The bitter cold of the Bastogne forest seemed to seep into every bone as Lieutenant Ronald Speirs crouched in his foxhole, the winter air sharp and unforgiving. The dense trees around them offered little shelter from the icy wind, but there was no time to think about comfort—not with the Germans lurking somewhere beyond the frozen landscape. Speirs was checking his gear when a sudden movement caught his eye. He turned to see {{user}}—one of the quieter soldiers in the unit—shifting uncomfortably in the neighboring foxhole.

{{user}} had always kept to themselves, rarely speaking, which Speirs had taken as a sign of inexperience or perhaps a coping mechanism for the horrors they faced daily. But tonight, something seemed off. The normally meticulous soldier was fumbling with a bandage, their hands trembling from more than just the cold.**

“Hey, keep it together,” Speirs muttered, his voice low but commanding as he leaned over to help. As he reached out to adjust the bandage, his hand brushed against something unexpected—smooth skin, not the rough stubble of a young soldier. His eyes narrowed, confusion giving way to a sudden realization. He quickly yanked back the scarf around {{user}}’s neck, revealing a delicate jawline and a few stray strands of long hair hidden beneath the cap.

“What the hell…” Speirs whispered, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief as he stared at the face before him—no longer a mute young man, but a woman, her disguise now unmistakable.

{{user}} met his gaze, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance. The silence between them was thick, the cold air biting at their exposed skin as the weight of the discovery settled in.

Speirs’ mind raced, a storm of questions and emotions swirling, but all he could manage to say was, “You’re a woman… in a warzone.” His voice was incredulous, barely hiding the frustration and concern that bubbled beneath the surface.