June 9th, 1943. 2:47 in the afternoon. A street corner in Harlem, Netherlands. A Dutch policeman stands at his post. He’s a collaborator. Works for the Germans. He’s arrested 16 resistance members in the past 3 months. All 16 were executed. He’s a traitor. And today is the last day of his life.

 A girl rides up on a bicycle. Maybe 14, 15 years old. Red hair, freckles. She’s smiling, looks lost. She stops next to him, asks for directions in Dutch. Sweet voice. Innocent, the policeman starts to answer. Doesn’t see her right hand moving to her coat pocket. Doesn’t see the small revolver. Doesn’t understand what’s happening until the barrel is 6 in from his face.

 The girl’s smile doesn’t change. She pulls the trigger. The policeman drops. Dead. One shot. Clean. Professional. The girl calmly gets back on her bicycle, rides away, turns the corner, disappears into the afternoon crowd. By the time anyone realizes what happened, she’s three blocks away. By the time the Germans arrive, she’s home having tea with her mother, 14 years old, doing homework like nothing happened.

 This is her sixth kill. She’s been doing this for 3 years since she was 11. Her name is Hannie Shaft. No, wait, that’s wrong. Her name is Hy over Stegan. Different person, similar story, same war, same fight, same age. History confuses them because they were both teenage girls with red hair killing Nazis in Harlem. Hy overstein, born September 5th, 1927.

Four years younger than her sister, Truce. Same mother, same poverty, same political awakening, same decision to fight. But Hie’s story is different. Truce was 16 when she started. Old enough to understand. Old enough to choose. Hy was 11. 11 years old when her mother asked her to join the resistance. 11.

 Hy doesn’t remember much before the war. She’s only 12 when Germany invades. Her childhood is already the occupation. She doesn’t know peace. Doesn’t remember freedom. Her entire adolescence is war. Her mother, Freddy, raises her and truce alone. Poor communist activist. When the Germans invade, Freddy makes a choice. She’s going to fight and she’s going to bring her daughters with her.

 May 1940, Hy is 12 years old. Her mother sits her down, explains what’s happening. The Nazis are evil. They’re killing people. Jews, communists, anyone who resists. Someone needs to stop them. Freddy asks, “Will you help? It’s dangerous. You could die, but it’s necessary.” Hie doesn’t understand fully. She’s 12. She understands Nazis are bad.

 Understands her mother wants to fight them. Understands her sister TR has said yes. So Hie says yes, too. Because that’s what you do. You follow your mother. Follow your sister. You say yes. She has no idea what she’s agreeing to. No concept of what’s coming. She’s 12 years old, still a child, about to become something else.

 The resistance gives Hie simple jobs at first, delivering messages. She rides her bicycle through Harlem, carrying coded messages hidden in her handlebars. The Germans stop her sometimes, check her papers, search her bag. They never search the bicycle, never suspect a 12year old girl. HY does this for a year, gets good at it, learns to lie convincingly, learns to smile at German soldiers while carrying information that would get her executed.

 Learns to separate her face from her feelings. Show one thing, feel another. At 13, the resistance gives her harder assignments, distributing illegal newspapers, smuggling food to Jewish families in hiding. She meets these families, sees their fear, sees children her own age hiding in atticss in basement. Terrified of being discovered, HY helps them, brings food, medicine, information.

She’s 13 years old. She’s keeping people alive. She’s part of something bigger than herself. Then the resistance asks her to kill someone. She’s 14. Winter 1941. The resistance commander calls a meeting. Hy truce, their mother. He has a problem. A Dutch policeman working for the Germans, arresting resistance members, Jews.

 He’s killed people indirectly through betrayal. He needs to be stopped. The commander asks Truce. She’s done assassinations. Six so far. Can she handle this one? Truce says yes. Then asks, can Hie come? As backup, the commander looks at Hy. She’s 14 years old, small for her age, red hair, freckles, looks 12.

 He’s sending her on an assassination. It’s insane. But the resistance is desperate. They need everyone, even children. He agrees. Gives them the target, the policeman’s routine, his schedule, where to hit him, how to escape. Truce plans the operation. She’ll approach the target. Hie will be nearby on her bicycle. If something goes wrong, HY creates a distraction. Draws attention.

