[fanfic] What a Wonderful World (2)
Aug. 4th, 2009 09:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
historizeTitle: What a Wonderful World (Part two)
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
historyblitz, kept track of at historize
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Basically, everyone. This particular part has a lot of Spain and Prussia. [Also includes the America and NZ bit that I had to cut off last time that includes Japan and South Korea, Australia and Taiwan.] China, Russia, Denmark, Italy, Romano, Belgium, Germany, Austria, England and Hungary also appear. Also, Burma (Myanmar) and Thailand.
Rating: thematic R
Warnings: violence,
Summary: Basically, World War III
“You know, he sort of looks like Austria.”
Japan’s mouth barely quirked. “I suppose that is so.”
“You quirked a little. You thought it was funny, c’mon, Japan. Laugh.”
“Given that Thailand’s current condition is unknown…”
“Aw, don’t worry about him. C’mon, try some of this chicken. I wrote the recipe myself.”
“Congratulations,” Japan told him, “but—“
“Just try it—“
The door flew open and the two received a smart salute. “Sir,” said the officer, “there is something up ahead. A little boat. There’s two men inside.”
“A fishing boat?” asked Japan, standing and heading out the door. South Korea followed behind, looking vaguely interested. The officer scurried to walk just behind Japan.
“It’s too far from the coast, sir,” said the officer. “The sails are new.”
On deck of the patrol boat, Japan gestured for the binoculars.
South Korea jumped when Japan hurled them aside. “What are you—“
“Get that boat,” Japan commanded. “That’s America and New Zealand.”
“They went down on the—“ South Korea seemed to realize the significance of this. “I’ll radio the port in Oman.” He turned away, hurrying.
Japan’s crew intercepted the boat, letting it bump against their much larger hull but Japan’s calls down to the boat went unanswered. “Lower the ropes.”
They hauled the boat up.
Word traveled fast and Australia was on a patrol boat that very evening, meeting up with Japan’s ship around twilight. He jumped onto the deck and Taiwan appeared. He took off his cap and gave her a nod. “Where—?”
“This way,” she said, nodding back and turning. She hurried because he was nearly running. Down in the infirmary, she took quick little steps to match his longer stride to another wing. “These two rooms. New Zealand got out of emergency surgery a little while ago and he’s currently on fluids.” She pointed to the next door. “America is in this room. He’s on fluids too. Japan has been keeping a close eye on both of them personally.”
“Why?”
Taiwan shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
Australia shook himself and dismissed it. “Right—New Zealand then.”
Taiwan opened the door for him and he ran in, going to his brother’s bed. “Zealand? Zea? Hey?” He grabbed his hand in both of his calloused ones. “Fuck me, mate. You look awful.”
New Zealand’s eye (the one not covered in fresh gauze) opened, feeling somehow sticky. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Australia’s voice shake like that. “Hey…Aussie…”
“Fuck, mate, I feared the worst.” His smile was relieved and he leaned over, burying his nose in New Zealand’s collarbone and wrapping his arms around him. “Don’t go scarin’ your older brother like that. Makes me nervous, y’fuckin twit.”
New Zealand smiled. “Missed you too.”
America’s eyes opened and his whole body twitched. “Ah…damn…” He felt like someone had beaten him with a tire iron.
“I have radioed England and he told me your prescription type. When we get back to Oman, we will have a new set of glasses ready for you.”
Japan watched America’s eyes twitch and then try to focus. It was strange, seeing America like this, uncertain and half-blind. America swallowed, still in pain but ignored it, saying, “Japan?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” America said, smiling faintly, reaching out to touch his wrist. “Where’s New Zealand? Is he okay? Were you the one in the ship?”
“Yes, it was our ship that found you. A patrol ship. New Zealand was taken for emergency surgery. He is recovering. Australia has just come on board.”
America nodded. “He’ll be with New Zealand then. Good.” He chuckled a little. “Don’t think I could get up to go check on him. And I think Australia would kick my ass for bringing him back in such poor shape.”
“You fulfilled your duty, America.”
America smiled a little, eyes on the ceiling and snorted. “Thanks, Japan.”
Japan barely stirred at his tone, a rare show of self-derision that Japan found somehow familiar and then bowed slightly in his chair. “England requested you radio him when you are able.”
