So, I had to do a project about Unit 2 of my U.S. History class. The example projects were like "poster", "brochure", or "pamphlet" and those didn't sound interesting to me, so basically I wrote a whole ass story and used Anastasia and co. as characters. And also using the information I learned and also things I researched to do it. I mean, I think it's good. I dunno. You tell me.
No real warnings? I mean, someone dies, but that's about it, because it's a school project. Also, have fun learning while also reading.
Note: Some characters have different names or identities than usual, because I couldn't let my teacher know I was pretty much writing her a fanfic oneshot
Much Love, Krissy
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John Henry = John Laurens
Charlie Leech = Charles Lee
Hera = Hercules
Gilbert = Lafayette
August 3, 1914
The streets are bustling with people at this early time of morning, most of them on their way to work or school. Such can also be said for Nicolette Reama, who is on her way to her tailoring shop. Perhaps she doesn't need a job, as one of the daughters of the esteemed Charlotte Frossard, but she believes it keeps her humble and honest. It is the same reason that her sister moved to America. Other civilians call out and chat amongst themselves, maneuvering around one another. Nicolette lifts her skirt as she steps up onto the sidewalk in front of her shop. One of her employees is already standing outside the door, waiting for her. She smiles politely.
"Good morning, Hera," Nicolette says, pulling out a key and unlocking the door. The other woman smiles back at her.
"Good morning, Nicolette. Have you heard the news?" she asks. Nicolette enters her shop, turning on the lights and holding open the door for her friend.
"What news?" she asks, crossing the shop and going behind the counter. Hera follows her, leaning across the counter on her arms.
"About the Archduke Franz Ferdinand and the Austro-Hungarian Empire," she says. Nicolette looks up from her work and smiles slightly.
"Such is old news, my dear Hera," she teases, "but if you have new information, do not hesitate to share." Hera chuckles and nods.
"Well, I heard that he and his wife were killed by a Siberian nationalist, and now Austria-Hungary has declared war on Siberia. I also heard that Germany is supporting them, and Siberia is being supported by our Russian allies," she says. This is all relatively new information, some of it being things that Nicolette had heard, and others being things she hadn't. The war declaration had only happened earlier this week. Nicolette makes some marks on the order form on the counter before she looks up.
"Do you think we'll get involved?" she asks. Hera hums and shrugs.
"I was told that Germany has declared war on Russia. If Russia is getting involved, I wouldn't be surprised if we did," she says. Nicolette taps her pencil against the wood of the counter, thinking.
"And what about America?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. Hera scoffs and shakes her head.
"You know America. When was the last time they helped us with anything?" she asks. Nicolette sighs and nods.
"A valid point," she says. The bell above the door rings as it is open, and both women look toward it.
"Good morning, Laurel," they both chime in greeting. Laurel nods, but does not smile. She is holding a newspaper, and she hurries across the room to slap it on the counter. Nicolette eyes her with concern.
"Laurel, what's the matter?" she asks. Laurel points at a spot on the paper.
"Germany's declared war on us."
August 18, 1916
It has been just over a month since the Germans ceased their offensive on Verdun. There has been an influx of customers to Nicolette's shop since the beginning of the war, over a year ago. They have mostly been repairing uniforms for the soldiers.
"Nicolette, should I wash out this blood stain?" Hera asks from her workstation. Nicolette raises her head from her work, glancing first at Hera, then at the rack of clothes they still have left to fix, and then back at Hera.
"Make a pile and we'll wash the blood out if there's time," she says. Hera nods and sets the jacket aside, before moving on to the next one. Nicolette goes back to her work, carefully stitching up the worst of the holes. The bell rings as the door opens, and she lifts her head again. There are soldiers standing there, but not in our uniforms, nor our allies'. Nicolette's mind races over who they could possibly be. The uniform looks familiar. Hera shrieks, drawing the men's attention. All three whirl and aim their guns at her, and she cowers behind her workspace.
"Quiet!" one of them cries in German. Hera cries, and Nicolette quickly stands up. Hera doesn't understand German, nor speak it, but Nicolette does.
"Please, she doesn't speak German!" she says, also speaking German. The three men turn on her, guns aimed at her chest.
