Okehampton, England, 30th May 1940

The engine lets out a shudder as she levels the plane off. Squinting through the gunsight, Elsa lines the green speck between the crosshairs, before pulling the trigger, right as the enemy disappears behind a cloud.

"Scheiße-"

Yanking hard on the stick, she banks until the Spitfire comes into view. The maneuver puts a head-numbing pain between her eyes, but it's not enough. In a split-second, the little green speck vanishes from her sight again. A trickle of sweat soaks the collar of her khaki uniform as she swivels her head, daring the other bird to come out and face her. Static bursts into her ears.

"Geh, geh! Er ist hinter dir!" (Go, go! He is behind you!)

The pitter-patter of gunfire raises goosebumps on her skin as she jams her fist on the throttle and stick together. Bullets rip through her airframe, before the cockpit shatters, sending glass flying into her face, and wind into her eyes. Blood rushes out of her head before flooding back behind her eyeballs as she pulls up hard.

"Hans, Hans!" Elsa screams into the radio, "Wo bist du?" (Where are you?)

A plume of black smoke streaking across the sky answers Elsa's frantic question. From this distance, she watches wide-eyed as the swastika emblazoned on his tail fin catches fire, before exploding into a shower of light and metal. Gritting her teeth, Elsa winces as a tracer streaks through her cockpit; so close she could smell magnesium in the air.

"Nein-"

A rattle pierces through her eardrums, too loud for comfort. Even with the wind billowing around her, Elsa chokes as clouds of smoke envelop her lungs. She jams on the stick one more time, praying for it to save her.

The breath catches in her lungs as nothing happens at all.

She turns just in time to watch her right wing get torn off by bullets, before the propeller disintegrates into shrapnel. Her gloved fingers close around the straps long enough for the plane's engine to give one last mighty heave, before going silent. She fumbles with the straps as spinning overwhelms her senses. She doesn't even notice the vertigo flooding her brain until her limbs begin flailing in free fall.

I'm...falling.

The wreckage floats away in shards of red and green; at least a mile from her by the time Elsa comes to her senses. Instinct sends her hand yanking on the cord - she's never done this before, and the parachute harness rips the breath from her lungs as it goes taut. Looking up, she spots the two Spitfires heading back north, having done their part to keep the Luftwaffe away for a day. The helmet had been torn from her head by the force of her egress, and she watches heart-in-throat, at the green expanse of southwestern England beneath her dangling feet, inching towards her like a dragon looking to devour her whole.

Elsa's skin bristles with a billion thoughts of what the British would do to an enemy pilot. Let alone an enemy female pilot. All of a sudden, she realises that she had plenty of options to end it all: blowing her brains out mid-air with that Luger in her jacket, or biting on the cyanide Herr Göring gave her, or she could just pull the release catch on her chute and wait for death. Stuck in the limbo between deciding which way to die - she doesn't realise until a tree branch grazes her foot; it's too late.

She hears the hounds barking even before she's hit the ground.

"Dere e' is lads! By the trees!"

The light starts to fade from the sky. She turns to see specks of light descending the knoll towards her. Didn't the last guy who went down near an English village get gutted like a fish? Common Englishmen are savages who can't rein in their instincts.

Bracing a foot against the tree, Elsa hurls herself from her cover as the shouting intensifies.

"He's hurt!" the shouting continues, "Get im'!"

At their words, Elsa gasps at the pain rippling through her leg. She clutches her thigh, only for her hands to slip away in cold mess of blood and sweat. Heaving from the exertion, panic grips Elsa as a bullet streaks inches from her head. Stumbling through the woods, her foot catches in a branch and hurls her through the damp leaves.

The sight of mud on her hands sends her scrambling to her feet. Within seconds, a river comes into view. Another bullet splashes the surface, shattering its radiant vermilion hue. Stretching her eyes to the horizon, Elsa grits her teeth as she tries to forget the words of her parents.