America chuckled again. “Yeah.” And then he seemed to shake himself and come out of whatever reverie he was in. “Yeah,” he said, tone stronger and he sat up, breath hissing through his teeth.
“He did not say that you needed to do so as soon as you woke up.”
America was gingerly touching his shoulders. “I’m all right. Haha.”
He pushed himself to get up and Japan stood. “I will take you to the transmission room.”
“Thanks,” America said, reaching out through his foggy vision and touching Japan’s shoulder. “Don’t suppose you’re serving lunch later?”
“We will but I doubt there will be hamburgers.”
“You won’t make an exception?”
Japan smiled. ”One thing at a time, America.”
“Always that with you,” America told him, grinning, still holding onto Japan’s arm. “Gotta multi-task, man.” He stumbled a little, reaching out with his other hand to touch the wall.
Japan’s eyes slid over but he said nothing, letting America into the transmission room and then leaving him alone to talk to England.
He only came back and looked in the window of the door once, looked in at America, legs in hospital scrubs but shirtless with his elbow on the table and his forehead in his hand, eyes closed, apparently in the middle of a difficult conversation. He turned away, to give America his privacy and didn’t go back.
When Japan went to check on New Zealand he found him asleep, with Australia curled up on the bed right beside him.
New Zealand was up and around the next day. He went next door, peering into the inch of open door of America’s room. The other nation looked somber, either deep in thought or troubled but when New Zealand touched the door and pushed it open, America jumped and a smile lit up his face, though it hardly touched his eyes.
“Hey, Ricky.”
America sat up a little. “Hey, Zea. You look better. How are you feeling?”
“Doin’ better.” He nodded at him. “Y’all right there?”
America gave him a lofty grin and lifted his nose. “Course. I’m fine.”
“Right then,” said New Zealand, nodding a little. He’d never fully understood America. Canada and Australia were better at interpreting his actions and little nuances. “Well, once my eye heals, I’ll be ready to go. How are your blisters?”
“Blistery,” said America and he chuckled. “I’ll be up here in a little bit. Gotta get goin’, after all. I’m set to meet Russia out in the east.”
New Zealand blinked. “Already? You’ve already been given another assignment?”
“England and my generals don’t want me to get bored.” America laughed again and looked away.
New Zealand paused, watching him. “Did you ‘ave a fight with ‘im?”
“Huh?” America looked back. “No. Man, we’re cool.”
New Zealand lingered, unable to shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. “Okay. Well…tell me before y’leave, yeh? Australia wants to see you too.”
America nodded. “Sure thing, man. I’ll give ya a call.”
But America didn’t. He left without a word to anyone but Japan, thanking him for his new glasses before stepping gingerly into another patrol ship.
“America,” said Japan, lifting his chin before the men cast off the ropes. “You’re not really going east, are you?”
America did a double-take and snorted. “What, did someone call ahead to make sure I’d go? China hasn’t called you yet.”
“I have a very long history.” Japan inclined his head. Why would China have called?
“Yeah, yeah.” America looked thoughtful for a moment and then sighed. “Don’t tell them, okay?”
“If you are still feeling guilty about—“
“Look, that isn’t—“
“It is, of course, not my place to presume to know what you feel. Some would do better to remember that one can’t do everything. But, perhaps that is not the case at all.”
America looked stern but only for a minute before he sighed. “Ja mata ne, Nihon.” See you later, Japan. He bowed to him and turned away.
Japan bowed to his retreating form and waved for the ropes to be loosed.
And then Taiwan whirled around the corner. “Japan! Japan! China is on the line—he says it’s urgent! It’s about Prussia!”
Spain was good at dancing. At eastern styles and western styles. This wasn’t surprising over all; most people knew it. He knew a good dance when he saw one. He knew how to move himself; how to fit to a beat. His skin would hum and his eyes would burn and he would feel it everywhere. It was glorious.
So when he entered a bunker and heard music, he could already feel his muscles twitch. The desire to move and slide, arch and spin and glide—he followed the sound, he wasn’t on call after all. His review of the base was over. He trailed his fingers along the wall, smiling, listening and hurrying to the door he suspected.
And when he opened it, he saw another person dancing.
