This story is pure fiction, any similarities with actual persons and events are pure coincidence and unintentional, except the commonly known places and events. The story is written with humorous, sometimes sarcastic intention and should be considered that way. It is suitable for mature audience only. Title "little girl" indicates physical size of the main character, not her age (no pedophile intentions).

Story is placed in Germany, for the sole reason it's one of the biggest and most well-known European countries, which provides wider field for fiction, plus the author is more familiar with it than with France or Great Britain, for instance. Author took the liberty to add some remarks about things and events, which could be less known for non-European readers.

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used, reproduced or modified in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations and citations. The characters are intellectual property of the author as well.

It was an awfully hot Friday afternoon in August, when Nasty dropped her heavy-duty DocMartens boots on the floor of small office, slid out of her black jumpsuit and then took off two pairs of thick socks. She wiggled her toes with nails painted fluorescent green to get them some fresh air, then entered small shower cubicle.

"That summer's great, but my Leo is really hot," she smiled and changed herself into short summer dress with floral pattern, then slipped her tiny feet in yellow platform sandals which made her more than ten centimeters taller, and walked slowly off the barracks. She stopped at the parking for commissioned personnel and pulled a helmet and black leather jacket, covered with dozens of patches and badges, from the sidecar of dull grayish-green BMW motorbike, almost twice as old as she was. Few years ago army wanted to throw the ancient messenger's bike to the junkyard, but she bought it off for less than 100 DEM (1 German Mark – DEM = approx. 0.5 US$) and together with her cousin Frank, chief mechanic at BMW service in Munich, they managed to fix it as good as new.

She put the key in a starter, turned it twice and the engine answered her with steady, low roaring.

"See you tomorrow, Helmuth," she screamed to the on-duty officer at the entrance, closed down the visor on her helmet and turned the gas on. An old bike with a brave little girl soon disappeared between rolling foothills of Bavarian Alps. 

Nasty Baranowski was an extraordinary girl in all kinds. Twenty-two years ago she was born in small, ancient university town of Greifswald, near the Baltic coast of former East Germany. She was just finishing primary school when both Germanys triumphantly reunited. There was so many amazing new things she saw before only in old magazines smuggled from the West that young girls have to try and taste, so many euphoric parties and so on and soon she started to cut classes at her nurse's secondary school, rumbling from one underground club to another crazy party, staggering home at dawn and even later... Of course little party animal never finished her school. 

"I have to do something with my life," she decided on her eighteenth birthday and - she was a prospective sportswoman and a member of Eastern German gymnastics junior team couple of years ago - found her a job at freshly opened local fitness center as an aerobic teacher. And she was so full of energy that she continued her wild nightlife, being fresh as a flower when she appeared at the fitness center in the morning, nevertheless she'd slept only two hours before. 

Oh, what she looks like, you asked? She's a cute little girl at the very meaning, only 148 centimeters high, less than forty kilos weight, but her body without a track of fat is firm as an oak and sinewy from gymnastics trainings.

Her childish heart-shaped face with fair, silky skin is cutely dotted with light freckles on her cheek and her small upturned nose. Her wide pale blue eyes always look somehow absent-minded in the world around. Nasty barely remembers her hair was once upon a time brown in color, but she soon find how funny is to put silly colors on it and make ridiculous hairstyles. At the time we met her in barracks near Bad Reichenhall, southeast Bavaria, her head was adorned with two shoulder-long braids, the left one pink and the right one pale blue. As her mother's said with a concern, if her daughter won't die young – what seems to be quite possible – she'll stay a naughty teenager in her eighties, too.

And how she found herself at the other end of Germany? Three years ago Nasty went to famous Love parade rave party in Berlin where she met Simon, a nice hillbilly from Bavarian mountains. Simon was not a very tall guy, but fit and muscled as he was professional mountaineering guide, with long blond hair tied up in a ponytail. That spring, together with his two brothers, they opened an extreme sports agency in Berchtesgaden, southeastern corner of Bavaria near Austrian border, and the business already flourished.

Nasty just staggered in a chilling room at a big rave party, dressed in a short silver vinyl dress, with a cigarette in one hand and the beercan in the other. As this was definitely neither the first nor the fifth beercan she already consumed that evening, she stumbled on her sky-high platform sneakers and fell just into Simon's strong arms. 