Sticking a foot into the water, Elsa bites down on her lip as it comes away with ice. Another step, and the hard icy surface crackles with life. Looking over her shoulder, she clutches the jacket to her chest as she flees across the river. Despite the blood leaking from her leg, it takes Elsa less than a minute to clear the icy surface. Thin ice, light enough for her, proves to be too much for her pursuers. They holler in anguish as it gives way beneath them, sending both men and beasts thrashing about in the icy waters.

The burst of adrenaline from earlier proves short-lived. With her head spinning, Elsa collapses on the river bank. In the corner of her eye, she notices a figure approaching, holding a lantern. Too large to be a child, too small for a man. The thought of being butchered alive crosses her mind, but try as she may, no strength comes to her limbs. With her last ounce of strength, Elsa clutches at the Iron Cross around her neck, before ripping it off and sticking it in her pocket. As her eyes flutter shut, Elsa smiles as something soft and gentle caresses her face, so warm and unlike anything she'd felt today.

The warmth eludes her and darkness takes over.

The radiant warmth resumes as soon as Elsa stirs awake. She shifts about, wincing at the prickly hay beneath her.

"Don't move-"

Elsa looks at the source of the voice, and warmth. A girl, no older than herself, crouches beside a fire. Elsa's eyes widen at the shotgun perched on her hip.

"You owe me some explanations," the red-headed girl continues, "why those men were pursuing you, how you froze the river over, what you're doing out here in the country."

The pain in her leg had gone, replaced by crude bandages. It must've been just a graze. Feigning injury, Elsa touches a hand to her jacket and lets out a sharp whine. Her heart contracts as the shape of a gun presses back against her palm. The girl didn't even bother to search her.

"Answer me!" she snarls, waving the shotgun around like it meant something, "you're not...German, are you?"

"What, no!" Elsa answers, before realising her accent would give her away in an instant. She pauses, and tries to remember the last English she heard on television, probably something Chamberlain said.

"That's preposterous!" Elsa mutters.

"And that tells me nothing about how you got here."

"M-my parents died and left most of my fortune to my brother," Elsa answers, speaking slowly to avoid suspicion, "unfortunately, he got mixed up with some bad apples and fled. The men chasing me are looking for him-"

Elsa pauses as the girl lowers her gun.

"R..really?"

Unwilling to butcher anymore of the English language, Elsa nods. For a moment, the two girls stare at each other, fear and anxiety written into their faces.

"Well, what's your name?" She asks, setting the shotgun against a bale of hay, "I'm Anna."

"I'm...E..Elsa, nice to meet you," Elsa answers, shaking the girl's hand; caked in mud but warm like a summer breeze. Elsa's chest clenches as Anna lets go of her hand.

"Would you care for some tea, Elsa?"

"No, I really should be going, I don't want to impose-"

"Oh bollocks, no one comes here and leaves without tea," Anna mutters, before getting up.

Elsa watches the girl's slender form saunter out the barn door. She left the shotgun unattended on the hay, and it blew Elsa's mind how anyone could be so trusting. In Germany, no one trusted each other with the time of the day, and children routinely sold their parents out to the Gestapo.

Before long, Anna returns with a mug of tea. Accustomed to rich, dark Luftwaffe ration coffee, the tea tastes like drainwater to Elsa, but she smiles and thanks the girl for her kindness. Amidst the barn's stench of cow manure, Elsa sips her drainwater tea, and tries not to think about how hard Anna's staring at her.

"You're kind of pretty, aren't you?" Anna whispers, staring into Elsa's eyes, "too pretty for this part of the world."

"What?" Elsa whispers, as warmth floods her face, "I'm uh, pretty? Thank you. I mean, you're pretty too?"

"Not as much as you."

As Elsa's eyes adjust to the dimness of the barn, she takes in Anna's rough, freckled features. The girl's hair had been tied into pigtails, and there was a strength in her figure that betrayed a life which knew only work. Elsa casts a glance at the shape of Anna's bosom hidden beneath the plain, blue dress, and her throat clenches.

