Author's Note: I just want to point out before I get any reviews or backlash messages: the company I created with the women is PURE FICTION! I wanted to write an interesting story about women in this period of the war, and they are made up for story sake! IF you have a problem with it, privately message me please do not leave a review with negativity. Enjoy :)


They first thing they told me when I was given my training uniform was that I no longer have a first name. My real identity now was completely out the window from the moment they recruited me and told me I had a place in the army. All I had left in my life as a young woman at the age of 22 was my own vivid dark memories and past nightmares. Back in my hometown, at this point in my life, I would be married and having children with a plentiful life and nothing to bitch or complain about. But, of course, I had no typical life or no typical mindset of what I wanted to do. No, that was shattered and broken into a thousand pieces.

Everything else was shot to hell.

Let me start at the beginning. I am the only daughter in my family, and we were pretty rich where we came from. I was born and raised in Seattle, Washington with a loving father and mother, and also having three older brothers named Andrew, Samuel, and Ethan. My mother was a socialite, coming from a rich family and was all about being sophisticated and proper for the world to see. She never once lifted a finger when it came to being dirty, and she was the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen. My father was a weapon's specialist manufacturer, he knew how to make guns and weapons for the military, which earned him a good amount of money. The both of them were a match made in heaven, known far and wide through Seattle and had other rich friends.

Being the youngest and only daughter, I was thought have the bountiful life of an upper-class little girl. I was supposed to be in dresses, wanting to play with dolls and have my mind be filled with flowers and anything that would be considered light and playful. But I was not one to play in dresses, when I wanted to do what my brothers would do on the weekends.

I wanted to hunt.

Ever since I was 6 years old, seeing my father and my brothers going to and from the woods on the weekends in their car and I was forced to stay behind with my mother, it made me want to join them even more. However, I was forced to try and live the life my mother's rules on how to be a porter young lady. I hated it, to be honest, having to wear dresses and being stuck to not get my knees dirty or my nails short from biting them. Though that never stopped me when I played with my friends in school, running my dresses to be filthy with grass stains and skinned knees. To me, I would rather play with the children than try to be some kind of porcelain doll my mother wanted me to be.

I always melted more to my father, who was kinder to me when it came to discipline. He was young in my eyes, picking me up from school on his way home from work and then having me sit on his shoulders as we walked on the sidewalk in the Pacific Northwest weather. I loved my father beyond words, beyond breath. He would play with me constantly, sing to me though he had no real singing voice, and didn't mind treating me like one of his sons when it came to banter and playfulness. It was my mother who wanted me to stay a girl when I was more prone to acting like a boy. She would scorn me when I would be caught in a fight once or twice in school, or if I would come home covered head to toe in mud from acting on a dare. Some part of me thought she hated me since I was not the daughter she wanted me to be. But my father never showed that to me, since he would hold me at night through my tears when my mother would yell at me earlier that day.

As I became a teenager, I was reluctant to hear my mother pleading with me to wear more dresses like the rest of the girls and act more like a young lady when my brothers were off to run amok. My family was safe throughout the depression, we had no stocks to work with since all of our wealth was both from my father's constant job flow and my mother's inheritance that she would use at the drop of a hate. She would try to buy me the best dresses, though I was more prone to regular plain dress compared to my friends who were struggling to get by with their own clothes. That was another thing that was hard for me: the friends I wanted to make were the ones I wasn't allowed to play with because of the lack of money that was behind their names. As I looked back on it now, it made me feel more foolish.

But I found a solstice with my father, who taught me how to shoot when I was fourteen years old with my brothers out in the condensed woods of Washington. They did not tell my mother, not at first. MY father claimed he didn't want to give his wife a heart attack, but I think she didn't want to see her only daughter shooting a gun and being trained to hunt. He thought fourteen was old enough in his eyes though he lean red himself when it was 7 years old from my grandfather. I loved those memories with my father, the Sundays when he would take me into the woods just the two of us. I would be able to wear slacks and shirts, pull my hair back instead of having it in constant curls that my mother would force upon me. We would shoot early in the morning for some game that was around the woods, then having a nice lunch near the abandoned creeks and small meadows. After the many hours in the woods with my father, I learned that I had a pretty good shot, a real good one. Hell, my father told me that I was getting rather good for someone my age, far too good. It made me proud, to think that I made my own father proud in how I could shoot a buck from so far away and see the small things that moved around me without moving my own head. It was a gift that I had, a true one, and I wished I held onto it. That's what I loved best about my father: he loved me as a daughter but treated me how I wanted to be treated. He never forced me to do something that I hated, he took what I liked and ran with it.

