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They halted to listen. At first, Anna assumed the noises were something easily explained, like what Pete had described with the men making sure to turn on a truck engine to keep it from seizing in the cold, or a training exercise, or perhaps something else she hadn’t learned about yet as the army dealt with the Finnish winter. But the look on Pete’s face made her heart grow cold.
    “Pete? What is it?”
    He stood there, stock still, listening. Wordlessly, he held out a hand, palm out, signaling for her to say or do nothing. Suddenly men were running in all direction, yelling and cursing. Shrieks of pain echoed through the night.
    We’re under attack! The thought came to her in a flash, and Anna knew it was true. But this isn’t a combat zone!
    The Soviets weren’t in this area in great numbers— at least, that’s what Marshal Mannerheim had predicted. The enemy was supposed to be stuck following the obvious narrow roads, unable to get through the dense forests with their tanks. The Finns protected the roads easily, throwing Molotov cocktails into tank air vents and setting the whole thing on fire. This was supposed to be a safe place.
    Yet flashes of light lit up spots in the night. The simultaneous booms told Anna that it was rifle fire from both sides as Russian and Finn met. In the distance, soldiers seemed to be shooting blindly into the darkness, which made sense; they certainly couldn’t see one another clearly. Groans and cries echoed, followed by the sound of a man— Two? Three?— crying out.
    Were the fallen Finnish or Russian? Anna couldn’t tell from where she stood, unmoving. Yet she found herself worrying, caring about the people she’d just met. These weren’t nameless fighters, but men with lives and loved ones and physical pains.
    The fighting slowly spread, drawing closer and closer. At first Anna stayed alert, taking it all in, until Pete grabbed Anna’s hand and yanked her off the trail and into some brush. They half ran, half stumbled into the thick trees, with snow halfway up their legs.
    Pete stopped briefly, searched the landscape, and pointed. “There!” he whispered, indicating a snowbank and a cluster of trees a few yards off, lit only by the full moon reflected off the snow. They ran and hid, crouching behind the trees and snow as the fighting went on.
    They were safe for the moment, but Anna’s heart raced, hammering against her chest as the realization that this “safe” area was still in a war zone— and she could have been killed. Could yet be killed.
    Together they stayed hunched down and waited. Anna breathed hard and fast, sending wisps into the air. Could the enemy find them by the fog of their breath? The snow began to seep through her boots, stockings, and long johns, and the booms and blasts continued, making her tremble.
    Yet Pete was beside her, still holding her hand. She could feel his breath on her face. The idea that he was here, protecting her, made her want to weep. She wanted to kiss him hard, if only to thank him. Another cry of pain rang out, and another making her shudder.
    This could be my last chance to tell Pete I love him.
    Stop thinking about him. You’re a reporter!
    Tears stung her eyes, but she forced them back; she couldn’t be objective if her emotions got tangled up in her work. She hoped that whatever was happening would be over soon, but the screams, moans, and gunfire didn’t ebb. Her feet throbbed from the cold. More shots boomed and flashed through the forest, and her body started to tremble. She found herself drawing nearer Pete for comfort; journalism could go hang. Pete must have sensed her anxiety, because he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
    “It’ll be all right.” His embrace felt warm and comforting, familiar— right. For the moment, she blocked out the fact that they were no longer a couple, that they had no future. She closed her eyes and let his presence calm her, take her away from the war raging