 Gives Truce time to escape. That’s the plan. Hy is backup. Support, not the shooter. The day comes. They stake out the target. The policeman walks his usual route. Truce approaches, but before she can get close, the policeman turns, walks a different direction, changes his routine. Unexpected, Truce can’t follow without being obvious. The hit is off.

They’ll have to try again tomorrow. Except Hy doesn’t stop. She’s on her bicycle riding casual. Just a girl on a bike. The policeman doesn’t even notice her. She rides right up to him. Stops, asks for directions. Truce watches from across the street. What is HY doing? This isn’t the plan. She’s supposed to be backup.

 Not approaching the target, the policeman answers Hie’s question, giving directions. Hy thanks him, smiles, reaches into her coat pocket. Truce realizes what’s about to happen. No. Hy. No. You’re 14. You’re not supposed to do this. I’m supposed to do this. But Hy pulls the small revolver, points it at the policeman’s face, fires once, he drops. Dead.

 Hy gets back on her bicycle, rides away, calm, controlled, like she’s done this before, but she hasn’t. This is her first kill. She’s 14 years old. She just shot a man in the head at point blank range. Truce catches up to her three blocks away. Grabs her. What were you thinking? You weren’t supposed to shoot him. I was supposed to shoot him.

 Hie looks at her sister. Says simply, “He changed his route. You couldn’t get close.” “I could. So, I did it. That’s what we’re here for, right? To kill collaborators.” Truce doesn’t know what to say. Her 14-year-old sister just executed a man calmly, efficiently, without hesitation. Truce has done six assassinations. Each one was hard, required preparation, mental conditioning.

 Hy just did it spontaneously, like it was nothing. That night, Hy doesn’t sleep. Lies in bed thinking about what she did. She killed a man. Looked him in the face. Pulled the trigger. Watched him die. She’s 14. This isn’t what 14year-olds do. She expects to feel something. Guilt, horror, remorse. She feels nothing. Just a strange emptiness.

Like she’s waiting for an emotion that never comes. She wonders if something is wrong with her. Normal people feel guilt when they kill. She feels nothing. Is she broken? Or is this what war does? Breaks you in ways you don’t notice until later. She doesn’t have answers. just questions and the knowledge that she’ll probably have to do this again because the resistance needs her because there are more collaborators, more traders, more people who need to die. Hy does do it again many times.

Over the next four years, she kills at least 22 people. The exact number is disputed. Some kills are confirmed, others are probable. A few are possible, but unverified. She’s more careful than Truce. More methodical. Truce uses the honeypot method. Seduction, flirting, leading men into traps.

 Hy is too young for that. 14, 15, 16. She looks like a child. Men don’t follow children into forests. So Hy develops different methods. The bicycle approach. Ride up. Ask innocent question. Shoot. Ride away. It works cuz no one suspects a child on a bicycle. She looks harmless, innocent. By the time they realize she’s a threat, she’s already pulling the trigger.

Another method, the distraction. Hy creates a scene, drops something, asks for help. While the target is distracted, truce or another resistance member shoots them. Hie’s role is to make the target vulnerable, open, not looking for threats. Hy also does bombings, sabotage. She’s small, can fit through spaces. adults can’t.

 She crawls through ventilation shafts, climbs fences, plants explosives in places no one thinks to guard because who expects a teenage girl to be planting bombs. One operation almost kills her. She’s planting explosives on a railway bridge. German supply train is scheduled. The bomb will derail it.

 Cut off supplies to the front. It’s a good target. Important. Hie sets the charge. Timer. She has 10 minutes to get clear. She starts climbing down from the bridge. The timer malfunctions. Starts ticking faster. She has 2 minutes, maybe less. She’s still on the bridge 30 ft above the ground. She can jump. Break her legs probably. Maybe survive.