"Be careful, young lady, it would be a shame to break your cute nose," smiled Simon.

"It's a shame to ruin a damn good beer," grinned Nasty and looked sadly at split beer at the floor. "Could you get me another one, hillbilly?"

"Why do you think I'm hillbilly?" asked Simon without a trace of anger.

"C'mon, your Bavarian accent, as taken from Forester lodge Falkenau serial (famous German soap opera, placed in present time in idyllic village in Bavarian mountains)," chuckled Nasty. "Go, Sweetie, and bring us some beer. You never heard before how dangerous dehydration is at rave parties, especially for such little girls like me?"

Few minutes later they were drinking a beer and chatting like old friends... And not just friends; after less than an hour their tongues introduced to each other and when the dawn gilt the angelic Statue of victory near Berlin's Brandenburg gate they finished a splendid sex in a park near Moltke's monument.

Few days later, when Love parade ended, Nasty decided to change something in her life: "I don't wanna spend a day more in that lousy fitness between sweat-stinking middle age secretaries and yuppie perverts offering to cheat their wives with me."

Actually, Nasty's decision was made already few weeks ago, when she went with a friend of her to an employment office. There she saw an advertisement of German army, the Bundeswehr, with picture of a tank driving in full speed in front of the sunset. Just that year Bundeswehr started to accept women into commissioned ranks... Nasty loved tanks as long as she remembered. They were in her blood. One of her grandfathers, Grandpa Gottlieb, was a famous tank commander during Second World War, but now he was just a quiet pensioner and only when he sipped a glass of beer or two, he left his memories their way out. She could listen his stories and anecdotes for hours. When the other girls dreamed about pop singers and movie stars, Nasty's reveries were full of knights in shining armor... and also other ones in smeary black jumpsuits, sitting behind several tons of dull gray or camouflage green armor.

Nasty and Simon found it's their destiny to belong each other. Nasty ever since calls Simon 'My sweet Hillbilly' and he calls her 'My sweet Chelsea', as she was wearing green Chelsea-hairstyle when they met at the rave. She decided to go with Simon in Bavaria and when she found there is a garrison in Bad Reichenhall, just 18 kilometers from Simon's house in Berchtesgaden, looking for new personnel, there was no force to stop her.

"You want to be - WHAT???" screamed Nasty's mother Christine, when she heard the decision of her indomitable younger daughter.

"A soldier," answered Nasty quietly, but boldly.

Her father glared at Grandpa Gottlieb: "It's your fault, dad, you spoiled her completely with your stupid stories!"

"Say something, Hans!" whimpered mother hysterically to her husband. "She's going to be a child-killer, she'll became a monster!"

"Isn't she already?" growled he. "You know there's no way to stop her, she's your daughter. But, look from the brighter side: army means order and discipline, two things she'd never known. Maybe she'll settle down a bit, it's better than end up as a junkie and to join some skinhead group."

"Daddy, skinheads are not junkies, they hate drugs," intervened Nasty's four years older sister Ulrike.

"Please, don't support her stupid decisions, Uli," begged mother.

"I will, because no one in this family ever tried to understand her. Or even wondered, what Nasty wants to do with her own life. All three of you were always full of reproaches about whoring, stoning and rambling, but were never prepared to listen to her. It's my duty and a matter of feministic pride to support my brave little sister," seriously replied Uli and demonstratively hugged a bit confused Nasty. "Sis, don't listen to them, they don't know a shit about emancipation. Join the army, that's a fuckin' good feministic idea! Real emancipation, believe me. And don't forget Smolensk; don't forget Prokhorovka, Kharkow, Grosswaltersdorf and Stettin(some (in)famous battles on Eastern front during Second world war; author's remark). Be as brave as we the Baranowski's always were!"

"Stop with that rubbish, Ulrike!" father lost control. "I won't allow any damn nazi-bullshit talking in my home!"

"I didn't mention any nazi," sizzled Uli. "Beside that, you are offending Grandpa. He commanded counter-attack at Grosswaltersdorf, did you forget?"

