Sveta returned from the medic tent with dark circles under her eyes and a burning rage toward Zhanna and the world. Roe had said that she would recover, though it was inadvisable to drink that much again, regardless of the kind of day Sveta was having. She was still angry at Zhanna for bringing Buck along, though they had saved her life. Sveta's wish to drown out the pain hadn't removed the distrust of the American army. Their room crackled with tension and Sveta would either ignore her friend or respond with a scathing tone. Zhanna spent as much time away from it as she could, a feat she already managed quite well and was further assisted by preparations for their next jump.

Though Buck had known little, it was soon revealed to the officers the nature of their next mission. Operation Market Garden was the dream of the Allied brass to give life to the men's hope of Berlin by Christmas. They would be jumping into the Netherlands, seizing bridges and towns, in the attempt to push back the German line at its weakest link. Nixon was assured that the defenses were old men and young boys, virtually useless against the strength of the battle-hardened soldiers.

"In terms of airborne divisions involved, this one's even bigger than Normandy," Winters spoke in well-rehearsed words, gesturing at the map. "We're dropping deep into occupied Holland. The Allied objective is to take this road here between Eindhoven and Arnhem so the two British armored divisions can move up it toward Arnhem."

Turning back to the group of officers who watched the maps, the air mixed with pessimism and dread, Winter said. "Our job is gonna be to liberate Eindhoven."

Captain Winters was confident, or at least he seemed to be, standing in front of the men, gesturing at the maps and movements of the troops. They had seen these kinds of sand tables and meticulous planning before. D-Day, which was considered a success, but Zhanna couldn't forget her two days in the farmland of Normandy, wading through rivers and avoiding German soldiers. She didn't have a weapon and she hadn't had back up. She wasn't keen to repeat the experience.

Winters' eyes went right over her head as if he didn't see her. Whether or not Nixon had been telling the truth or twisting a tale to get a reaction, Zhanna hoped her message of gratitude had made it back to him. She didn't approach him, not sure what news had made its way to him, about the night of August 21st. Nixon hadn't missed anything, not Zhanna's sprints across town or Sveta's release from the medical tent the following evening. But did Winters know about it? Was he trying to solve the puzzle of the Russian snipers as devotedly as Nixon?

Buck shared her skepticism, though he was the more optimistic of the pair. He tried to reassure Zhanna that this wouldn't be like D-Day. "I won't push you out of the plane this time," he said, jokingly. As if that was the reason she had dropped alone.

In truth, the idea of being back on Europe's continent, even closer to her family's home, even closer to Russia was enough to scatter her mind across the causeway. The jump had come quickly, not the long drawn out affair D-Day had been. In many ways, this jump felt like her first. Zhanna didn't have to lighten the load, no necklace thrown or family ties tossed to the wind. She felt ready. She at least knew what to expect.

The replacements, Zhanna had come to recognize the faces of four or five of them, didn't have that same confidence. Their fingers trembling as they tried to assemble their gear, they looked up nervously, not wanting to seem like they were struggling in front of the seasoned soldiers.

Those men whose boots had touched French soil in June were just as jumpy but they hid it better than the fresh blood.

The ranks of officers had been filled by replacements, as well. Men, who had seen Normandy and all its battles, would have to take orders from men who they hadn't fought side by side with.

Lieutenant Peacock had been transferred as assistant leader of First Platoon. While there was no hard dislike of the man, none of the older platoon members seemed too excited about his sudden leadership. Especially when he ordered Martin to give him the signal to jump, a responsibility that lay in his hands.

Zhanna assembled her gear in silence, letting the conversation of the other men wash over her. Her ear, now fully recovered, tuned them out by choice. Sveta was somewhere in the crowd, Zhanna hadn't seen her since the night before. Their last night in beds for who knew how long. She had tried to make conversation, ask if she was nervous for the jump.

Sveta had just rolled over and muttered, "Good night."

Zhanna would try to find her later, she decided. To wish her luck. Casimir would say that they made their own luck. That Sveta would have to work for her own luck. Someone tapped her shoulder and Zhanna looked up. She cursed under her breath, wishing she had worked harder for luck herself.

"Sobel," Muck said, though he didn't need to say it. They all saw him. They could all feel his presence.

The man had been a distant memory to Zhanna, hidden away in some repressed corner of her mind with the many nights she had spent at Maria's, shivering in the cold. She wanted to forget him, like she had tried to forget the sleepless hours, watching the NKVD patrol outside. But life hadn't allowed their paths to part permanently and her luck had run out.