Though he hadn’t expected it to be Prussia, somehow. Spain hadn’t been aware that Prussia was even here; the officers told him he’d be in and out all day. “Prussia!”
Prussia flipped his hands, arching, moving his hips and then looked back. And then did a double-take. “Spain!”
Spain laughed and came into the room. “How come you never told me you could dance!”
“What are you doing here?”
Spain blinked. “What? Oh, I just finished my review! Great job, though I expect nothing less from you.”
“No,” said Prussia, and he lifted a little remote and turned the stereo off. “What are you doing at this base? I’m supposed to be the only Nation here.”
“I came out here yesterday to do a base review. Where’ve you been?”
Some note of recognition came to Prussia’s red eyes and then, in a flash, it was gone. “I thought that was next week.”
“What, are you hiding something? I don’t really care if you have a whore or booze or something. They told me you sent out a lot of units today—but that’s sort of expected, isn’t it?” Spain chuckled and fiddled with his cuffs. “You should turn the stereo back on. That was a good song.”
But, for some reason, Prussia didn’t move. He was staring at Spain. “Did anyone else come with you?”
Spain did a little double-take. “What? No, just me.” He eyed him. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What time is it?”
An inkling of unease was trickling, niggling at Spain. “It’s nineteen hundred or so. Why?”
Prussia went silent for a long moment.
Spain took a step forward, peering; smiling uncertainly. “What’s going on?”
Prussia smiled a little. “I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to shoot you. You deserve the opportunity to fight. I respect you enough for that.”
Spain blinked. “What?”
Prussia looked at his watch. “You’ve got about five minutes. They’re coming. Go get your axe. You still have it right?”
Spain’s mouth fell open. He blinked again. “Wh-what?”
“Spain—you still take it around with you, right?”
“Yes, but why would I—“
“Spain. They’re coming. You need to go warn the men, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, faintly, automatically. He’s betrayed us.
“Go and get it. Hurry up.”
“What did they offer you?”
Prussia shrugged. “It’s a little late for that now. Go.”
“Prussia, you—“
“Go! You idiot! They’re coming!” Prussia was coming at him, grabbing his arm, shoving him out the door. “If you want the rest of them to know—if you want to spare the lives of the men who are still here-fucking move!”
Spain staggered back into the wall, staring still when Prussia slammed the door in his face. Five minutes. He took off, yelling at the top of his voice, scrambling into the control room and pulling the alarm. He barked orders to his men and was gone again. He made it to his own room when the air raid sirens went off.
His weapon of choice on the field was what any soldier nowadays would have—a gun. But for close range combat, he preferred a long axe. Seven feet long, weighted tip and heavy head; a worn grip that felt good in his fingers—it was a weapon he could feel connected too. Like Denmark’s battle axe or China’s sword. He swung it, hefted it and ran out into the halls, where men and women were flooding out. They grabbed weapons and gear and raced to their stations but though it seemed like such a crush in the hallways…there were pitifully few soldiers here.
Of course. Prussia had sent large numbers of units out today.
Spain felt the ground quake underneath. The lights went out and the backup power kicked on and the windows shattered. The bombs fell—and that got Spain moving again. He carried his axe into the control room and dismissed the two lone officers present. “Get out of here! We’re going to be overrun!”
He grabbed the radio. “Transmission number four-six-two-three-eight!” He threw a look over his shoulder at the map, laying out where all the nearest bases were in the area. “Base call, Denhaus! Base call!”
“Received—Base call—”
“Surprise attack! Most of our units are out! I need some help! Like, ten minutes ago! We’re going to be overrun!”
There was another voice and sounds of shuffling and then Austria’s voice came in over the transmitter. “Where’s Prussia?”
“He’s the one who told me they were coming.”
There was a long silence over the line.
“Austria! I need help now! We’re—!”
Something blew outside and the backup power went out. Spain swore and slammed the receiver down. He grabbed his axe and went to the windows. There were troops on the ground now, and burning planes. A fuel tank had exploded. His recognized the uniforms of the men and women. Spaniards, Germans and Frenchmen were on this base. (Oh. Oh.) And they were fighting the enemy—they wore black, a pair of red stars on their sleeves.
Spain raised his axe and slammed it into the window.
