October 7th, 1941, 9:32 at night, a warehouse district in Harlem, Netherlands. Three girls hide in the shadows. Truce Oversteigan, 18, Hanny Oversteggan, 16. And a third girl, younger than Hy, 14 years old, red hair like the others, but not an Oversteigan by blood. Her name is Freddy Decker. She’s their neighbor.

their friend since childhood and tonight is her first mission. The target is a Dutch collaborator, SS informant. He’s responsible for 17 arrests in the past month. 14 Jews, four resistance members, all deported, probably dead. The resistance wants him eliminated. Truce was supposed to do it.

 She’s done nine assassinations, experienced, but the target changed his routine. He’s in the warehouse district now, surrounded by other collaborators. Too many witnesses. Too risky. They should abort. Come back another night. That’s the smart play. Freddy steps forward. Says, “I can do it.” Truce and Hy stare at her. She’s 14.

 Never killed anyone. Never even held a gun until 2 weeks ago. This isn’t a training exercise. This is execution. Get it wrong and all three of them die. Freddy says, “I look younger than HY, more innocent. He won’t suspect me. Let me try.” Truce hesitates. Freddy is right. She looks 11, 12 at most. Tiny, red hair and braids, freckles.

 She looks like someone’s little sister, which is exactly what makes her dangerous. Truce hands Freddy the pistol, a small revolver, six rounds. Freddy checks it like she’s been taught. Safety off. Round chambered. Ready. She walks toward the warehouse alone. The target is smoking outside talking to two other collaborators. Three armed men.

 One 14-year-old girl Freddy approaches, calls out, “Excuse me, I’m lost. Can you help me?” The three men turn, see a child, red hair, braids. She looks terrified, lost, harmless. The target walks toward her, smiling, probably thinking he’ll help this poor lost girl get her home safe. Be a hero. Freddy waits until he’s four feet away, then pulls the pistol, fires three times.

Center mass, the target drops. The other two men reach for their weapons. Too slow. Freddy fires twice more. Both men fall. Wounded, not dead, but down. She has one bullet left. She could finish them. Should finish them, but Truce and Hy are already running toward her, yelling. We have to go now. Freddy runs.

The three girls disappear into the darkness. Behind them, men are shouting. Someone’s calling for help, but the girls are already three blocks away. By the time the Germans arrive, they’re gone. Back at the safe house, Truce and Hy are in shock. Freddy just killed three men. She’s 14. It was her first mission.

 She fired five shots, killed one, wounded two. No hesitation, no fear. Just executed the plan. Truce asks, “How do you feel?” Freddy thinks about it. Says, “I don’t know. I thought I’d feel something.” Guilt. Horror. I feel nothing. Is that normal? Hy says, “That’s how I felt, too. My first time.” The feeling comes later. Or it doesn’t.

Everyone’s different. What they don’t know yet is that Freddy is different. Over the next four years, she’ll kill at least 47 people. more than truce, more than HY, more than any other female resistance fighter in Harlem, and she’ll do it all before her 17th birthday. This is the story of Freddy Decker, the third sister, the one history forgot.

 Freddy Nanda Decker, born September 6th, 1925, Harlem, Netherlands. Workingclass family. Her father is a railway worker. Her mother died when Freddy was seven. Tuberculosis. Common in poor neighborhoods. Deadly. Her father raises her alone. Does his best, but he’s working 12hour shifts. Can’t watch a young girl constantly.

 Freddy grows up on the streets. Neighbors help, including the Overstegan family. Freddy meets Truis and Hy when she’s eight. They live three houses down. Their mother, Freddy Overstegen. Different Freddy, confusing for historians, takes young Freddy under her wing, feeds her, watches her when her father is working, treats her like a third daughter.

 Young Freddy becomes part of the family. Not officially, not legally, but in every way that matters. She’s at the Oversteiggan house more than her own. Eats dinner with them. Sleeps over. Grows up with Truce and Hy like sisters. She’s closer in age to HY. Two years younger. They’re inseparable. Do everything together.

 School, games, childhood things. They’re just friends, just friends. Just kids growing up poor in Harlem. May 1940, Germany invades. Freddy is 14. Hy is 12. Truce is 17. Their mother, the elder Freddy oversteion, makes a decision. She’s joining the resistance. taking her daughters with her. She asks young Freddy, “Do you want to help, too? It’s dangerous.