But it came to a screeching halt, because I had to grow up.

I had to be reluctant to wear my dresses and make up for my mother's sake, though it was making our own relationship with each other bitter and distant. She was trying to hard to have me be the daughter that she always wanted, yet I was the only who was struggling with earning her approval. I already had it from my father and all of my brother's, all of whom were already married and having happy marriages with their spouses. Did she want the same for me? During that time I couldn't see it, but now seeing it as a past memory, I knew that she was prepping for me marriage and getting me groomed to be the perfect bride and wife for whomever wanted to claim me. It sounded morbid and undignified, but that was my life as the daughter of a socialite.

There was another family that my mother was apparently talking to in order to set me up with their son, a high polished young man whom was handsome and beyond polite and kind. She dropped the bomb on me when I was 18 years old, after I graduated from high school and about to help my father with his job as office assistant. At that point I had the long strawberry blond hair, bright green eyes and a face that would resemble an angel, well, from what my mother told me. It felt morbid that she was going to set me up with a young man whom was two years older than me and looked more like a movie star then anything, though I would come to find out later in life that there was some finanical reasonings behind it. His name was Gerald, and he was one of the best bachelors in Seattle. He was everything that a young man should be when we met over dinner: kind, sophisticated with his family's old money written all over his face, charming, intelligent and resourceful, and had a bright future at his father's law firm. It should be a perfect thing for the both of us.

But it was more tainted in darkness, very tainted.

After we were engaged, from only 6 months of dating only each other. I barely knew anything about Gerald, which bothered me since he was kind enough to me in front of other people. Once the ring was on my finger, I saw a new side to him that was never surfaced when we were just dating. It started slowly, having me see him become less kind to me when we were out in public or talking together. I noticed he would stay out for long nights and not come back in the morning without telling me where he went and whom he went out with. I never raised the concern I had, I was never meant to. From all that my mother hammered in my head, she taught me to never answer to my him since he was going to be the provider of my future family and of my life.

I was torn between the two beliefs of my parents: my mother's need to be the perfect woman, and my father's brief on being bold with my own voice.

Gerald first showed abuse to me when I finally opened up to how I was feeling about the situation of him being out and about all night without telling me. I asked him where he went and he told me not to worry about it, clearly not seeing the look of anger on my own face when I countered back that he was a fool for not telling me. That's when he hit me, hard across the face and cheek to make it bruise and almost bleed. He made me swear not to even argue or disagree with him again and I was in pure shock. Was this what my marriage was going to be like, all my life? Was this worth getting my mother's approval when I was going to go through with their torture over and over again?

I told my mother nothing, but I saw Andrew one afternoon at his home on the other side of town in Seattle. He saw my bruised face, ushered me inside and I told him the whole story. As the eldest in the family, Andrew was out protector and our sense of peace. He tried to persuade me to talk to our mother and father to break the engagement, since my father was already not convinced enough that I was ready to be marriage at such a young age. I was afraid to mention it to them both, mostly my mother whom I was now fearing and was already planning the wedding without me knowing a single ounce of detail. But he pleaded me to, since Andrew saw the bruise on my face and was not happy with it at all. So I was give enough strength from my bother, the constant rock in my family whom supported me in my need to be free from the chains of my mother, to go and confront my fiancé.

That ended on such a tragedy, since that night when I confronted him about how he did hit me, he took it one more step too far when he then raped me that night.

Everything that I thought to be good for me in my life was shattered after he did that to me. In my mind, he robbed me of all that I thought was good and pure in the world. It was one button that was pushed too far and no longer having me really wish to be a part of this fabricade that my mother made for me. I was left in the room, battered and beaten to the point of covered in both bruises and the broken promises that I thought love was going to being me. It took me enough strength to call Andrew from the room, when Gerald already left the room and off to who knows where. Andrew picked me up and got me out of there without me having to argue with him. He drove me back to his home, not calling our parents when I pleaded him not to, and I was cleaned up there into the wee hours of the morning by my sister-in-law. She was so kind, not saying a word as she helped me into new clothes and as I cried the bitter tears of being broken and not longer whole.

Days came and went, though I never left my brother's house and my mother was worried since Gerald claimed that I went missing. There was mad chaos in the houses: his family standing behind Gerald and my brother fighting to defend me and the small amount of honor that I had left on my sleeve. My poor father, his heart broke and my mother had no idea what happened. Gerald never confessed, yet I was too scared to even tell her what happened and that he did it to me. So I never went home.

I ran.