Nasty's sister Ulrike should be a shining star of Baranowski family. Although Nasty was cute and attractive babe, her elder sister was a real beauty goddess. Fifteen centimeters taller than Nasty, her body wasn't so muscular as her sister's, but gently womanly curved and rounded at all proper places. She had wide pale blue eyes as Nasty, and silky, shiny whitish blonde hair over the waist long. Beside physical beauty she was also very smart, skipping two years of law studies at University of Berlin, and few months before above described verbal fight she just finished post-graduate studies of international business and financial law, at age of twenty-three. At that time she was working at stock investment department of famous Dresdner Bank Group, the second largest bank in Germany. She had an incredible sixth sense for transactions and deals at the very edge of legality and she was making great revenue not only for her company but also for her own pocket... A daughter that every mother on Earth would dream of, with only one stain: she was hardened right-wing extremist. Unfortunately not first nor last one in Germany, and many people excused her unacceptable political opinions on the sake of her beauty, smartness and charm.

So Nasty joined the army... She went to a six-months training course, the one she passed with an ease, and than became second lieutenant in Bad Reichenhall's armored brigade. First they offered her position in administration or logistic, but she refused both offendedly, stating she's emancipated woman who can do her job as good as any man would. Finally an elderly brigade commander, colonel Streitmeyer, fulfilled her dreams - she became a commander of tank platoon in the third battalion...

Let's go back to Bavaria! Simon just landed with his tandem paraglide after taking a tour to a businessman from Salzburg when his mobile phone ringed. He was still fully occupied with tiding up the paraglide and releasing his clumsy costumer from belts, ropes and all that stuff, but the phone just kept ringing. He threw an eye to the display assuming it's Nasty.

"What's up, Chelsea?" cheered up Simon hearing the sweetest voice of his heart.

"Hillbilly, can you come with the big jeep to pick me up?" moaned Nasty. "I screwed a little with my motorbike."

"What happened?! Are you alright, darling?"

"I'm fine. One fucking asshole came with that disgusting Japanese pancake-like sports car, driving on my half. I slipped off the road," replied Nasty with her voice full of hate.

"Are you alright?" asked Simon frighteningly.

"Oh, I'll made it," groaned Nasty carelessly. "Motorbike is quite a mess. The sidecar is broken off, the front wheel is twisted into an eight, and the forks and headlight are broken... And my ankle, too."

"What?!" screamed Simon. "Didn't you say you are OK?!"

"It's not a big deal. First I didn't feel anything, but then it started and now it's swollen like watermelon. It hurts quite considerably," she stated sarcastically and, it seems to be, without a great concern.

"My poor Chelsea! I'm coming right now. Where you are?"

"About five kilometers from my barracks, hundred meters away cart-track is entering the main road, and there's a wooden crucifix standing nearby. I'm sitting in some stupid cornfield. Hurry up, otherwise I'll hitch-hike some harvester."

"It's not funny at all, Chelsea. I'll be there, I'm already in my Land cruiser." Simon turned on a big half truck, holding the phone on his ear with a shoulder, one hand on the steering wheel and the other at the gear lever. With all his anxiousness about Nasty he couldn't help not to laugh, thinking how his brave little girl finds a time for gallows humor in situation most other women would cry like a rainstorm.

He almost forgot something and asked quickly: "Chelsea, you still there?"

"No, I just went on a short trip to Königsberg, why?"

"Did you call an ambulance?"

"Why the hell should I? I am not dying and my hillbilly paramedic is right on the way, I assume."

Nasty was not only brave, she was also resistant to pain almost as heavy tank Leopard 2A5 she was driving on her job, but she seemed to be very prone to injuries. It was not the first time Simon was driving her to ER, so his fear and concern almost disappeared when she found his beloved babe sitting in the middle of smashed corn plants, broken motorbike on one side and an empty cigarette box on the other.

After a short, gentle kiss Simon carefully lifted her swollen left foot: "Maybe it's just badly sprained, ha?"

"I don't think so, I heard quite a distinctive crack-sound, when I landed here like a wild boar. I remember that sound, it's not my first break, you know."

