I can hear shouts in French behind me as I run as fast as I can in my constricting uniform through the woods. Old leaves crinkle loudly under my boots, announcing me to anyone listening. Sweat streams in rivulets from my shako and I pant with each step in the cold air. I see the edge of the woods. I'm only two miles from the rendezvous point — just clear the woods and crest one small hill. I clear the woods. I hear thundering footsteps, coming from the left. It's a French hussar. I try to reload my musket— no good, my hands are shaking and I drop the musket ball. The hussar is upon me. I die for Germany. The hussar is charging. He slashes his saber at me and I duck, yet his saber connects with my shako and it flies off, with my long hair which had been hidden splaying out. The hussar suddenly stops his horse. He says in French, "I didn't know the enemy soldiers were all women now, suddenly I'm glad I joined the army." Then he laughs at his own joke. Who does that?
The saber's collision with my shako threw me forward, and I use that momentum to continue running. The collision also caused me to drop my musket. The hussar laughs again and turns his horse towards me, setting off at a trot, escalating to a gallop. This time, it's the end. He's upon me. His horse rears up and kicks me in the butt, I'm flung forward onto the grassy earth. The hussar laughs again, kicks his horse to trot up to me and says, "That's not the last time you're going to feel an animal's third leg on your ass." The fall knocked the wind out of me, but I heard every word. This is absolutely the kind of anim— no, clearly the kind of thug the tyrant emperor sends to do his bidding. Uncouth, cowardly, insane, someone like this specimen belongs in prison rather than the army. I hear him dismount his horse. I can hear him pull something I can't see out of his saddlebag as I face down in the grass. I try to use my hands to push myself up off the ground and the man quickly dashes over and kicks me in the back, my face plants into the grass again. I don't know why I'm thinking about this when I'm about to die, but he's getting my hair dirty. The long brown hair that my father loved before he was sent by the tyrant to die in Russia. Tears well up in my eyes. I feel the hussar grabbing my arms, putting them behind my back and tying them together with something that's probably rope. It's really itchy. Wait, what?
My breath finally comes back and I wheeze, "kill me you bastard," in French. He just laughs. He says, "How can such a pretty girl be such a downer? Pun intended." He grabs my small body, hoists me onto his shoulder as I try to kick and bite him, tosses me onto the front of his horse and vaults onto the back in one motion, like something out of myth. The horse begins trotting.
"Unhand me! You cretin!"
"No."
I sputter. "Well look at that— France's finest, reduced to babysitting girls. What would your emperor say?"
He considers this with mock seriousness. "He would say: 'Good catch, soldier. Carpe diem — or should I say, carpe derrière.’" He slaps my butt.
"S-stop that! I have rights as a lawful combatant and prisoner of war."
He laughs and says, "Oh, you're a prisoner alright. But I'm not sure you're a prisoner of war. Do you know who you shot?"
"How would I know? Just some stooge of the tyrant, same as any other."
"No my dear, not the same as any other. That was the general commanding the division I'm assigned to. I think you know exactly what will happen if I deliver you to them."
I shiver as I imagine a hastily set up military tribunal, sentencing me to death as an unlawful combatant. The tyrant's men would do that.
"See? You're a smart girl."
"German liberty will flower in the blood of her martyrs. My life is a small price to pay." He laughs again.
"Liberty? Martyrs? Are you an American? Sorry, I just didn't think a European would say something so ridiculous."
"Is everything a joke to you??"
"Lady, lighten up. The sun's shining, the birds are singing, I'm going to do you a favor. The world's great. Just listen up."
I listen. We're pretty far away from the infantry column by now, and I can't hear their shouts anymore. It's true, I do hear birds chirping. What does that matter though when the future and liberty of Germany are at stake?
"Here's my plan. You're going to change into women's clothes before we reach our camp, and I'll say you're a local woman who became my lover. What do you say?"
"What? No!"
He laughs. He does nothing but laugh, doesn't he? I want to punch him in the face.
"Well, too bad. Your mistake was in thinking you had a choice in this."
"How can you... Urghh! How can the tyrant's men be so frustrating?"
