Sveta stood silent. She looked at Zhanna, face turning from red to purple to a gruesome yellow in a few spots. Heat filled her body. "

Go inside," she finally said, falling into Russian. "I'll find a medic for you."

Then it was just her and the enlisted. As the door clicked, she turned on Lipton. She didn't even try to hide her fury. She let them see it. Let them be scared. It would only make her job easier.

"Who?"

Lipton hesitated. With a quick glance at Muck, he tried to explain. "Lieutenant Casmirovna got caught up in a fight between Sergeant Guarnere and Corporal Liebgott."

Sveta felt herself trembling. Gripping her fists tighter, she forced it down. She had to control it. At least, she had to control it for now. "Why was she there?"

"She got lost, ma'am," Muck said. He gestured back down the hall, where the door to the deck sat. "Me and Private Malarkey took her to the platoon. To keep her from getting more lost."

"Who hit her?" They didn't answer. Sveta took a small step forward. "Who hit her," she repeated, putting emphasis on each word. "That's an order."

"Sergeant Guarnere, ma'am," Lipton supplied.

Guarnere. That jackass. Sveta bit her cheek. Then she looked down the hall. She could taste the blood in her mouth as it took all her practice not to say more. Guarnere. With a nod, Sveta turned back to them. "You're dismissed."

They left without saying more. Neither saluted, but she didn't expect it. They were men. American men. After nearly a year dealing with them in training, she had come to tolerate them, even respect them, but not like them. Now they'd lost even that. Especially Sergeant Guarnere.

If the enlisted thought they had seen what she was capable of, they were sorely mistaken. The name Samsonov meant something to the American Brass. It meant something to the Soviets. She didn't have any power to change her circumstances, but in those circumstances, she could wield her name as a weapon.

After the enlisted disappeared, she took a few breaths. At her hip she felt the familiar weight of her side-arm. Sveta had it on her, always. Her heart pounded in her chest. Guarnere. Fists weren't the only weapon. Sveta had been a soldier longer than these boys and she'd been fighting in the Soviet political sphere for longer than some of them had known what a weapon was.

Sveta knew fear. She'd seen it in the faces of the women around Stalin for years. She'd seen it in her own face since 1935. And Sveta made it her mission to see it in Guarnere's face before the end of the day.

"Private!" She called out to a runner who passed by in the hall. When he turned, slightly startled, she looked him over. Tall, dark haired, blue eyed. A bit underfed. Sveta nodded to him. "Find Lieutenant Winters or Lieutenant Welsh. Tell them Lieutenant Casmirovna requires medical attention, that she's in our quarters. Immediately."

"Yes- Yes ma'am."

Fear. Sveta watched him go. Fear could be seen in the whole body. Eyes that widened, shoulders that hunched a bit inwards, tight. Mouth a bit open, or jaw a bit clenched. Rubbing palms on clothes. That was fear. Fear wasn't abstract. It was physical.

Her boots slammed against the wooden deck as she passed out through the door. The murmur of American voices filled the air. She looked around. American men in American uniforms. God, Sveta hated them. Their jeers had ended months ago. But they had crossed a line, and it would be the last time that ever happened.

It didn't take long for her to find 2nd Battalion. They'd bunked together down in the ship's belly. But she didn't need all of 2nd Platoon. She needed Guarnere, alone. Years of playing in the shadows of dangerous men gave her an edge. She stuck to the corners. Smiles, gentle breaths, pushing loose hairs behind her ear. The men soon forgot about her as they took their meal in a small mess hall.

Sveta lingered by a door to a further portion of the ship where the men had to pass. It didn't take long for her to find Guarnere. He sported a few red marks on his neck, chatting and laughing with Sergeant Luz and Corporal Toye. She followed them. Stick to the shadows.

Her fists clenched as she watched him. Zhanna's bruised face played in her mind like some sick newsreel. As they went to turn a corner, she called out to them. "Sergeant Guarnere!"

All three spun around. Easy had taken their dinner late. Most men had gone to sleep, and the hallways were fairly empty. They stood about five feet from an exit to the deck. Unlit cigarettes already lay in their hands. Sveta had to suppress a growl.

"Lieutenant?" he asked.

Sveta narrowed her eyes and walked up to them. She stood about their height. They couldn't look down on her, not here, not now, not physically. Her hands cramped from how tight she held them. Turning to the other two, she smiled. "You're dismissed."

Toye tried to protest. "Listen, Lieutenant, earlier-"

"That wasn't a request, Corporal." Sveta held his gaze. His dark eyes seemed to harden. She could play this game. Games were her life. She had to play them to stay alive.