"Stay back and be quiet!" one of the Germans spits. Nicolette raises her hands in a surrendering motion and nods. She notices one of them has a tear in his uniform, and she can see a nasty gunshot wound through it. It looks infected.
"Just tell me what you want," she says slowly. One of the soldiers mutters something to the one beside him, and he nods. One of the Germans breaks off from the rest and goes to Hera's workstation, yanking her up by her arm and pushing her toward Nicolette. Nicolette stands in front of her, remaining calm.
"Your military retreated from here a month ago, meaning they either left you behind or you deserted. Tell me what you want," she says. The injured man sways, but rights himself and checks out the window. He looks to the clear leader of the trio, who then returns his focus to Nicolette.
"You are going to let us stay here," he says forcefully. Nicolette nods slightly, simply wanting to keep Hera safe. She's slowly formulating a plan, but it requires an opening to be executed.
"Hera, hand me some of the clothing, but keep it hidden," she whispers under her breath. She can't look to see if the other woman heard her, but Hera follows her instructions. The coat is made of a heavier material, which is perfect for Nicolette's plan.
"Get behind the counter when I move," she whispers again. Hera nods. As the trio's leader turns his head slightly to address the uninjured soldier, Nicolette jumps at him, throwing the coat over his head. She moves aside as his gun goes off, before grabbing the barrel and shoving it into his gut. She rips it from his hands as he stumbles backwards, and aims, firing at the uninjured soldier first before turning her aim on the injured one. He's barely able to hold the gun up at all, and she realizes that he's clearly weak, not to mention young. Soldiers on both sides are becoming increasingly younger over time as more and more men die. She's certain that if she had any brothers, they would be serving by now.
"Put the gun down," she says in firm German. The boy shakes his head, eyes flickering to his leader. Barely looking at him, Nicolette knocks the butt of the rifle against the man's head, and hears him hit the ground.
"Where did you learn to do that?" the boy asks. Nicolette smiles slightly, putting the gun down as she sees her own country's soldiers approaching from outside.
"My sister," she says. The boy looks over his shoulder and realizes that the soldiers are coming, and tries to run further into the shop like a frightened animal. Nicolette catches him, however, and struggles to hold onto him as French soldiers burst through the shop's door.
"Are there anymore?" one asks, taking the struggling boy from Nicolette's hold. The soldier glances at her curiously, and she shrugs.
"Perhaps they can be of use to your future offensives," she suggests. He gives her a strange look and turns away, while she shakes her head and returns to the counter, waving for Hera to stand up now that it's safe.
"Is it true? What you said?" she asks, both of them watching their troops collect the three German soldiers. Nicolette goes back to her work after a moment.
"About my sister?" Hera nods in confirmation. "Yes. She taught me everything I know."
April 12, 1917
Across the ocean, that very sister of Nicolette's is sitting at a table in the middle of a military boot camp, across from her best friend, John. He is the only one who knows that she's actually a woman, meanwhile the rest of the camp believes that she is a young man named Anthony Maer. They registered for the army together, wanting to protect each other during this already deadly war. And, of course, while women could now take on several jobs formerly only held by men, serving in the military was not one of them. Still, she felt a strong dedication to this country, despite being French herself. Ever since war broke out in France, she has been itching to go and help her home country and its allies. She, however, did not want to serve the traditional women's roles in the war. She refused to be a nurse with no medical training, or a cook for the men. Though she respected the women who did those jobs, she herself could do neither without feeling as if she would go mad. Of course, there were the Yeomen females, but she knew all too clearly that they would likely not see battle.
"You know there is a likely chance that one, or both, of us will die, don't you?" John asks, looking at the antsy young woman in front of him. She looks up at him, green eyes sparkling with untapped fire and a hunger for battle.
"My dear John," she says, dropping her voice lower in case of any prying ears, "if I cannot fight for my own country, then I will fight for the one which brought me in and allowed me opportunities I would not have had otherwise. And you cannot tell me that you wouldn't have fought anyway, even without me," she says. He sighs slightly and shakes his head.
"I hate that you're right so often," he says. She smirks confidently at him, before jumping up from the table and marching out of the tent. He follows her and they walk briskly to the commander's tent, ready to continue training. They've only been at it for about five days, enlisting the day after America had declared war on Germany.