As the Land cruiser half truck was used in Simon's agency for several purposes, it was accordingly equipped. Simon first took the big first-aid box and put Nasty's injured leg onto padded bendable aluminum splint, than bandaged it tenderly with elastic bandage to prevent any movements of most likely broken bones. Simon lifted his tiny darling with one arm, as easy as he would pick up an apple, and delivered her to the jeep. He was immediately rewarded with plenty of hot kisses as Nasty in safe embrace of her beloved hillbilly almost forgotten she'd just broken her ankle. Then Simon returned for motorbike; there was a metal gangplank at the rear of the car, which was used as portable bridge or so, and Simon used it to push damaged bike on the half truck. It took few minutes and a couple of curses, as the front wheel was useless, but strong climber finally managed it.

Twenty minutes later - Simon was driving slowly to prevent additional pains in Nasty's ankle - they landed at Bad Reichenhall clinic's emergency entrance. A nurse acceded to the jeep and immediately offered Nasty a wheeled stretcher, but she refused it: "It's okay, I'm only 38 kilos and my hillbilly is used to carry much heavier pigs, sheep, logs, and so, you know," she teased.

ER was quite full, as it was Friday's afternoon and many people went out for some sport activities that could end up misfortunately. Suddenly nurses rushed in, wheeling unconscious body covered with blood to the operating room, most likely a victim of a traffic accident. Few seconds later one doctor ran into operating room, too. After minutes one of the nurses came out and left at the corridor a plastic bag with blooded clothes of the poor person, as well as his or her suitcase.

Our couple waited almost an hour before Nasty's ankle was x-rayed and another one before pictures were developed. Finally doctor Franz Steiner arrived with x-rays. He was 34 years old, he just finished his specialization in orthopedic surgery and was preparing dissertation for his doctor's degree at university in Munich. He already know Nasty and Simon for two reasons: he often afforded himself rafting tours with Simon's agency and he already treated some of Nasty's recent injuries. Last time, about eight months ago, she awkwardly jumped from armored carrier driving in full speed, and dislocated her shoulder. Nasty thought at first she would get a shoulder cast, Dessault or something, but everything ended with a sling and two weeks of rest.

"You are still jumping from rushing tanks, Nasty?" he smiled. "This time you made it quite good..."

"No, this time it was a fucking... I just slipped off the stairs," answered Nasty and discretely pinched Simon's elbow.

Doctor put x-rays on the light board and explained: "Both bones in your ankle are broken and we should fix them surgical way."

"Oh, doc, I don't wanna surgery," said Nasty. "Can't you fix that without pins, just give me the plaster cast as last year?"

"I am afraid not, it's quite a bad break. You shouldn't be so afraid, it's a routine operation for me."

"I don't wanna operation," grumpily repeated Nasty. "My older sister, Ulrike, had a car accident two years ago and broke her leg; she had several operations and her leg isn't good at all yet. Why can't you just make closed reduction? If it won't work, you can still do your bloody job." Although Nasty never finished her nurse's school, she knew quite a bit about medical things, extending her knowledge even more after every of her often accidents.

"And most of all, you'll ruin the tattoo at my ankle," Nasty threw out her last, but not least important argument. Really, there was quite a big colorful tattoo - a permanent one, as Nasty never liked compromises - showing a sword and an Iron cross, wound round with red roses, edelweiss, and barbed wire.

"Well, that's really a work of art," agreed doctor.

They negotiated for a while and finally doctor assumed: "OK, Nasty, let's do that; I'll try to fix your bones less-invasively, but if it won't go, we'll have to operate. Deal?"

"Deal," repeated Nasty with sigh of relief and looked at the doctor thankfully with her bright blue eyes. "Thanks, doc, I know you'll make it."

He was still hesitating a bit but he remembered several ankle surgeries he'd performed in past few years. He already thought before about how often do they treat fractures surgically in their hospital, but the results were not always as good as expected. He decided to try to avoid operation whenever possible, especially when younger people were in case, what should be easier not only for the hospital's budget but most of all for the patients, too. Maybe he even wanted to experiment a little, but we shouldn't blame him for that.

"OK, let's do it," said doctor determinedly. "But I have to aware you, Nasty, you'll have to wear the cast much longer than in the case of surgery. I'll also put you in a long leg cast, not a short one, because the fracture on your tibia is quite high on the bone and I want to prevent any movements of the fragments."

"No problem, doc, I enjoy the casts," grinned Nasty.