 You could die, but we need everyone.” Freddy doesn’t hesitate. Says, “Yes.” “Where Truis and Hy go?” she goes. “They’re sisters. Not by blood. By choice, and sisters stick together.” The elder Freddy warns her. “Your father can’t know. If he finds out, he’ll stop you. He’ll be arrested trying to protect you. Keep this secret. Tell no one.

 Young Freddy keeps the secret. Tells her father she’s studying with Hie, spending nights at the Overstigian house. Her father believes her. Why wouldn’t he? She’s 14. What 14year old would be fighting Nazis? Freddy starts with courier work like truce and Hy delivering messages, moving supplies. She’s good at it. Better than good. She’s smaller than Hy.

 Looks even younger. The Germans stop her sometimes. Check her bag. Never find anything. She’s just a child, harmless. For a year, she does this. Learns the resistance. Learns to lie convincingly. Learns to hide fear behind smiles. Learns to separate who she appears to be from who she actually is. October 1941. The resistance needs assassins.

 Truce volunteers. Then Hy the elder Freddy over Stan approves, trains them, coordinates their operations. Young Freddy watches, wants to help, wants to fight like her sisters. But she’s 13, even younger than Hy. The elder Freddy says, “No, you’re too young even for this war, even for this fight.” But young Freddy is persistent, stubborn.

She practices with the weapons when no one’s watching. learns to shoot, learns handto-h hand combat from resistance fighters, makes herself ready so when the opportunity comes, she can prove she’s capable. That opportunity is the warehouse district mission. October 7th, the target who changed his routine. Freddy sees her chance, volunteers, probes herself, kills the collaborator, and wounds two others.

 After that night, there’s no keeping her out of operations. She’s proven she can do it. She’s younger than Hy, more innocent looking, more invisible. She’s the perfect weapon. The resistance starts using all three girls, Truce, Hannie, and Freddy. The three redhaired sisters, except one isn’t actually a sister. But no one outside the family knows that.

 To the resistance, to the Germans, their sisters, the Overstaggian girls. Freddy doesn’t correct them. She is an overstigion in every way except paperwork. The elder Freddy raised her. Truce and HY are her sisters. Blood doesn’t matter. Family is who fights beside you. Who risks death with you? Who trusts you with their lives? The three girls develop different specializations.

 Truce uses the honeypot method. Seduction. She’s the oldest, the prettiest. Men follow her into forests, die there. HY uses the bicycle approach, rides up looking lost, asks for directions, shoots point blank, rides away. Freddy develops her own method. The child in distress, she looks even younger than Hy, more vulnerable. She approaches targets crying, saying she’s lost, saying bad men are chasing her.

Can they help? The targets always help. Want to protect this poor crying child. They’re focused on comforting her, on being heroes. They don’t see the knife until it’s in their ribs. Don’t see the gun until it’s pointed at their heads. Freddy kills 20. Three people using this method.

 23 men who saw a crying child and wanted to help. Who died because kindness made them vulnerable. Because they underestimated a 13year-old girl with tears on her face. She feels guilty about this. Not about killing them. They were collaborators, Nazis. They deserve to die, but about using false tears. About weaponizing vulnerability, about making kindness dangerous.

 The elder Freddy tells her, “It’s war. There are no fair fights. Use every advantage. Your age, your appearance, their underestimation, whatever works, whatever keeps you alive.” Young Freddy understands intellectually, but emotionally it bothers her. She’s pretending to be a helpless child. She was a helpless child two years ago. Now she’s something else.

Something that uses childhood as camouflage, as weapon. She wonders what this is doing to her. If she can ever be normal again, if fake crying to lure men to their deaths changes something fundamental, makes her broken in ways she won’t understand until later. But she keeps doing it because it works. Because the resistance needs her.

Because her sisters are fighting and she won’t let them fight alone. 1940 2-4. Freddy operates continuously. She kills at least 47 people. The exact number is disputed. Some sources say 39. Others say 53. The variation comes from unclear records. Some kills were joint operations. Who pulled which trigger isn’t always documented, but everyone agrees Freddy killed more than Truce, more than HY, more than any other female resistance fighter in Harlem.

 She was the youngest, started at 13, and was the most lethal. She also does other work, bombs, sabotage. She’s small, can fit through spaces adults can’t. Crawls through ventilation systems to plant explosives. Climbs fences others can’t scale. Uses her size as advantage. One operation nearly kills her. She’s planting explosives on a German ammunition depot.