"We should've joined the war much sooner than this," John mutters as they walk. Anastasia nods in agreement. The two agree on a lot of things, whether it be politics or what type of cake is best, which is why they're such good and close friends. They agree, for example, that women should be allowed to vote. John comes from a higher class family and has two sisters, and he knows from both them and Anastasia that women are just as intelligent as men, and should be able to speak their opinions and hold jobs. They also agree that Teddy Roosevelt had been a good president, and his reforms toward progressivism have made the country a better place. Both want to meet them before they die. Just as they're about to enter the commander's tent, a voice calls out.
"Maer!" They both pause and turn, Anastasia's face morphs into one of disgust. Charlie Leech was drafted into the service, unlike the two of them. He makes sure that everyone knows just how upset he is about the whole situation, and likes to pick at Anastasia because of her "feminine features." Again, he has no idea that she's actually a woman. She glares at him for a moment before trying to walk away, only to have him grab her arm and yank her back.
"Where are you off to, Maer? I just wanted to talk," he says. She shoves his hand off of her and crosses her arms instead, knowing John is watching from behind her.
"What do you want, Leech? I have more important things to do than listen to you ramble off about things you don't understand, or insult me," she says, voice dropping once again. Leech sneers at her and mirrors her stance.
"I know a lot more than you do, Maer," he says. She rolls her eyes.
"Define imperialism for me, then. Or, perhaps, explain to me what the purpose of the reforms were," she says. Leech's smugness drops, and he pulls in his shoulders, a sign of insecurity.
"Those things aren't important enough to know," he snaps. Anastasia chuckles slightly.
"Oh? Perhaps I should describe them for you before you make that assumption. You see, Leech, imperialism is a policy that suggests a country should extend its power over other countries, through either diplomatic or military force. This is relevant simply because it's exactly what Germany is trying to do, and the very reason we're joining France and their allies against it," she says, expression remaining mostly neutral, if not a little smug. Leech opens his mouth to speak again, but she holds up a finger.
"I'm not done," she says cooly, "you're a bit too young to have a family, aren't you, Leech? You aren't even married. Doesn't matter. Before the reforms, children had to work in factories to help support their families, and some were even forced to. Do you know how unsafe those factories were? Do you have any idea how many children died because of how unsafe they were, or because they were children and were being forced into difficult labor? Progessive reforms made these things impossible to do legally in our country, and they are the very reason why you won't have to worry about your son or daughter being shipped off to work and grow ill in a factory. And while you won't agree with these, because that's simply the type of man that you are, these reforms also have allowed women to become more independent as individuals instead of relying on her husband. Soon, I promise you, you'll be begging a woman for a job and you'll finally be faced with the karma you deserve." Leech's jaw has nearly hit the ground by the time she finishes, but he quickly snaps it shut.
"Careful, Leech, Maer is known to have a witty silver tongue," John says, almost sounding taunting. Anastasia smirks, and her eyes silently challenge Leech to try again. Or, better yet, throw a punch at her. She'll knock him straight on the ground.
"Maer!" She snaps to attention and turns to face her commanding officer as he exits his tent. The forming group does the same.
"Sir?" she responds. He looks her up and down for a moment, then at Leech, and back at her again.
"You aren't taking part in another fight with Leech, are you?" he asks suspiciously. Perhaps that's a more common occurrence than she'd like to admit.
"Only a verbal debate, sir. Nothing physical of any sort," she says, almost sounding sweet. Innocent even. There it is again. Silver tongued Anastasia.
"Come with me then. You too, Henry," he says, waving a hand at John. They both give sharp nods and follow him, though not before Anastasia sends a smug look over her shoulder at the fuming Leech. That is certainly a sight she will never tire of.
July 15, 1918
Finally, Anastasia Reama was on the front lines of battle, adrenaline coursing through her. It would be known as the Second Battle of Marne, and she is one of the 85,000 American troops fighting alongside their French brethren. It is the second day of this battle, and they have been neatly pushing the Germans back since yesterday. This, Anastasia believes, will be the turning point of the war. This battle will ensure the Allies' win. Her ears ring and her uniform is stained with blood, but she has no care. She is serving in their war, and in turn, she is serving her country. That is all that she has ever wanted. Her thoughts are not with Nicolette, who sits idle hundreds of miles away, unaware of her sister's battles. A bullet grazes her arm, and at some point her forehead was hit hard enough that it has started bleeding, but she continues to fire her gun at the German troops opposite her. One of her arms is grabbed and she's pulled behind the nearest object of cover, stumbling to her knees. John crouches beside her, tentatively touching her face and arms. She winces slightly as he touches her forehead, and allows her back to fall back against the rock they've found to crouch behind.