"What're you looking at?" Anna snaps, sending Elsa's gaze to the straw-covered floor. From the corner of her eyes, Elsa notices Anna smirking.

"Nothing."

Anna pauses, before asking, "And why do you talk like that?"

Ice forms on Elsa's boot heels.

"Like what?"

"The way you talk," Anna points out, "you're obviously not English."

Elsa swallows. Cold spreads through her clenched hands.

"I'm...I'm Dutch," Elsa lies.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Anna says, "how did you manage to get out?"

"Last flight out," Elsa mutters, looking over Anna's shoulder, "it wasn't easy."

"Is it...is it bad in Holland, right now?"

"Yes, especially in Rotterdam," Elsa whispers, recounting the burnt bodies lining the street on her second flight past. She should know; she caused it.

Lost in her memories, she doesn't notice Anna shifting to her side, and cradling her head on her lap. The sheer comfort of such a gesture takes her by surprise.

"You're too nice to me," Elsa mutters, daring to put a hand on her thigh, "what did I ever do to deserve your kindness?"

"What did I ever do to deserve a beautiful stranger falling into my arms?"

Elsa looks into Anna's eyes, looking for the slightest trace of deceit or manipulation. Of course there's none - the girl was pure, innocent; the daughter of farmers. Elsa herself, was the liar, the aggressor, the villainous sky-pirate who flew in on the winds and shot up their trains. The thought brings a tear to Elsa's eyes.

"Does it still hurt?" Anna asks.

"No, I think I got lucky today."

"Can you walk? We should probably get you out of the cold."

"The cold never bothered me anyway," Elsa answers, wanting nothing more than to be in this girl's arms forever, "and I think I can give walking a try."

Pain burns through Elsa's shin when she stands, but she grits her teeth and allows Anna to help her hobble to the farmhouse. No one's around when she limps in, and the pain subsides enough for her to walk to Anna's bathroom unassisted. A plain enamel bathtub confronts Elsa as Anna leaves to draw bathwater.

No running water.

An ugly gash greets Elsa when she unties the bandages, and it stings like hell when she lowers it into a basin of ice-cold water Anna had set out for her. She picks up the thin sliver of soap, barely thicker than a communion wafer, and baths quickly - unsure if the men from earlier are really setting the house on fire as she washes herself. When she's done, Elsa wraps herself in a frayed bath towel and emerges to see Anna sitting on the bed, with rolls of gauze next to her. Her pigtails had been undone, and the girl's hair fell across her shoulders like sheets of copper.

"I'll change your bandages."

Elsa allows her bruised body to sink into the softness of Anna's bed as the girl bandages her wounds. It hurts, no doubt; but the pain pales to the pleasure of having Anna's fingertips dancing across her naked shin. Her scent was everywhere, and it pained Elsa not to turn and bury her face into Anna's pillow. The thought sends her fingers gripping the sheets.

"I'm not hurting you too much, am I?"

"No, you're not," Elsa replies, trembling when Anna looks up at her, "w-why're you so kind to me?"

A deft knot finishes the dressings, and she slides next to Elsa.

"I'm sure the world could use a bit more kindness, there hasn't been much going around lately."

It takes Elsa every ounce of strength to forget the words of hatred the Führer had burned into her brains, and to relish the moment that is right now - just this girl sitting in front of her, and how close she is to her. Ever since she was young, no one dared get too close to her - like she possessed some sort of hidden coldness the world could discern, even if they never knew for sure.

"You should get some rest," Elsa whispers, "I've been nothing but a burden to you."

"Don't say that," Anna answers, resting a palm on Elsa's uninjured thigh, "I kinda like this..caring for you."

Elsa looks away, desperate to avert herself from Anna's magnetic gaze. The girl tips Elsa's chin back towards her.

"I kinda like you too," Anna whispers.