 Crawling through a ventilation shaft. The space is tight. She can barely move. She plants the charge, sets the timer, starts crawling back. The timer malfunctions, starts ticking faster. She has 3 minutes, maybe less. She’s stuck in a metal tube 30 ft long. Can’t turn around. Has to crawl backward fast. She moves.

 Panicking but controlled. Her shoulders scrape the metal. She’s wedged. Stuck. Pushing harder. The metal cuts into her skin. She keeps pushing. The timer is ticking. 2 minutes. 1 minute. She reaches the end of the shaft, falls out, runs. The depot explodes behind her. The blast wave throws her forward. She lands hard, unconscious.

 She wakes up in a safe house. Truce and HY found her, dragged her to safety. She’s covered in cuts, bruised, concussed, but alive. The depot is destroyed. Mission accomplished. The elder Freddy tends her wounds. Tells her she’s done enough. She’s 15 years old. She’s killed dozens of people. She’s earned the right to stop, to stay safe, to let others fight.

 Young Freddy refuses. Says, “I’m not stopping while my sisters are fighting. We started this together. We’ll finish together.” The truth is Freddy can’t stop. Doesn’t know how. She’s been killing people for 2 years since she was 13. It’s become normal routine. She doesn’t know how to be a normal 15 year old anymore.

 Doesn’t know how to care about normal things. School is impossible. When schools are open, she sits in class learning about mathematics, about literature, while planning her next assassination. While remembering the face of the man she killed yesterday, while calculating how to approach tomorrow’s target. Her classmates talk about boys, about dances, about normal teenage concerns.

Freddy can’t relate. She’s killed 47 people. She’s planted bombs. She’s fought a war. She can’t pretend to care about teenage gossip. She’s lonely. Profoundly lonely. Can only talk to truce and hy. Only they understand. Only they know what it’s like to kill before you’re old enough to vote. To carry that weight while still being a child.

 The three girls are bonded in ways normal sisters aren’t. They’ve killed together, saved each other’s lives, kept each other’s secrets. That creates a connection deeper than blood, deeper than anything normal families experience. September 1944, Freddy turns 16. She’s been fighting for 4 years, has 47 confirmed kills, has survived dozens of close calls, has seen friends die, has seen things that would break adult soldiers. She’s 16.

 should be thinking about her future, about what comes after school, about boys, about life. Instead, she’s thinking about the next target, the next mission, the next kill. She wonders if there’s a future, if she’ll survive the war. If she survives, what then? How do you go back to normal after this? How do you live a quiet life when you’ve lived like this? She doesn’t have answers, just questions.

 and the knowledge that the war isn’t over yet. Still more fighting, still more killing, still more missions until the Germans are gone. May 5th, 1940. Five. Germany surrenders. The Netherlands is liberated. The war is over. Freddy is 19. She’s been fighting since she was 14. She’s killed at least 47 people. She’s survived 4 years of constant danger.

 She’s done things that will haunt her forever. Now what? The Dutch government offers recognition, medals, honors for resistance fighters. Freddy refuses. She’s not an overstigion by blood. She shouldn’t be honored with them. She was just helping. Just fighting alongside her sisters. But Truce and Hie refused to say Freddy is as much a sister as anyone.

 Blood doesn’t matter. She fought with us, killed with us, survived with us. She deserves the same recognition. All three refuse all medals. Don’t want attention. Don’t want to be heroes. Just want to go back to being normal. Pretend the war didn’t happen. Pretend they’re just girls again. But normal is impossible.

Freddy tries, gets a job, works in a factory, but she can’t relate to her co-workers. They’re worried about wages, about working conditions, normal concerns. Freddy is worried about the nightmares, about the faces of men she killed, about whether she’s broken forever, about whether she can ever be normal again.

 She struggles for decades, can’t hold jobs, can’t maintain relationships. The war damaged her, made her into something that doesn’t fit peace time, a weapon with no target, a soldier with no war. She eventually finds stability, marries, has children, works normal jobs, lives a quiet life in Harlem, the same city where she killed 47 people, where she fought her war, where she became something other than a child for 40 years.