Luz just scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. But he turned, gesturing to the door. He and Toye left. She turned back to Guarnere. His jaw was set. In the low, artificial light of the hallway, the red hand marks on his collarbone seemed to burn. His dark eyes watched her closely.

"It came to my attention that there was a disagreement below decks about an hour ago, Sergeant." Not a question, but she let her tone treat it as such.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

Sveta nodded. "You and Corporal Liebgott. What were you fighting over?"

"Nothing important."

"Nothing important," she echoed. Sveta took a step forward. He already stood near the wall. "Nothing important. So you're telling me you struck a superior officer over nothing important, Sergeant. Is that what you're saying?"

His lips parted in a bit of a sneer. Sveta didn't give way. She watched as his shoulders tightened and he drew himself up. "She wasn't part of the fight, Lieutenant. Just got caught up in it."

Sveta let the silence extend. He squirmed a bit as she refused to break eye contact. Guarnere couldn't have been used to this. She found it entertaining. Sveta smiled. "Sergeant, you're very lucky. You know why?"

"Why?"

"You met me here, and not in Russia." Sveta stepped forward again. Relaxing her shoulders, she did her best to sound unconcerned. But her right hand sat on the hilt of her side-arm, and he glanced at it. "In Russia, we would not even be having this conversation. You would just disappear."

"Christ." He laughed in disbelief under his breath. "You threatenin' me, Lieutenant?"

"I don't threaten, Sergeant. You mean nothing to this army," she told him. "I, on the other hand, am the daughter of Alexander Samsonov. I mean everything."

A lie, but not a difficult one to sell. Sveta meant everything to her father. She knew it. Or that's what he believed. Another lie, but a lie he told himself. Everyone had those little lies. Guarnere lied to himself all the time, lied that he was any better than the scum of the earth.

She took another step forward. Guarnere's back touched the wall as he glanced down at her pistol in its holster. His eyes widened.

"Goddamn broad, you're fuckin' crazy!"

"You lay one more finger on Lieutenant Casmirovna and I'll see you lose it."

The doors to the outside burst open. Sveta whipped around, the cool air off the sea hitting her in the face. Guarnere wasted no time in moving away from her. Toye, Luz, Talbert, Liebgott, Perconte, and Grant came rushing inside. Sveta stepped back.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Guarnere snapped again. "Fucking Commie bitch."

"You good, Guarno?" Toye asked.

They all eyed her. Sveta looked at each of them as they took up positions around Guarnere. Her throat clenched. She couldn't take all of them. They had her outnumbered. If they decided to retaliate-

"What's going on here, Lieutenant?"

Sveta turned around, nearly jumping out of her skin as Speirs wandered up. A cigarette dangled from his mouth. They'd not spoken much since he'd nearly broken her rib at the beginning of the summer. Just passing conversations.

"I've got it handled," she lied.

He shrugged, looking at the men silently. They squirmed under his glare. Sveta narrowed her eyes at them. She let her gaze linger on Guarnere.

"You're dismissed," she said.

They didn't waste time. Sveta's gaze lingered on the dark, heavy doors as they slammed shut. She'd need to check on them later.

"You want a cigarette, Lieutenant?"

Sveta turned back to Speirs. He had his box of Lucky Strikes out, open. Her jaw clenched. What she really wanted was a drink. And maybe some food. But she nodded anyway. She dug her fingers into the pack and pulled one out.

Glancing up at the faded 'No Smoking' sign on the hallway, she frowned. "I suppose I should take this outside," she muttered. Sveta didn't wait for Speirs before going on deck. But he followed, the door closing fast behind him. She lit her cigarette.

"So, what in Christ's name was that all about?" he asked.

Sveta looked at him. In the dark, it was hard to read his expression. "A mild disagreement."

Speirs scoffed. "Right." He stuck his cigarette back in his mouth and looked around. A few lamps cast small pools of light on deck, but most of it stayed hidden. "Nixon and Winters were looking for you."

"Oh?" She turned to him again.

"Somethin' about your friend," he explained. "Might wanna find them, Lieutenant."

Sveta nodded. She finished off what she wanted of the cigarette before walking to the rail and dropping it into the ocean. "Thank you for the cigarette, Lieutenant."

He just nodded in return. Before turning away, she looked at him as he moved into the light. Only he and Welsh had been unperturbed by her existence, it seemed. Welsh wanted to know about her, which got annoying. The lack of concern from Speirs felt refreshing.

Sveta wondered what he was hiding. She nodded to him and went to the Officers' quarters. Nixon and Winters wanted to see her. She wanted to see them, too. She had unfinished business. And maybe Nixon would part with some alcohol. If not, she'd just find Welsh. He had a stash too. Maybe he could spare some.