 Or she can climb faster. Risk the explosion catching her. She climbs fast. Doesn’t think. Just moves. Her hands slip on wet metal. She catches herself. keeps climbing, reaches the ground, runs. The bridge explodes behind her. The blast wave throws her forward. She hits the ground hard. Everything goes black. She wakes up in a ditch.

 Her ears are ringing. Can’t hear anything. Her back hurts. Everything hurts. But she’s alive. The bridge is destroyed. The supply train won’t get through. Mission accomplished. Hy limps back to the safe house, covered in dirt. bruised, possibly concussed. She’s 15 years old. She just blew up a bridge, almost died doing it.

 When she gets home, her mother makes her tea, checks her injuries, tells her to be more careful, more careful. Like, this is a normal thing. Like, teenage girls blow up bridges regularly, like almost dying is just part of the routine. Maybe it is. During war, maybe normal doesn’t exist. Maybe there’s just survival. mission fighting. Nothing else matters.

 Hy goes to school during the war when schools are open, which isn’t often, but sometimes she sits in class learning mathematics, history, literature, normal school subjects. Then after school, she goes to resistance meetings, plans assassinations, learns about the next target. Her classmates have no idea. They think HY is quiet, shy, a bit odd.

She doesn’t talk much, doesn’t have many friends, keeps to herself. They think she’s just antisocial. They don’t know she’s killed 22 people. They don’t know she’s planted bombs, smuggled weapons, saved Jewish families. They don’t know she’s living two lives. Student by day, assassin by night. Hy can’t tell them.

Can’t tell anyone. The resistance is secret. If word gets out, she’s dead. Her family is dead. Everyone connected to her is dead, so she stays silent. Keeps the secrets. Lives the double life. It’s lonely, profoundly lonely. She can’t talk to her classmates about what she’s really doing. Can’t share her fears, her doubts, the nightmares that are starting, the faces of men she’s killed.

 They visit her at night in dreams. In moments when she’s alone, she can talk to Truce. Her sister understands. Truce is doing the same thing. Killing the same enemies, carrying the same weight. They don’t talk about it much. Don’t need to. They just know. Sisters, partners, soldiers in the same war. Their mother, Freddy, knows too. Supports them.

 Provides safe houses, false documents, whatever they need. But Freddy can’t really understand. She’s not doing the killing. She’s organizing, facilitating, not pulling triggers, not watching people die. Hy is, and she’s 14, 15, 16, doing things that would break adult soldiers. Doing them alone, carrying the weight alone because that’s what the war requires.

 1943, HY kills a German officer, high ranking, wearmacked. The resistance wants him dead. He’s responsible for civilian executions, reprisals, collective punishment. When resistance attacks happen, he orders random Dutch citizens killed. 10 civilians for every German soldier. 20 for every officer he’s killed hundreds, maybe thousands, indirectly.

 Through these reprisal orders, the resistance decides he needs to die. Not just for revenge, for strategy. His death might make other officers more cautious. Less willing to order mass executions. Hy volunteers. She’s 16 now. Experienced. She’s killed before. She can do this. The officer has a routine.

 Walks through a park every morning. 7 a.m. Always the same route. He has bodyguards, but they walk behind him. Give him space. He likes to walk alone. Think. Enjoy the morning. Hy stakes it out. Learns the pattern. identifies the moment of vulnerability. When the officer is furthest from his bodyguards, that’s when she’ll strike.

 The morning comes. Hy positions herself on a bench feeding birds. Just a teenage girl. The officer walks past. Bodgards 30 ft behind. This is the moment Hy stands, walks toward the officer, calls out, “Excuse me, sir. Can you help me?” He turns, sees a teenage girl, red hair, freckles, harmless. He starts to respond.

 Hy pulls the pistol, fires twice. Center mass. The officer drops. The bodyguards react, reaching for weapons, shouting, running toward her. Hy doesn’t run, can’t outrun them. She drops the pistol, raises her hands, surrenders. The bodyguards surround her, guns pointing. Who are you? Who sent you? Hie says nothing. just stands there, hands up, silent.

 They’re about to arrest her, about to take her to Gustapo headquarters. That’s when the bomb goes off, 50 ft away. The explosion is massive, prepositioned by the resistance, timed for exactly this moment. The bodyguards turn, distracted, confused. Hy runs, not away, toward the explosion, toward the chaos, the smoke. She disappears into it.