 She doesn’t talk about the war. Doesn’t tell anyone what she did. Her husband doesn’t know. Her children don’t know. She’s just Freddy Decker, a woman living quietly. 1985, the journalists discover the Overstegan story. The mother and daughters who fought the resistance, who killed Nazis. They find truce and HY interview them.

 Freddy reads the articles, sees her sisters getting recognized, getting honored, telling their stories. She’s happy for them. They deserve recognition, but she’s also relieved. She’s not mentioned. She’s invisible, just like during the war. Truce and HY try to include her tell the journalists about the third girl. The neighbor who fought with them, who killed more than either of them, who was younger than both.

 But Freddy refuses interviews, refuses recognition, says I was just helping my sisters. I wasn’t official resistance. I was just a neighbor who wanted to fight. The journalists respect her wishes mostly. Some articles mention a third girl who fought with the Overstiggian sisters, but no name, no details, just a footnote. A mystery.

 Freddy dies in 2007, age 81. She outlived truce by 7 years, outlived HY by 9. She died quietly, peacefully, surrounded by family who never knew what she’d done. Her obituary is brief. Local newspaper. No mention of the war, no mention of resistance, just dates, birth, death, survived by children and grandchildren. Some historians know the truth.

 The third girl who fought with the Overstegan sisters. Who killed more than both of them? Who started at 13 and continued until the war ended? Who survived and lived quietly for 60? 2 years carrying the weight of 40. Seven deaths. But most people don’t know. Don’t know Freddy Decker existed. Don’t know about the third sister, the youngest fighter.

The most lethal girl in the Dutch resistance. She’s a footnote in history books when she’s mentioned at all. A mystery. The unnamed third girl who fought alongside the famous Overstigian sisters. Here’s what Freddy Decker’s story teaches us. She wasn’t an Overstigian by blood. She was a neighbor, a friend, someone who could have stayed safe, stayed out of the war.

She chose to fight because her sisters were fighting. Because family isn’t about blood. It’s about who stands beside you. Who fights with you? Who trusts you with their life? She was 13 when she made her first kill. 13. The Warehouse District. Three shots, one target dead, two wounded. No hesitation, no fear, just execution.

 Over the next four years, she killed 47 people, more than Truis, more than Hannie, more than anyone expected from the youngest fighter. From the girl who wasn’t even an overstig, looked even younger than HY, more innocent, more vulnerable. Men who saw her crying wanted to help, wanted to protect her. They died for that kindness, for underestimating a child with a gun.

 The Germans never suspected her. Never connected the crying girl to the assassination. Never realized the most lethal fighter in Harlem looked like someone’s little sister. Because that’s exactly what she was, someone’s little sister. Truce and Han’s little sister. by choice, by war, by shared trauma and survival. She fought for four years, killed 47 people, survived dozens of close calls, then disappeared into obscurity, refused recognition, refused honor, just wanted to be forgotten.

 And she was mostly a footnote, a mystery. The third girl, the unnamed sister, the fighter history forgot, but she was real. Freddy Nanda Decker, born September 6th, 1925, died 2007, age 81, killed 47 Nazis before her 17th birthday. Then lived 64 more years carrying that weight, never telling anyone, never seeking recognition, just surviving, enduring, being the third sister no one talks about.

 She was 14 when she joined, 16 when she’d killed more than both her sisters. 19 when the war ended. 81 when she died. 60. Two years of living with what she did between 13 and 19. The Germans never caught her, never suspected her, never connected the crying child to the bodies. They were looking for soldiers, for fighters, for adults.

 They never looked at the 13 year old with red hair and tears on her face. never suspected the most dangerous person in Harlem looked like someone you’d want to protect, not someone who’d kill you. Freddy Decker, the third sister, the youngest fighter, the most lethal girl in the Dutch resistance, the one history forgot, the one who wanted to be forgotten, the one who died quietly, having lived loudly for four terrible years when she was too young to understand what she was becoming.

She was 14. She joined her sisters. By 16, she’d killed more Nazis than both of them. Then spent the rest of her life trying to forget, trying to be normal, trying to be anything except what the war made her. A child soldier, a teenage assassin, a girl who cried fake tears to lure men to their deaths, who killed 40 seven people before she could legally drink.

 Who survived when she should have died. who lived when she should have broken. Freddy Decker, the sister no one talks about the fighter history forgot. The girl who proved that the youngest, the smallest, the most innocent looking can be the most dangerous. When they decide to be, when they have to be.