A hand snakes around Elsa's waist, and her self-control vanishes. The taste of Anna's lips melts her like scorching fire. In a split-second, everything around her; the room, the war, her wounds, all evaporates into passion as she falls deeper into the kiss. It's like nothing she ever felt before - not the stolen moments with the Luftwaffe nurses or impassioned Hitlerjugend girls. It feels real, exhilarating, and it leaves Elsa wanting more when their lips part.

"I like you as well," Elsa whispers against her lips. Every muscle in her body quivers with an unseen energy, from her lips to her snow-white fists bunched around Anna's dress.

"Well, what should we do about it?" Anna says, nuzzling up against Elsa's bruised neck.

"I...I don't know," Elsa says, struggling to cope with the tidal wave of desire surging through her, "I'll probably be gone in the morning."

"And I don't care," Anna answers, as she slips in next to Elsa, "we'll just have to make tonight last, then."

The dying embers of a coal stove flicker in the dimness as both bodies melt into one another. Despite knowing her name for less than a day, Elsa finds herself muttering Anna, over and over again. The air around them is silent, save for their voices pleading, whimpering, and begging for more with such fervency it's impossible to tell one from the other.

"Hold me," Anna pleads, as she finishes for the last time, "please."

Glistening sweat coats Elsa's body when she's done, and her chest heaves from the exertion, but she obliges Anna's request - even it's the last thing she'd ever give her.

The bed next to Elsa is empty when she wakes up. A pang of longing strikes her, but she smiles at the girl's dress draped upon a chair from where it had been flung across the room last night.

"Anna?" Elsa calls out. She hears voices outside, and quickly dresses herself. Edging the door open, Elsa relaxes when she spots Anna talking to a middle-aged couple.

"There she is!" Anna points at her, "All the way from Holland, can you believe it? And she ended up right here on the farm-"

Elsa smiles, only to freeze in place when she notices the look on their faces. She's seen it hundreds of times, in the eyes of Jews as she walked past them in her Luftwaffe Uniform, or the faces of children in the occupied countries.

Fear.

With a sweep of an arm as thick as a tree-trunk, the man shoves Anna behind himself.

"Dutch, you say?" he says, his voice filling up the room. He extends an upturned palm, and the object glinting inside causes Elsa's blood to run cold.

Her Iron Cross.

"I think you dropped this."

The burnished swastika in the middle gleams in the morning light. Anna's eyes widen in curiosity at the tiny piece of metal, and then - betrayal. Elsa's heart is crushed when the girl shoots a hurtful look at her. Without a word, Anna turns and flees, wiping a tear from her face.

Pain strikes Elsa's heart cold as she watches the girl flinging open the door and running away from her. She's never felt this pain before, a crippling realization of how much she hurt someone who showed nothing but love towards her.

"Get out," the man snarls, reaching for a hunting rifle, "get the hell out of my house or I'll make you."

Before he finishes his sentence, Elsa takes off after Anna. The morning sun blinds her with its fury, but she makes out Anna's figure nearly a half-mile away. A cloud of dust appears in the distance, When it settles, a half-dozen trucks appear, painted in olive green and bristling with soldiers. The trucks veer off the dirt track and head directly towards Anna, it takes them less than a few seconds to corral her.

"No-" Elsa gasps, as a man disembarks and points a finger at Anna. She shakes her head at the furious Scottish accent barking out a demand, before other soldiers hop off their trucks and move towards Anna with rifles pointed at her.

"Nicht ihr, Dummkopfe!" (Not her, fools!) Elsa snarls, before running towards them. Anna's stuttering voice makes a fainthearted attempt at arguing back with him, before the Army Captain, nearly a foot taller than her, punches Anna hard in the face. Elsa's guilt from earlier evaporates into rage.

Elsa screams at the sight of three soldiers hooding her head and wrestling the hundred-pound girl onto the grassy lawn. They pick her up with ease and deposit her in the truck. The ground beneath Elsa's feet freezes as she screams at them to stop, and the normally mild english spring turns to winter. Before long, snow drifts around her, and a blizzard brews. A furious wind picks Elsa up and sends her hurtling forward, but all she can feel is the blistering rage creeping beneath her skin. The trucks are soon torn apart by the fury of Elsa's magic, and the wind sends her crashing headfirst into its shattered remains.

