You are so lucky, you will get to meet Max Wünsche, Hitler’s bodyguard and the Leibstandarte’s most handsome tank commander. You are so excited. Many times you have looked at the photos you cut out of the German newspapers, where he smiles so wide. You had wondered how tall he actually is and what his voice sounds like and what he would smell like when he leans in to kiss you.

You put on the outfit you have picked out just for this day and pored over so often. A purple dress resembling a dirndl, as short as common decency allows, a pair of black heels that make your legs look so shapely and a cute little jacket that draws all the attention to your neck.

You regret your choice of clothing in the unheated army truck that brings you to the front. You are freezing. You never knew Russia was this cold. But the night is clear, the stars shine bright and you think of how romantic it would be to kiss Max under the star-spattered sky and a full moon.

You forget all about the awful car ride when you make it to a little Russian village that is still smoldering from today’s battle. There are German soldiers everywhere singing, drinking, celebrating but you have only eyes for Max. He is easy to spot surrounded by his men, towering above them and sucking up their admiration. He is so much more handsome than on the photos and he sounds just like you had imagined. When he looks at you and smiles, teeth flashing, you get weak in the knees. He asks about where you come from and what you are doing in this awful place and all the while he looks down at you as if he wants to eat you. You would not mind at all if he did.

You can’t believe your luck when Max leads you away from the other men into the quiet dark of the village. He doesn’t put his arm around your shoulder as you had imagined it, but you are happy anyway that you are so close and so alone with him.

Away from the camp fires you are cold again and you regret not having brought a coat, but you wouldn’t be here now with Max if you had wrapped up your cute body, would you? You tell him, shivering and giggling, that you hadn’t thought Russia was so cold. You hope he will get the hint and give you his jacket, like men that look like him do in the movies.

Max instead points at a nearby tank and says that this is his Tiger – the way he says ‘Tiger’ makes you want to meow – and that it is still quite warm in there from the heat of the engine. He suggests the two of you get in the tank. The thought is exciting, seeing a tank from the inside and not just any tank but his tank and he will be in there with you too. It feels like he invited you in his home, you just have to make it to the bedroom. Shaking with excitement you can barely walk on the frozen ground. The heels make matters worse. Max notices and extends his hand. You hold on to it feeling like butterflies in your stomach, but it’s so many of them, it makes you queasy too.

With Max’s help you walk safely to the tank. You don’t know anything about tanks, but you know it’s his tank and therefore it’s absolutely magnificent and suddenly not boring at all. You don’t have much time to look at it. Max grabs you by the waist, his hands almost closing around it. He is so much bigger than you. The touch is electrifying and you squeak in surprise. He chuckles, lifts you up and puts you up on the tank. He follows you up onto the tank and while you are still thinking about the way his hands felt on your body he opens the tank’s hatch and motions you to get in.

It’s light enough from the moon and distant fires to see outside but the opening to the tank is a black hole. Looking at it those nervous butterflies return. “I’m right behind you,” Max says and winks and you could melt. You climb into the tank, sit on the commander chair – his chair –  and look around. It is not as dark as it seems from the outside, rays of light shine in through narrow slits. You are amazed there is so little room in such a big vehicle. There are two other chairs and then a lot of things you don’t understand, metal bits stick out everywhere, and the ceiling is so low. But it is warm and you think you don’t need much space to sit on Max’s lap anyway.

You get out of the way and Max follows you inside. You can’t see his face, you wish you could. He crawls closer and into a ray of moonlight. He looks so charming. He can’t see you blush, but you think he must hear the frantic beating of your heart and he must know why you are pressing your legs together when leans in closer, so close you can feel his breath on your cheek.

There is movement outside. Your hear footsteps and whispers and then much louder the metallic sound of boots on the tank, walking over your head. Someone comes climbing down the hatch. You look at Max with wide eyes and raise to say something, not knowing what. He silences you by putting his index finger over your mouth with a sharp ‘psst’. You don’t understand what’s going on, but you obey, you trust Max.

Another man comes down the hatch and another. It is getting very crowded. They are all around you now, you don’t know how many. Maybe four, five or six. Wool, hair and skin appear and disappear in the rays of moonlight. They act so strange, silent and shrouded in rustling darkness.

Max still smiles wide when he covers your mouth with one hand and with his other grabs you by the hip. He pulls you around to sit on his knees like a little child. This is their signal. Suddenly they all crawl towards you. They smell like alcohol and sweat. Their silence is broken and they speak with low voices, much too fast for you to understand. You feel their fingers on you, rough and dirty, tracing the outline of your body through your dress. You understand now and you scream but the sound is muffled by Max’s hand. You try to get up, but Max holds you firmly in his lap. You punch and kick but your body is weak and they have many hands. Your panties are pulled down. You are grabbed by the ankles and your legs are spread. Max’s trousers feel rough on your bare bottom. You try to focus on that feeling and on how broad and strong his chest feels in your back. His breathing is shallow and rapid. When you twist your head you can see his face out of the corner of your eyes. The sharp line of his jaw and a wide grin like he wants to eat someone but it’s not you. He never does look at you, no matter how much you cry and scream into his hand and that hurts even worse than when the men rape you. It hurts that he only looks at them when they fuck you, like you are just a piece of meat stuffed between them. And it hurts that he doesn’t fuck you, doesn’t mock you or spit at you either, just leaves you used and discarded.