"You're being reckless out there, Ana," John hisses, concern clear in his dark eyes. She chuckles and pats his shoulder.
"Ridiculous. You're the reckless one, my dear John," she says. He peeks his head over the top of the rock and fires his gun, before dropping again and giving her a look.
"This isn't funny, Ana," he says. She smiles at him.
"I never said it was," she says. Even so, her free hand falls to around her neck, and she touches the chain hanging there, beneath her uniform. After a moment of consideration, she pulls the chain over her head and holds it tightly in her palm.
"You're right, and that's why I'm trusting you to stay alive," she says. He looks at her, then at the chain clutched in her hand. It's a simple locket, simply holding a picture of herself and Nicolette. She's been wearing it every day since she arrived in America five years ago. She waves her hand at him, and he leans closer to her. She chuckles again and grabs his arm, shoving his hand toward her. She presses the locket into his hand and closes his fingers around it.
"If my recklessness kills me, I need you to go and find Nicolette, and let her know that I love her. Tell her what I did," she says, before smiling slightly and adding, "though, maybe not this part." He gapes at her for a moment, before nodding.
"I promise, Anastasia, but that doesn't mean you get to keep being reckless," he says, tucking the locket safely into his pocket. She collects her gun and adjusts her stance, before her cocky smile comes back.
"No promises, unfortunately, love," she says. She winks before jumping up and dashing back onto the battlefield with her French and American brothers. She doesn't want to die. She wants to live and see her sister again, and to meet Nicolette's family, and John's future family. However, she sees no plans for herself. If she is to die, she will do so on her own terms. She leaps over the bodies of fallen comrades and foes, ducking and fighting through the battlefield. She fights for America, and for France. For her home, and for her people. Despite their differences, she finds herself saving Leech's life with a perfect shot toward the enemy, and she sends him a final smug look before pain erupts in her side, and she realizes she's been shot. The pain burns and stings, but she grits her teeth and continues to fight. Another German soldier drops, and then another. She fights until her body refuses to let her, and runs until her legs refuse to carry her. Then she falls, collapsing among the rest of the casualties. She can ever so faintly hear her name being called. Not her soldier's name, but her real one.
"Anastasia!" John cries, his voice muffled by either her own brain or the sounds of battle. She can't quite tell which it is. Her friend drops down beside her, desperately trying to keep her alive. She smiles up at him and lifts her hand, pressing it against the pocket where her locket sits safely. For America, a soldier named Anthony Maer is a nearly faceless soldier among the massive casualties at the Second Battle of Marne. John Henry, however, can only watch as his best friend dies on the battlefield in his arms.
November 4, 1918
Hera, Laurel, and Nicolette gather around the single newspaper held between them, looking over the headlines on the war.
"If we've reached an armistice with Austria-Hungary, how long do you think it will take for Germany to follow?" Hera asks. Nicolette glances at her, before Laurel nudges Nicolette's side.
"I'll bet you twenty Euro they don't last a week," she says. Nicolette smiles slightly and shrugs.
"They were beaten quite brutally in Marne's second battle," she says. At last, America had fulfilled their promise and come to aid the war. The day she'd heard, she had felt relief. She'd even heard America had women as soldiers. Perhaps not on the battlefield, but it was a step in the right direction. She could only imagine that her sister had taken full advantage of the opportunity. Nicolette looks up, seeing the reaction of others reading the news. Children bounce around their mother's skirts, excited for the imminent return of their fathers and brothers. Hera seems to realize that her husband will be coming home soon. Gilbert has been off fighting in the war for the past few years. It's been forever since she has seen him.
"Maybe when the war is over, Anastasia will come home," Laurel suggests, pulling both of the other women from their thoughts and observations. Nicolette pauses for a moment, before she feels hope grow within her.
"Yes, I think she will. I think she'll come home and have some great war story to tell us," she agrees, smiling. Hera grabs onto her arm, nodding.