Winter falls in a mile-radius when Elsa emerges from the frozen carnage. The sight of bodies littered around her sends Elsa reeling with horror, but her heart leaps when she notices Anna emerging from the wreckage. She moves to help her, and it puts a knife in her heart to watch Anna recoling from her touch.

"I'm...I'm sorry," Elsa whispers. She snivels and looks away from the wind, but it does nothing to stop the tear sliding down her face, "I'm sorry for lying to you."

The snowfall settles. Anna looks at the sleet clumped between her feet.

"It doesn't make sense, you're supposed to hate us, but you saved me," Anna whispers, "and...and...last night, I've never been touched like that before."

"I don't want to hate anybody," Elsa stammers, wiping the ice flaking off her cheeks, "least of all someone as beautiful and perfect as you."

Anna turns, and Elsa's chest clenches when she sees her reddened eyes.

"Who are you?" Anna stutters, trying and failing to keep a tear from spilling down her cheek, "you're so foreign and strange, and yet it's like i've known you my entire life."

Snow drifts between the pair, studding Anna's red hair with flecks of white. They stare at each other, with a million words unsaid between them.

"I...I wish I knew you somewhere else, sometime else," Elsa whispers, as a snowflake perches itself on Anna's hair, "you look like someone I could fall in love with."

Anna stares at the fair lady before her, clothed in one of her own dresses. Everything about Elsa took her breath away, and yet - somehow, she's supposed to hate her. All that just because she was born in another country?

"I wish I knew you there and then, then."

Smoke emerges from over the hill. Behind Elsa, she hears Anna's parents shouting at her.

"You shouldn't stay here," Anna says, gritting her teeth as though the words pained her.

"I know I shouldn't, but I'll never see you again."

Anna looks at the snowy ground, "Where will you go?"

"To Ireland, or Spain, somewhere I can sit out the rest of this war."

"I pray you'll use what you have, to end it," Anna says.

"Perhaps," Elsa says, trying to dispel the frost around her, and failing, "perhaps I'll-"

"No," Anna answers, inhaling sharply, "hope is a curse. I don't want to go mad wishing you back."

"Goodbye, then," Elsa says, biting on her lip and looking for the wind that will wrench her away from Anna's side. She prays it comes quickly.

"Wait!" Anna cries, throwing herself into Elsa's arms, "Please...please write me, or something. I...I don't want you to just be a memory."

The fevered pitch and trembling in Anna's voice clenched at Elsa's chest. She chokes back a sob.

"I wish I could be with you, forever," Elsa whispers, cradling Anna's face, and pressing her lips to her.

The moment is all too brief, but as the numbing bliss of their union subsides, Anna feels a hard, metallic object pressed in her palm. By the time she opens her eyes, Anna grasps at the snow floating around her, helpless to stop Elsa's body from being carried away by the frozen wind.

The war rages on without consequence to Anna in her town of Okehampton. Military intelligence never found the downed pilot they were looking for, and the blown-up trucks were written off as bombed by returning Ju-88s. No one also questions why a quaint farmhouse in the middle of the English countryside would be receiving periodic correspondence from Buenos Aires, Argentina. Still, when Anna's friends notice the Iron Cross pinned to the side of her bedroom wall, they quiz her incessantly as to its origins.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," Anna says, shaking her head, "a German pilot crashed on the riverbank."

The other girls' eyes widen as Anna continues.

"I was out hunting with the dog when I saw him landing. He tried to escape the burning cockpit and I blew his brains out."

"God, that's intense, what happened next?"

"I took his medal before the Home Defense lads came and dismantled the plane."

"How did it feel killing the enemy?"

Anna clenches her fists around the hem of her dress.

"Breathtaking," Anna says, fighting back the tears, "but I died a little on the inside."