 The bodyguards try to follow. Can’t find her. She’s gone. Henny makes it back to the safe house. Heart pounding. That was close. Too close. She almost got caught. Almost got arrested. Tortured. Executed. The bomb saved her. The resistance planned for that. Created the distraction, but it was close. Truce is waiting. Sees Hie. Sees she’s shaking.

 Asks what happened. Hy explains the shot, the surrender, the escape. Truce is furious. You surrendered. You can’t surrender. If they catch you, you talk. Everyone talks under torture. You endanger everyone. Hie says, “I had no choice. I couldn’t outrun them. Surrendering was the only option. Buying time for the bomb.

” Tru says, “You should have fought. Died fighting. Better than capture.” Hie stares at her sister. Says, “I’m 16 years old. I’m not ready to die. Not yet. I thought I was, but when it came to it, I wanted to live. I’m sorry. Tro softens, realizes what she’s saying. Hy is 16. She’s been killing people for 4 years. She’s not a soldier.

 She’s a child. A child who’s been fighting an adults war. Of course, she wants to live. Of course, she’s not ready to die. Truce hugs her sister. Says, “I’m sorry. You did good. You got the target. You escaped. That’s what matters. You’re alive. That’s what matters. But the incident changes HY. Makes her realize her own mortality.

 She’s been doing this for 4 years. 16 assassinations, countless sabotage operations, saving Jewish families, fighting constantly. She survived on luck. Skill. The enemy’s underestimation. But luck runs out. Skill fails. Underestimation only works until someone takes you seriously. She’s going to get caught eventually. Killed, executed. It’s inevitable.

 The question is when she decides to be more careful, take fewer risks. Let truce handle the direct assassinations. Hy will focus on support, logistics, saving people, less killing, more helping. But the war doesn’t cooperate. 1944. The resistance needs everyone. The Allies are coming. Liberation is close.

 But the Germans are more brutal than ever. Mass arrests, public executions, the final desperate violence of a losing regime. The resistance fights back harder. More assassinations, more sabotage, more direct action. Hy is pulled back in. She can’t sit back. Can’t just help. She has to fight. She kills six more people in 1944. German soldiers, Dutch collaborators, people who deserve it, people who are killing innocents.

 But each one weighs heavier. Each face stays longer in her memory. Each death feels more real. She’s 17 now. She’s been killing people since she was 14. She has a body count that would horrify professional soldiers. And she’s not done. Won’t be done until the war ends. May 5th, 1945. Germany surrenders. The Netherlands is liberated. The war is over.

 Hy is 17 years old. She’s killed at least 22 people, probably more. She’s blown up bridges, railways, German installations. She’s smuggled weapons, hidden Jewish families, fought a 5-year war. Now what? The Dutch government offers medals, recognition, parades. Hy refuses everything. Doesn’t want attention. doesn’t want people knowing what she did. She just wants to disappear.

 Be normal. Forget the war. But forgetting is impossible. She has nightmares. Flashbacks. Sees the faces of men she killed. The policemen on the bicycle. The wear officer in the park. All of them. They visit her. Remind her. She tries to go back to school. Can’t can’t sit in class learning algebra when she’s killed 20 two people.

 can’t pretend to care about normal teenage things when she’s seen what she’s seen, done what she’s done. She drops out, works odd jobs, can’t keep any of them, can’t connect with people, can’t explain why she’s different, why she’s broken. No one understands. How could they? She was a child soldier, a teenage assassin. There’s no normal after that.

 Her sister, Truce, understands, but Truis is struggling, too. They help each other, but it’s not enough. The war damaged them, changed them, made them into something that doesn’t fit peace time. Hy eventually finds stability, gets married, has children, works normal jobs, lives a quiet life in Harlem, the same city where she killed people, where she fought her war.