He laughs. Again. Soon we came to a small village, the people either hiding or having fled from the tyrant's soldiers. I see the familiar sign for a tailor's shop. He dismounts and I fall ungracefully from the horse onto my feet. He opens the door for me and says, "after you, my lady." I glare at him as I walk through the door, my hands still tied behind my back.
The hussar follows me into the shop. I can't sense anyone else in here or in one of the backrooms, the owner must have fled. I can see mens' clothes neatly folded up in shelves behind a counter on one side of the room, and women's clothes similarly folded neatly on the other side of the room, with a hallway leading deeper into the building between the two shelves.
The hussar comes up behind me, slaps my butt and says, "Well, shall we get started then, my lady?"
I turn my head to glare towards him and finally get a good look at him. He's an Adonis. Long black hair beneath his shako is braided in two locks next to his ears. His face is chiseled from hardship during years of war and yet he still looks young. His mustache is immaculately groomed, their ends twirled upward. His jawline is sharp. His brown eyes stare at me with a possessive intensity, and I shiver involuntarily from his gaze. The corners of his mouth are permanently upturned, as if he finds life itself a joke. His broad shoulders give way to a lightly V shaped chest and waist, showing his physical prowess. Suddenly I feel just how much larger he is than me, he towers over me. His Pelisse dangles stylishly from his right shoulder, and his Dolman is carefully braided. Somehow I feel even smaller when I look down and see my black uniform, covered in grass and brown earth. I look back at his lower body where a bulge is clearly visible in his breeches between his thighs. My face shrivels and my brows knit together.
"What's your name?" I ask.
"Louis Beaufort, 4th Regiment of Hussars, my lady. At your service. May I ask my lady's name?" He says, while giving a dramatic bow with a flourish.
"Sigrid von Trechtingshausen. Lützow Free Corps."
"Sigrid. A very German name, my lady. And a beautiful one."
I feel heat in my face and I turn away from him. "How can you be like this when you've captured me as a prisoner? I'm not a whore to woo."
"I was just telling the truth,"" he says with a smile. "Well, shall we get started then? I suppose I'll be needing to help you undress."
I quickly turn back to face him. "What?! You can't do this! You called me a lady. Ladies don't... Ladies don't do that!"
He laughs and says, "clearly you don't know the soul of women very well then, my lady. Perhaps as an outsider I’ll be able to see what you don't? Pun intended."
Louis suddenly reaches towards his waist and takes out a knife. That's it then? He was just toying with me? I close my eyes and wait for the end. Instead I feel the fabric of my uniform being torn. I open my eyes and see Louis with his infuriating smile happily sawing away at my uniform and the rest of my clothes.
"As my newest lover, you won't be needing these anymore."
"Wha— you can't— Stop!"
"Slow down, lady. You wouldn't want me to make an accident."
I stop fidgeting and resort to glaring at Louis in the most terrifying way I can. Louis snorts and can't hold back his laughter, practically cutting me with his knife.
Suddenly my large breasts which I had bound to my skin with long, rectangular cloth wrapped over them to hide my gender spill out after he saws through the cloth. "Don't look!" I say, my inner brows upturned. He laughs and starts leering at me, with a smirk plastered on his perfe— no, his monstrous, ugly face. He finishes sawing through my upper uniform and the jacket along with the shirt and cloth hiding my breasts. He suddenly moves his hands to lower my trousers along with my underwear, exposing my secret place to his prying eyes and the cold air. I quickly try to hide my flower between my thighs, yet before I can he sees some of the nectar my flower secreted. My face turns utterly red. He laughs and says nothing.
"It's just sweat! You don't... Urrrrrrrrrggh."
"Sweat in this cold air? You must be feeling some heat inside yourself that I don't feel."
I scowl and turn away from him.
“Now, if we’re going to get your clothes off and dress you up you’re going to have to be a good girl. If I undo the bond on your hands, do you promise not to run away until we get to the camp?”
At first I hesitate, but slowly a smile inadvertently appears on my face. Luckily he can’t see my face since I’m turned away from him. “I promise, Louis.”
“Do you swear it in God’s name?”
“I swear it. So help me God.”
He starts to undo the rope binding my wrists. The rope falls off and I flex my sore arms behind me while Louis pulls the remnants of my upper uniform off of my arms.
Once he’s done I whip around and punch Louis in the face as hard as I can.
