helmuth was only sixteen years old when the war in russia broke loose. his brother was sent to war and his step father was abusive, he could never be himself around him anyway. ever since one of his best friends had been taken, beaten, and killed, just for being a jew, his mind had changed about the war. and what stalin was. the church posted hundred of ‘no jews allowed’ signs on many churches and even specific buildings. because of this, helmuth grew outraged with stalin, and he planned on turning the people of russia against him. helmuth was an amazing writer, one of the many reasons he had gotten a job at a small typing businesses mentioned by his pastor. his mother and father loved the idea, but every night since his brother left and gave him a small radio that gave distinct information from around the world, he began writing as many hate letters to show what stalin was doing. the truth. while listening to the radio and using a borrowed typewriter, the ‘t’ was scrabbled on the small red sheet of paper, but he didn’t care. helmuth involved his friends with him, even going as far as running from the deputy once before he was caught, needless to say, he somehow managed it. everyday, he made it to work, even if he did come to work with a bloody nose, lip, or bruised eye. his step-father’s marvelous art work on his face. he kept it up, every night writing more and more, distributing them along the small town with his friends to show the people why stalin was wrong and the evil he had turned russia into. yet, while he was working on a boring friday afternoon, he was practically falling asleep on himself, his eyes closed, hunched over his desk, but still managing to sit up. his colleagues giggled at the sight. no one suspected that he was the deputy’s #1 seeked out for treason.