(The following excerpt was taken from the forward of Henry E. Wilson's 1990 nonfiction book, This is Not Your History Class, with permission of the author.)
There are a lot of things your history teacher probably didn't tell you. Some because they are things that should not be mentioned in class, and others because they are facts that slipped past the pens of the men who wrote history.
For example:
· Your teacher probably told you that World War Two started in 1939 and ended in 1945.
· However, your teacher probably didn't tell you that during WWII, a Czech nurse had sex with German soldiers, intentionally infecting them with debilitating sexually transmitted diseases.
The book you are about to read is an account of WWII, including both the things a teacher would and wouldn't have told you. The only thing missing is the stories history missed. Right now, I'm going to tell you a true WWII story that very few know about. However, I do because I was part of it.
And so the story begins...
With trembling hands, I tried to do what little I could with my appearance before Friedrich Dollmann arrived. Cheap red lipstick painted my lips and rouged my cheeks, and the crumb of eyeliner from the stump pencil tried to revive my weary eyes. The girls and I could rarely afford to use cosmetics, but this time we needed to impress. Mr. Dollmann was a very important, high ranking, client. If this went well, he could bring many more soldiers our way, and potentially change the course of the war, at least on a small scale.
Taking a deep breath, I examined myself in the scratched mirror. The clock on the wall behind me stopped ticking for a breath or two, than sputtered back to life. I was grateful, as if it really were keeping me a second or two further away from what I was about to do.
This isn't for your sake. I reminded myself. It's for Poland's. You can't be a soldier, so this is how you fight.
"Are you ready, Anna?" Wanda peered in at me from around the door of the dressing room, a brightly lit but run down closet, startling me, "You look nervous."
"Of course I am." I replied with a weak smile.
"If it helps anything, I heard Halina caught syphilis! A filthy harlot, isn't she!" Wanda mock whispered, smiling if she hadn't told that same joke a thousand times before.
"Hush up! We all have it, you wretch," I giggled, holding my palms up to her as if I needed to remind her of the rash that speckled them, "Look!"
"I'll leave you to get ready," Wanda said, and started to leave, "Don't forget to put your gloves on."
Once the door clicked shut, I felt around the shelf lining the wall for my black lace gloves. Although we didn't make much at our business (we kept prices low to lure the German soldiers that now inhabited our town), gloves were less luxury and more necessity. Most of us had the syphilitic rash on hands, and lace gloves hid it. They looked sensual while still allowing the rash to be infectious. If our disease was visible, we'd be out of business. However, if we weren't infectious, our efforts to fight the German soldiers who'd ruined our lives and country would be useless. Gloves were a justified expense.
"He's coming up the porch stairs!" Someone shouted from several rooms away.
I threw my black robe on over my lingerie and dashed to the parlour just in time for a man to enter. He was unexpectedly kind-looking for a Nazi. Walking straight to him, I curtsied, giving myself a moment to mentally prepare. It was integral that I looked like wanted this man in bed and not that I wanted him dead.
