Summary

War is something that no one forgets.

Lynn Schäfer was sixteen years old (two, in 'realistic' viscet years) when she joined her nation's army. It had been her dream forever, to join the army, to fight for her country! There was only... one setback, however. Her nation's army was strictly male-only. To fight was something that was considered a man's job, something that a female was simply too weak to do. She knew this, of course. But that hadn't stopped her. She was fairly athletic, after all; she loved to run, and her physical strength wasn't that bad at all. She certainly deemed herself able to keep up with the males at the training academy. And so, she signed up, with a false name.
       "Frederic Schäfer", she wrote on the paper, and signed it just the same.
       It wasn't like anyone was going to dig too far into it; after all, why would a female want to sign up for the military, anyway? It wasn't glamorous. It was bloody, cruel and frightening. Obviously, no female would want to put herself through that. At least, that's what the general idea was. Secondly, the military was desperate for members. This was a war that had drawn on for ages, and there was seemingly no end in sight. The army wanted to create that end, and hopefully in their favor.
       It wasn't like she was the first; Lynn even knew of another who had done the same. It was a debilitating injury that sent that acquaintance out of the army; they never knew anything different.

The academy was two long years. Two years of hard work, and though it was difficult sometimes, she overcame it. All the while, she went by her new name. Frederic Schäfer. Frederic had been the name of her father, so she had chose it to be the name she carried on. And no one suspected a thing; she acted as much like a teenage boy as the next. She smiled a little to herself when she went to the beds at night, at exactly 21:30, at how cleverly she had tricked them.
       When she graduated from the academy, she held her head high. It hadn't been all that bad, though there had definitely been some rough spots. She was ready. In this time, between beginning her training and here, now, finishing it, she had made another decision. A decision that seemed to fit her so well. She liked being a boy. It felt so much more natural, more... real, and she felt better than she ever had before. So, she decided she would change. It would be a change for the better, and a completely personal, private one. No one would ever really know about Lynn, anymore.
       For he had been reborn, as a sort, to Frederic Flynn Schäfer. He was Lynn no longer.

He underestimated war. He truly, truly did. He'd heard stories, of course; everyone had heard stories. Stories of blood and bombs and broken bones and weapons and death and grief. But he didn't quite anticipate it to be this bad, and in a way, he regretted his decision. At the moment he thought these things, he regretted this decision even more. At the moment, he was terrified like he had never been before in his life. His back was pressed firmly against a dirt wall and his tail was wrapped around his shivering legs. One paw raised to wipe his forehead and, when he pulled it down, pale blue and white fur was stained red with blood. He'd been hit by a little shrapnel, but it wasn't terrible. He was better off than his squadmates; they were either dead or captured. In the case of one of the privates, who had always been a fearful little thing, MIA. He was the only one left, as far as he knew.
       He must have been sitting there for hours. It had been raining, causing the dirt around him to turn into mud. He coughed softly, not daring to be too loud; he didn't know if his enemies were around or not. He'd have to move, eventually. He had decided to wait until it was dark, so the enemy couldn't see him as well.
       The ones who couldn't see in the dark, at least.
       At midnight, he moved to crawl out of the ditch he'd been hiding in, peering over the edge. In the swaying, tan grass, he saw nothing. He flinched when light shone across the sky, and a moment later, thunder crackled after it. The rain seemed to pour harder and he swallowed. Finally, he began to move through the grass, down on all fours. He was too tired to walk on his hind legs and, besides, it would only do to make him taller and more visible.

When he heard whimpering over the rain, he froze in his tracks and whipped his head around, peering up over the grass to see who was there. His first thought was a dying combatant, but then logic kicked in; it had sounded young, and it was the soft cry of a viscling. Frederic's eyes narrowed and he did not move. He was uncertain.
       The enemy was cruel, and so were their tactics. They had one in particular that was specifically quite disgusting; they would leave civilians, weakened or paralyzed with fear, and young, as 'bait' of sorts. When someone from his side tried to help them, they would be ambushed by enemies lying in wait. As such, a habit of simply leaving them had become widespread. The enemies would never help them; they would just leave them to die.

But, then again, what did he have to lose? His squad was dead. He might as well be, lost out here in the field of no man's land. So he moved quietly forwards. Lightning flashed, and the scene was visible in front of him. A viscet, one about his size, stared at him with wide, fearful eyes, the whites glowing in the split second of light. Pure terror was written on his expression, and Frederic stopped for a moment, looking at him, before he spoke. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the rain.
       "I'm not going to hurt you."