"And perhaps Gilbert will as well! We all have someone we are waiting for, don't we?" she asks. The other two nod. Laurel is waiting for her brother and father to come home. Hera for her husband. Nicolette for her sister. A large percentage of France's male population between the ages of 15 and 49 had gone off to war. Most children were left without fathers, and women were left without their husbands. Everyone is ready for the war to be over, and to have their families and friends return. Laurel sighs and steps away from her friends.
"I need to be off to work," she says, gesturing in another direction. She's been working with several other women as a telephone operator. Jobs like this have been helping to aid in the war in a much more present way, as opposed to Hera and Nicolette's uniform repairs. Laurel and the other women communicate with women across the sea in America, who she says speak fluent French. In the beginning, she had told them about the men speaking broken French to her and struggling to understand when she spoke. They wave her goodbye before Nicolette turns away and leads the way to her shop.
"America is becoming quite progressive, wouldn't you say?" Hera asks, catching up to her. Nicolette nods and smiles slightly.
"If I'm not mistaken, I have a good feeling that it will become much more progressive in the years to come. Perhaps my sister will be allowed to vote in their presidential elections," she says. Hera chuckles.
"One can hope and dream, I suppose."
November 14, 1918
The war ended all of three days ago, and the celebrations are still happening in the streets. Several men returned and reunited with their families in the streets. Hera had found Gilbert in the streets, and they had collapsed to the ground, crying in each other's arms out of pure joy and relief. They knew that millions of soldiers and civilians had died or been injured. 9 million soldiers, and some 10 million civilians. It was, at this time, the most deadly war in history. The French countryside and several cities were destroyed, and the same could be said about Germany. Nicolette and Laurel are standing on the front porch of Nicolette's home, listening to the celebrations and joy in the streets.
"Do you really think the war was necessary? Can any of it be justified?" Laurel asks suddenly. Nicolette stares at the streets for a moment, before humming and closing her eyes.
"I believe that diplomacy and peaceful relations are the first step, and the most important thing. However, sometimes people will not accept diplomacy, and they will seek only to destroy and conquer. Many governments still have that imperialist mindset, and they feel the need to hold power over others. It can't always be avoidable, and sometimes it becomes necessary to stop worse from happening. I justify war to myself by thinking about how more death could come if nothing is done. If others do not intervene, then how many more will lose their lives?" Laurel is silent for a moment, looking at Nicolette in a sort of awe.
"I'd never thought of it that way," she says after a moment, looking away. Nicolette opens her eyes and smiles at her.
"Most don't. They think of the death and destruction caused by war, and don't take into account the fact that millions more could die if nothing is done, and no war is had," she says. She says this without knowing about the future. She knows nothing of the second world war, and the Holocaust. She has seen only one war, but will live to see another. A throat clears, and both women turn. There is an American soldier standing at the bottom of the porch steps.
"Is one of you Nicolette Reama?" he asks in shockingly perfect French. Nicolette glances and Laurel, who returns the glance, before she looks back at the man.
"I am," she responds, walking down the steps to meet him. He swallows, before removing his hat and taking something out of his coat pocket.
"My name is John Henry. I was best friends with your sister, Anastasia, and served beside her during the war," he says. Her breath catches, and she begins to immediately look around for any sign of her sister, excitement filling her body.
"Nicolette," she looks at the soldier, John, "she...Anastasia died in battle. She asked me to tell you that she loved you, and wanted me to bring you this." John holds out his hand and opens it, Anastasia's locket sitting upon his palm innocently. Nicolette goes rigid and starts at John for several long seconds, before her gaze drops to the locket in his palm.
"She's...She's dead?" she asks, her voice breaking. John nods grimly, looking like the statement hurts him as well. Nicolette shakes her head.
"No. No, she can't be dead," she says. John shakes his head, blinking back tears. Nicolette takes the locket from his hand with shaking ones, and looks it over. Sure enough, it's her sister's. She holds it against her chest and lets out a small cry as she collapses to her knees. John tries to stand up and remain strong, but soon he is on his knees too, crying with her. They have lost someone dear to them, just as many in the war have.
Perhaps war is necessary, but it does not make it any less painful to endure.
I'll let you know what I get on the project!
UPDATE: I got 100% on it!