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Rated: M

Writing done by Rainbowfartz.

January 1943

“Sit up straight, frauline!” Frau Schmidt barked. Helena sat up straighter while letting her chest protrude. Her teacher was unforgivable with posture.

It was Frau Schmidt’s job to turn Helena into a desirable young maiden ready to be married off. With shining eyes, chocolate hair and round breasts her appearance was desirable, but her tomboyish nature poked young men away.

She had a lot of fun in the trees, or in the water, but not in a kitchen where all of the German girls of her caste ended up. Every day she watched the fighter planes soar into the sky and somehow, deep in her heart, she wanted to fly too. She wanted to be in that fighter plane and make Germany proud. But, right now, the proudest she could make Deutschland was by being a proper lady.


 Helena was watching the middle-class men being shipped off to war and dreamt about being free. She wanted to grasp a gun and she wanted to do everything a boy could do. But she could only dream as Frau Schmidt droned on and on.

That night, she planned and planned.

And slipped under their noses.


Helena ties a cloth around her breasts and pulls them in. She ties her hair in a masculine ponytail and practices talking in a deep voice. Today she joins the army.

As Helena is placed into line with the other soldiers, she is forced to stand next to a brown haired man. His eyes are violet and sparkling. He is not German.

“What are you?” Helena asks. She examines his nose and quickly knows he is not a Jew. “I am German, idiot.” He stiffly replies. He has a faint French accent. She frowns.

“You are French.”

“What? No. French by birth, German by life. Heil Deutschland!”

Helena sums up he will not live long in the army.


Helena eats lunch amongst the French man. He inhales his food quite rudely and she pretends not to notice. He finishes breathing his food and turns to you.

“Ah. You again.”

Helena snorts and keeps poking at the food.

“What’s your name?”

She looks up from the plate and clears her throat.

“Hans.”


Helena is in training again. However, this time the officers wanted to do an inspection of their clothes and body. “To make sure you aren’t undercover agents.” They said but Helena know they’d send her back just as fast if they knew her gender.

“Every other man is to be tested.”

She is standing beside the French man with sparkling eyes again and he is called, much to her relief.

They don’t test the men in that much of a private space, but behind a cloth. She blushes a little when she sees him undress. She places a hand to her face to cover her cheeks and clears her throat.

Here she is a man. There is no room for petty crushes.


It rained and they are still training. The rain soaks everyone to their bones and they just want to go to their bunks. But no one says that or they’ll be punished. She feels like she is being punished as the rain sinks the ties holding her breasts back.

The Frenchman is staring at her now, and she can feel her skin turning a rose.

“W-what’s your name?” She stutters during a break later on through embarrassment.

The Frenchman smiles. “Andre. But Hans, you know, you look quite feminine in the rain.”

“I-I must have a feminine build…”

“No…your breasts…”

“I don’t have those! I am a man!”

“Only large men have breasts. And you are not fat at all. Therefore, you are…female?”

“Fuck off!”

Helena uses the sailor mouth she was taught never to use and storms off.


Training is horrific.

While the rain has slowed a little, there is still mud and it is slippery. A gruff man with a long mustache runs as fast as he can during the drills. He jumps and slips in the mud.

He screams. There is a small “crack!” His ankle is bent grotesquely and his face is contorted in pain.

Helena gasps and keeps a scream to herself.

This is when she first figured out that war wasn’t all about murdering the enemy and making your country proud.

She would get murdered herself.


Training goes on and on forever until lunch.

Helena sits in a corner and eats the stale, tasteless food. And that annoying Frenchman Andre sits with her.

“Don’t you dare…!” She hisses as he approaches. He gives a lighthearted chuckle and says, “I didn’t tell anyone. You won’t murder me.” She places two fingers to her temples as he sits rather close to her; their knees touch.

“Why did you come here?” He whispers menacingly. His character just changed.

“I wanted to make my country proud.”

“The only way a woman can make her country proud is by staying at home and producing children.”

“None of that is true!”

“You are a fiery woman. I can see why the men can’t stand you.”

She breathes out through her nose. A huff.

“You idiot! None of that is true!”

“Yes it is. Women are fragile and do not belong at war.”

“No! It isn’t right!”

“But…”

“It fucking isn’t right!”

He rolls his neck and makes her blush. “You idiot.” He says bluntly. “When you’re lying dead in the middle of the battlefield you’ll be damn wrong.” And with that he finishes his meal and struts out.


Laughs and the strong scent of beer fills the room on Saturday night.

“Ah! Look at the petty man who lived through Week 1!”

“Hans” looks down at “himself”. He’s too slender and his hips are too large. Of course he wasn’t a man.

“Look between his legs? You got nothing down there!” Helena doesn’t actually become offended, but storms off to her bunk. “I’m going to bed.” She says. Horror is evident on her face as she realized her voice wasn’t hoarse.

“What a high-ass voice!”

She tumbles into bed with a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

(this is only part 1)

(this story is 7 pages long with 11 font on MS Word)

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