 She never leaves, never tries to escape the memories, just learns to live with them. for 40 years. She doesn’t talk about the war, doesn’t tell anyone what she did. Her children don’t know. Her neighbors don’t know. She’s just Hy, a woman living quietly, working, raising a family. 1985. The same journalist who discovered Truce finds HY. Asks for an interview.

 Hy refuses. Doesn’t want to remember. Doesn’t want people knowing. But Truce convinces her. Says people should know. should understand what we did, what was necessary, what teenage girls can do when they decide to fight. HY agrees. One interview, she tells her story, starting the resistance at age 11, first kill at 14, 20, two total kills, the close calls, the escapes, living a double life, being a child soldier.

 The interview is published. Creates attention. People can’t believe it. an 11-year-old in the resistance, killing people at 14. It sounds impossible, but it’s true. Documented, verified by other resistance members, by German records, by history. HY becomes known. Reluctantly famous. She doesn’t want it, but her story spreads.

 Books, documentaries. She’s honored. Given medals she refused after the war. Recognition that comes 40 years too late. She’s asked the same questions truce was asked. Do you regret it? Would you do it again? Hie’s answers are different. She says, “Yes, I regret parts of it. I was too young.” 11 years old is too young to join a war.

 14 is too young to kill someone. I lost my childhood. Lost my innocence. I can’t get that back. But she also says, “I’d do it again because it was necessary. Because the alternative was letting evil win. I paid a price. My childhood, my mental health, my ability to be normal. But others paid worse prices.

 They paid with their lives. I survived. I can’t regret that. Hy lives to be old. Watches the world change. Watches her children grow. Her grandchildren. She lives a long quiet life after a short violent youth. But she never forgets. Never stops seeing the faces. never stops carrying the weight of what she did at 14, 15, 16, 17.

 She dies peacefully, surrounded by family, having lived 40 more years than many of her resistance comrades, having survived when she should have died, having carried the burden and never broken completely. Here’s what Hy overstein’s story teaches us. She was 11 years old when she joined the resistance. 11, an age when most children are playing, going to school, being children.

 Hy was carrying coded messages through Nazi checkpoints, smuggling food to Jewish families, learning to lie to German soldiers, learning to hide her fear behind a smile. At 14, she killed her first person, rode up on a bicycle, shot a collaborator in the head, rode away like it was nothing, like she’d done it before. But she hadn’t.

 It was her first. She was 14. Most people never kill anyone. Most soldiers go through entire wars without directly killing. Hy killed 22 people before she was 18. She was a child when she started. Still a teenager when she finished. The Germans never suspected her. Never thought to look at the redhaired girl on the bicycle.

 Never imagined a 14year-old could be an assassin. That underestimation killed them. The policeman on the street corner never saw it coming. Saw a girl asking for directions. Saw innocence. Saw harmlessness. Didn’t see the gun until it was pointed at his face. Didn’t realize until that last second that children can be killers, too. Hie pulled the trigger.

The policeman died. She rode away on her bicycle. 14 years old, having just committed murder, going home to have tea with her mother, to do her homework, to live her double life. She did it 20 one more times. Different targets, same methods, same result. Dead collaborators, dead Nazis, and Hy riding away on her bicycle, smiling, looking innocent, being anything but. The war ended.

 Hy survived. But the girl who joined the resistance at 11 never really came back. That girl died somewhere in the 5 years of fighting was replaced by someone harder. Coulder, someone who could kill and not feel, could smile and mean something else. Could live two lives and not go insane. Or maybe she did go a little insane.

 Maybe you can’t do what she did and stay completely sane. Maybe the price of fighting that war that young is carrying the weight forever. Never being able to forget. Never being able to be normal. Hy over Stegun was 14 years old. She rode up on a bicycle smiling. Shot a man in the head. Rode away. That’s not a hero. That’s not a villain. That’s something war creates.

Something that shouldn’t exist. A child forced to become a killer. Who did it anyway? Who survived? who lived with it, who carried the weight for the rest of her life. She was 14. The collaborator realized too late she wasn’t asking for directions. She was executing him. By then, it was over.

 She was already on her bicycle, already riding away, already moving to the next target, the next kill, the next mission in a war that stole her childhood and gave her nightmares instead. Head.