But first, I had to think of a lie, and a good one to have my mother be stupid enough to take. Andrew helped me, along with Samuel and Ethan who found out through our eldest brother. We were convinced that Gerald was bad news, though our mother was not going to listen and she was fighting too hard to keep the both of us together in this happy image in her head. However, her children had a plan for me to find a way out.

We had an Uncle that lived in Colorado, my father's older brother named Jack. He was more of the outsider in our family, preferring to live in the woods himself since he had no real wanting of the taste of society and the upper middle class. But he was none the less a fantastic Uncle to play with and hear stories of hunting bears and mountains lions. I could see the sharp contrast in both my father and his older brother: my father chose the comfortable life and my uncle chose the life worth living. He was the mountain man in the family, living outside of Denver and near the mountains where he would hun all the time and get his own food from game out there. He was so opposite from how my life was: covered in mountains and earth with no trace of richness or snobbiness.

So I was sent there.

We told my parents that there was a school out here for me, University of Colorado that I wanted to attend to get myself a higher education. I have been wanting to go there for awhile since I got out of high school so I can pursue a degree, yet my mother chose my fate for me and it ended up with me being left battered and bruise with blood and the lost of my innocence. I also needed from fresh air from all that happened, and Colorado was the best thing for me at that point. So we convinced my mother that some time in nature with my Uncle, though he was unsophisticated according to her, was the right medicine for me to get myself back in order and then I can return home. My parents agreed, though my father was more heartbroken with the fact I was simply leaving him. I hugged him the tightest, yet I had no real need to look at my mother in the eye when she kissed me on the cheek and reminded me.

"I'll fix what happened. it can be fixed, and all will be well."

Like hell it would.

I ended up only my Uncle's doorstep a few days later, suitcase in hand and nothing else with him opening the door to see a battered Niece in front of him. His house was a log cabin, though it was rather large because of his own sum of money hunting game and selling the meat at the market place, so he took was living a bit of the high life within his own town thought he never showed it. He looked just like my father, but with the weathered look on his face and a beard, along with the same bright eyes that I inherited from my father. He was wearing his hunting gear, and he looked at me up and down with a hesitance there since I had a busted lip that was still healing, bruises on my arms and thighs that were not seen because of the dress, and small look of grimace on my face.

"We're hunting tonight, come on."

I stayed with him for the next 6 months, and our routine was just the same. Wake up, eat breakfast, hunt all day, break for lunch and come home for dinner, then sleep. He had a simple life, the mountain life as seeping under my skin as I traded my silk dresses for hunting jackets and pants along with boots. This was what I need,d to forget about the old life my mother tried to shove down my throat with a smile plastered on my face. I was now learning a new trade, a new kind of hunting with my Uncle. With my father, it was pure practice with the shooting of a gun, and I had to turn in my gun to satisfy my mother. But now, I had to learn how to shoot to survive. My Uncle was the best teacher at that, he learned how to fend for himself out in the woods plenty of times because this was the life he chose. He did the same for me, teaching me how to shoot and how to shoot from afar. This was my therapy, to take that pain that Gerald inflicted on me and transform it into something that I could control.

Though it scared me from men for the years on end.

I kept my mother and father satisfied in the letters I wrote, telling them that all was well in my world and I was doing just fine. But the nightmares of the rape were continuing to infect me in how I was living and how I was seeing others around me. I would flinch from simple touches, found myself becoming harder in my heart towards others who were reaching out to me. Was this all my fault, what happened to me with Gerald? It should be my fault because I was the woman whom opened her mouth and showed her colors when she was meant to be hidden behind a pretty face.

December of 1940, when we were experiencing a bitter cold December, my Uncle told me that he found another way for me not to go home to what happened to me. There were some recruiters in town that day for the army, which was a surprise to me when he dragged me to go with him into the market with our kill in the trunk of his car. We had a good amount of deer and bobcat to sell to the market, and when we pulled in, my Uncle pointed over to the small building across the street with the line of men there waiting to be sworn into the army. He explained to em that maybe I can find a place there, in the US army, that would be better than just shacking up with him and hiding from my real problems. I had to wonder why he would want me to leave him, he just replied that he thought I was ready enough to be on my own and make up my own mind.

Apparently my Uncle convinced one of the recruiters to come out to see me shoot in the woods with some targets set up around the area, and just to indulge him. Although the skinny little guy was skeptical to see a woman with a rifle strapped to her shoulder shoot at some targets, he was floored when I hit every target in so many seconds without blinking.

All were bullseyes.