The men all took a step back, turning around and leaving Zhanna out in the open. No shadow to hide in. No sight of a friendly face. Just khaki backs turned to her and the dark eyes of Sobel before her.

"Lieutenant," he said.

"Captain."

"I see you've been promoted," He acknowledged the new rank on her uniform with distaste and mock admiration. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," Zhanna said. "And is your promotion to your satisfaction?"

Sobel recoiled, looking her up and down as if to wonder where the shy second lieutenant had gone, who would take the insults and the degrading assignments without complaint. Zhanna had allies now and she wasn't afraid of what Sobel could do to her, not when he was shuffling cans and driving trucks, like the one behind him. It was familiar work to Zhanna but Sobel didn't know there wasn't any power in it.

He didn't answer her question though it was found in his avoidance, instead saying, "Good luck, Lieutenant, on the jump."

"Thank you, sir." Zhanna saluted, adjusting the rifle around her shoulder. His eyes glued onto the barrel, the prize that got away, and he scowled before turning on his heel. He left, to go count cans like he had ordered Zhanna to do often.

"What was that about?" one of the replacements, Garcia, asked, as the platoon who was assembled, let out a sigh of relief and turned back to face Zhanna again.

"Captain Sobel and Lieutenant Casmirovna have been at odds since Benning, kid," Martin said. "He took her Russian hat and she's been on his bad side ever since."

"Over a hat?" Garcia asked.

"My pilotka had the Red Army marking," Zhanna said. "I wasn't his to order."

When he removed the pilotka, he removed a part of her. Something Zhanna had then been forced to do with her necklace but she had done it for safety. Sobel had stripped her of a piece of her pride, her hard-earned pride.

"Who is he?" Hashey asked, another replacement whose name could be matched to a face.

"Our first CO," Bull said, casting a shadow over the group, who huddled together as if Sobel still lurked to listen in on their conversation. Bull had taken a great liking to the replacements, watching over them from on high.

"What happened to him?"

"He got promoted," Martin said.

He was promoted and removed from the company, to be replaced by first Meehan and then Winters. Winters, who was now visible through the crowds, bright red hair standing out against the rest. Winters, who understood what Zhanna had learned long ago, about survival, about winning, and about orders. Market Garden was well planned. The Brass were confident. But Zhanna knew that, if the time came, Winters would follow her, and not the orders. She was to be a vital role in the mission, with her sniper skills and previous experience in the field. Winters hadn't forgotten her work in Carentan, and neither had Zhanna. She just hoped she wouldn't encounter another tank.

Zhanna pushed her way through the crowd, knowing that they would be loading soon, and wanting to fulfill her promise to herself. That she would wish Sveta luck. She had to tell her about Sobel.

The dark-haired girl sat on the black causeway, in the shadows of a pile of cargo, her back to the crates. She didn't look up when Zhanna approached. She didn't move when she sat beside her. Neither spoke for a long, breathless, moment. Zhanna reached into her jacket and produced a pack of cigarettes. Flipping it open, she offered it to Sveta, who laughed sharply and took one.

"Are these from Speirs?" she asked, rolling it between her fingertips. They didn't smoke, not there, not either of them but it was a thoughtless bridge between them. A harmless gesture.

"Yes," Zhanna said. "None of the enlisted seem to want them."

That made Sveta laugh again, just as sharply. "I can't imagine why."

She kept rolling it between her fingertips, as the silence fell between them. Platoon leaders started gathering their men to the assembling area. They would be boarding soon and Zhanna would have to find Muck and Malarkey but she waited.

"What did you want?" Sveta asked when the moment continued to drag and the men began to drift off towards the shadows of the planes. They really had to be going, both of them, but neither Sveta nor Zhanna made a move.

"I wanted to wish you luck," Zhanna said. She would have to make it herself but the sentiment was still welcome, surely. Luck was a personal quest but Zhanna wanted Sveta to succeed. She didn't want Sveta to keep thinking of her like she had that night. That she had said aloud. A traitor. A danger. Sveta was trying to keep them safe but Zhanna was trying to survive. She had been doing it long enough but the harsh truth was, without Sveta, it didn't matter what game she played or how she avoided life. Without Sveta, Zhanna would be dead.

"I'll need it," Sveta said, pocketing the cigarette. She stood up. "We both will."