sveta didn't and there was something inside of her, the little piece that coveted the purple heart and the promotion, that did not want to share it.

Here, with Zhanna, Muck and Malarkey laughed easily. They bought round after round of drinks, roaring with laughter at Buck's monopoly on the dartboard. While Zhanna proved formidable in hand to hand combat, no one could beat Buck Compton at darts. Muck was sure that Zhanna could, if she tried, but she didn't want to take away this small victory from her friend. Not when he had done so much for her. He managed to keep Nixon at bay, who had been watching her since her discharge from the hospital. Whether or not he had pieced more of her story together, Zhanna didn't know but she didn't want to risk it.

The pub was always loud but on a particularly hot night in August, the sound was nearly deafening and Zhanna knew what that was like. There was barely any room to move, men rubbing elbows and bumping shoulders to push their way to the bar. She had sent Malarkey to fetch her one last drink before heading back to the billet. Muck sat beside her at a rickety table that wobbled more than the planes they had flown over Normandy, watching Buck destroy yet another enlisted at darts. He did it so mercilessly, without any shame or remorse. Zhanna would have felt sorry for his latest victim, if it hadn't been Talbert.

They had overcome the differences that had split them in Ft. Benning but Zhanna still liked to see him humbled every once in a while. Buck was willing to do just that.

Muck groaned in sympathy as Buck loosed his final dart, landing firmly in the red circle. A bullseye and defeat for Tab once again.

"That's alright," Zhanna soothed, pulling a chair up beside her and motioning for the gallant loser to take a seat. "I'll buy you a drink."

"You mean, I'll buy him a drink," Muck said. Zhanna hadn't paid for a single drink since her feet touched British soil and while it hadn't been intentional, she didn't want to break her streak.

"Of course, of course," Zhanna said, pulling off her jacket to try and cool off. It was to no avail, sweat had dripped down her back in rivers, her blue dress sticking tightly to her skin.

"Nice dress, Lieutenant," Tab muttered.

Zhanna flushed, though it might have been the heat in the room. She wasn't comfortable in this blue cotton dress but she had convinced herself not to wear her uniform to the pub. This was something Zhanna would have worn in Stalingrad, before the callouses had scuffed her hands and her hair was shorn to her jawline.

"Is that anyway to speak to your superior officer, Talbert?" Buck's tone was stern as he pulled up his own chair, face still flushed with victory. Tab froze, unsure if Buck was being genuine in his rebuke. It wasn't until he clapped the sergeant on the back and laughed that Talbert relaxed.

Zhanna murmured her thanks to Malarkey as he placed a tumbler of vodka before her. She looked down at the glass and the clear liquid, staring into its contents for a moment. The hair at the back of her neck was damp, sweat perspiring on her forehead. Zhanna hadn't been used to these hotter summers, though nothing compared to America in the spring and summer. At least Britain had better vodka than America, she mused, taking a sip and letting it wash down her throat, scorching as it went.

She had taken a liking to a particular brand that the Samsonovs had kept in their liquor cabinet, and that no pub or bar seemed to carry. This was a decent substitute, she decided. Though nothing could beat the bottle on that second shelf, unlocked by a stolen key and drank in the darkness of the evening when Veronika and Sveta had gone to bed but Zhanna couldn't sleep, for fear of eyes blinking into view in the shadows.

"Why haven't we heard your special code recently, Lieutenant?" Muck asked.

Zhanna's blood ran cold, like the winters in Stalingrad. Fierce winds could cut through any layers and your flesh with the ferocity of a knife. She shivered and wanted to shake her head at Muck, make him stop. But he kept going, fueled by Buck's confusion.

"Special code?" His brow furrowed. Zhanna had never mentioned the incident to him.

"First time we took her to a bar, she came out drunk and babbling in some language." Muck continued, louder than was necessary but the glass in his hand was empty and his humor was high. "Penkala calls it her special code."

"Samsonova didn't seem to know what it was, right?" Talbert continued. "So what was it then, Casmirovna?"

"Yeah, Cas," Muck said. "You never said."

Zhanna's mouth was dry and she didn't think she could feel her fingers anymore, wrapped as tightly as they were around the glass of vodka. Vodka that didn't seem to sit well in her stomach anymore. She had thought she was safe with the men, that it had been forgotten. They had seemed to prefer talking about her sniper prowess or the way she could use a man's body weight against him despite her height. Zhanna had thought it was safe but in this moment, a wave had sloshed over her, catching her by surprise. She was choking on water, dragged down by the current.

"My parents always spoke it," Zhanna said softly. Her mind was reeling, scrambling for something plausible but still safe. She just hoped her fear wasn't showing on her face. "I don't expect Lieutenant Samsonova to know it. Her people wouldn't speak it."

Buck's eyes watched her carefully. He looked as if he wanted to ask a question but didn't. Blessedly, he didn't and Muck seemed satisfied with the answer.

"You and Samsonova," Talbert started to say. "How the hell did you two meet?"

Both peering around the women who had arranged the deal. Kindness had felt like an insult but this girl, not much older than Zhanna, had seemed welcoming. Her brown hair had been in braids and Veronika had introduced her as Svetlana. Maria had called Zhanna, "Zhannochka," And it was from then that she was known as only Casmirovna. That's how they had met. But Zhanna couldn't tell them that.

"I came to live with her family when I was fourteen."

Buck nodded. He knew that. She had told him her story, just brushing the surface. She knew almost everything about him, information he freely gave but Zhanna couldn't do that. Zhanna couldn't burden others with the weight of her full story. Maria had passed her over to the Samsonovs for less.

"You've known her for..." Muck trailed off, realizing that her age had never been disclosed.

"Five years," Zhanna said. "We joined the Russian army together. We fought together. And now we are in the Airborne together."

Muck opened his mouth as if he wanted to ask for more information, to continue this story but Easy company didn't need to know her secrets. They didn't need to know that she was Polish, Jewish, or anything else for that matter. She had hidden who she was for so long, and no matter what her father had encouraged, Zhanna couldn't be proud enough to share it now. These men, she trusted them with her life but not with her secrets.

Gathering her courage firmly in place, Zhanna said, hand still tight against the glass. "I appreciate your curiosity but I am a private person,"

Talbert opened his mouth but Zhanna raised a hand to silence him. "Now tell us, Talbert, how is your mother?"

While Muck laughed and Talbert's ears grew redder still, Zhanna took a sip of the vodka that had gone warm in the heat of her hand. Buck leaned close to her, about to whisper a question in her ear but she turned at the last moment, meeting him head on.

Their faces were a breath away from each other. His eyes were so blue, nothing like the dark eyes she had been warned about, and he smelled like beer and cigarette smoke. He wanted to know her secrets, the look in his eyes told her so.

"I'm a private person," she repeated in the barest whisper. "Even to you."