He had to make a call, going back to his Headquarters in California and it felt my Uncle and I to wonder why he had to leave with such haste. But when he was gone, it made me really think of what I wanted to do with my life. Did I really want to go back and face my family and their precious daughter needing to be a wife? Did I want to stay in the mountains, away from anyone and everyone that was reminding me of the painful night and just hunt? To me, holding a gun in my hand was enough for remind me that I had control in what I wanted to do with my life. I decided to strip the old life that I was used to, what I was trained to do, and I was wanting to have more freedom at my fingertips and within my own mind. It didn't mattered that it was going to take years for me to heal from the rape.

But I wasn't going to go back. I would rather die than go back.

The recruiter came back, directly to our house to be precise, with highly ranked officer with him whom looked more stoic and restless in his own uniform when they were standing at the front door to our cabin. The recruiter explained to all to Officer Jacobs, whom was the head of a new division that was in the army for special soldiers that he was heading and training for the war at hand. He was there to ask me to join his Company, and his alone because females were not going to be allowed to join the regular army and marine ranks. He was looking to support and train females who were highly skilled in certain roles and tasks that were definitely needed in the war.

In short, he was looking for assassins.

It was a shocker to hear that he wanted me to be part of his assassin team of all females, because I could never picture myself as a assassin to begin with. He only explained that the skills we would be trained in were far more advanced than the typical soldier that was going to be trained, it was more behind the scene action and less being in the battle front. However, he still wanted to see me shoot and see what I could do. So, after once again setting up target for him and thinking that was clearly a waste of time. I took down all twenty targets within seconds and all of which were spread out around the woods behind my house. And once again, I shot every target right in the middle.

He recruited me on the spot.

So in 1941, after my Uncle reassuring me that he was going to tell my siblings and then alter my parents, when it was the right time, I was in Fort Benning with the other recruited females in our own Company that was under the Women's Army Auxiliary Corps. Captain Jacobs was our leader, and we were going to be trained into the specifics arts that we were given by God. Some of us were experts with decoding messages, others were good with the languages. We had hunters, spies, women who were good with knives and pistols, and women who were good with their hands with making guns and machines. We were a small troupe of warriors who were looking to find some kind of future. I didn't think I would find some kind of belonging there with those women when I stepped into my new living space with my one bag in hand and the look of confusion there written on my face. But they invited me in, for they too were seeking out their best selves.

The night, after meeting all of the girls there since there was only a handful of us, we were having out first meeting with Captain Jacobs in our bunker and he told us the bomb in the whole situation. This Company was never meant to come to up, this was merely an experiment with some of the Colonel's in the Army to see if they needed the extended amount of force need from us. It didn't feel right that we were just test subjects in this whole situation, but then again we were rejected from being in the basic general army jobs because we were women in the first place. So I looked around the room, seeing each face of every woman and how we were going to be going through this together with our new names given to us.

Jade was a 24 year old brunette from Nevada who was one the best pilots from her area. Ace was an expert in demolitions and explosions from the outskirts of Virginia, Spade was a Texas born spitfire who an experience gun shooter and slinger, Nova being a New York born expert driver and in transportation, Viper being the Asian American from Northern California with a knack of knives and hand to hand combat. The rest of us were good with guns, we knew how to fight with knives and with our heads. So it was safe to say that when we were listening to Captain Jacobs as his new soldiers, we were being briefed for something that was far bigger than we would ever imagine in our lives.

"You were handpicked to be a part of this Company, and I see true potential in all of you. I am here to train you in being the best assassins that the US army has ever seen, the best of the best. You will go beyond your call of duty and will power to help the United States to win this war by going behind enemy lines, aiding our soldiers out on the line if needed," Captain Jacobs told each of us, looking at all of us directly in the eye as I was drinking in the fact that I was here, in the army, and no longer living the life I was supposed to live. My mother and father are still in a free fall on where I was, my brothers were my support system thought they knew this was crazy, and I as no longer the sheepish girl my mother wanted me to be.

The next year we were training, and with that training came a friendship amongst the young women who were part of my company. We became close with the nights of stories of where we came from and who we were before we came to war. The one common denominator that I saw with all of us, what that we came to the war to find a new versions of ourselves that we never thought would exist. After the countless months of training in weapons, intense strategies in guerrilla war tactics and fighting skills, we were no longer privates or even sergeants because of the progress we were making. I was the training to be a sniper, one of the best ones in Fort Benning. I was no longer the little girl from Seattle from a rich life.

I was 1st Sergeant Kit, expert sniper in Wolf Company in the U.S. Army.