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TamaraI didn't know what I was getting into when my general called me in. I had to go; refusal was never an option. I remember riding the train to Hamburg, swaying as it advanced down the tracks. I closed my eyes. I thought of my brother, and how it had been so long since I'd seen him. I straightened, fiddling with the silver braids on my Waffenrock. Why, if I was combatant, did I have to wear a dress uniform? Oh well, it was the general's orders.Tamara by Soratheartist
All around me, children no older than fifteen rest in the other seats, some holding MP5s, others holding Mausers. I was a bit... Out of place. I was an old lady compared to them. I probably looked like one, too. I don't think anyone suspected that I was eighteen. Next to me was a heavier boy wearing the familiar Jugend uniform: Black pants, brown field jacket, and the red armband. It was a bit of a contrast seeing a leutnant and a soldat together.
“Guten morgen,” he said, looking out the window.
“Guten morgen, “ I repeated.