By the time Austria arrived, the double-red star and stripe had been hung from the flagstaff but, curiously, the base was empty. They had left all the bodies behind and they were ominous, silent lumps in the darkness. Austria’s men fanned out to identify and collect them, except for his lieutenant, who stood next to him and said, “Shall I search the interior, sir?”
“No. I’ll do that.” His frown deepened. “You’ll radio back to base and inform them that it appears that we’ve been compromised by one of our own. Also, start a crew to get the electricity back up so we can turn on the airstrip lights.” Austria didn’t watch the smart salute. He walked towards the buildings.
They were empty. No Prussia and no Spain. The only indication that he’d even been given a fighting chance was that Austria found his long axe embedded in blood-covered wall on the first floor. Austria took it down and looked over the area—there was nothing else.
Canada sat back in his chair and looked up.
Spain was coming to the table. “Okay~ here we go. My famous hot chocolate—where’s the mugs?”
“Oh!” Canada jumped up and grabbed a couple, setting them on the countertop. “There.”
“Gracias~!” He poured the sweet-smelling liquid in from the pot and then placed it back on his stove. “So, what brings you to Madrid? You don’t come here often enough, Canada!”
“Actually,” Canada said, sitting again. “I have to ask you something—and, unfortunately, only you can answer.”
Spain’s smile stilled and his eyes went down to his mug. “Ah. I see.”
Canada nodded. “I am sorry.”
“No,” said Spain and he shook his head, smile still fixed on his face like a mosaic. “I understand. Are you writing about it?”
“Yes—and there are some bits I don’t know so…”
Spain was nodding again. “I understand. Not a big deal.” He laughed. “You should have said earlier—I would have made a meal. But—I can cook and talk at once. Do you have something to write on?”
Canada raised his notebook and clicked his pen.
“Perfect.” Spain looked down at his mug for a long time and then he got up again. “I will cook while I talk. Feel free to pour yourself some fresh Sangria.”
Spain fought out on the concrete with the other soldiers, until the black bombers flew in and rained down machine-gun fire. They were forced to take cover in headquarters.
“Two lines back at the walls!” Spain roared at them. “The rest of you, go up to the other floors and station the windows!”
The force was a mixed group but they seemed to coordinate themselves all right regardless. Spain started forward. “I’m going outside. Hold this fucking building until Austria gets here!”
Someone called after him but Spain ignored it. He walked out the double doors and into plain sight on the concrete, looking out on the airfield.
Where are you? I know you’re here.
He could feel it in his gut. There was a nation out there somewhere. He heard the crack of gunfire and started running. If anything, his weapon should have given away who he was; no one else on the battlefield would carry a long axe. He whirled it in a swooping circle, spinning and blood was on him and on the ground and in the air.
Soldiers were—but they weren’t as tanned as a Middle Eastern. These were white men, brown men, black men—a mix, they were a little bit of everything. And that surprised him—just how far-reaching was this? He could hear the clipped tones of the Europeans, the harsh German, musical French, lilting Spanish and Italian. He could hear elegant British English, laid-back American and Canadian English. The precise Japanese, guttural Arabic, the flow of Chinese. And it all came together in a terrible din of fighting.
An international underground movement. But where did the bombers come from? Who sold them those?
The fluttery feeling almost came too late. He whipped around and a bullet pinged off the head of his axe. His eyes met a set of blue-black ones.
You.
His hair was dark too and his skin was a dusty light brown; almost impossible to say where he might have been from. When he spoke, his Spanish was perfect, only a hint of an accent—but from where? The boy—because he hardly looked older than Mexico—lowered his gun and said, “You are Spain.”
“I am. It’s quite an operation you have here. Soldiers from all over the world, right?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “There’s no point in attempting to mask that from European nations. They know themselves too well.”
“Did you kill Burma?”
The young boy’s eyebrows went up. “Myanmar?”
Spain grunted. “He was Burma before he was Myanmar.”
“Back when he was England’s.”
“And back before he had a military coup that drove the whole country into shambles.”
“Then it’s no loss,” said the boy. His dark eyes suddenly seemed bigger, like black pits.
“It is always a loss. You’re just too young to realize it.”
The boy moved. It was very subtle, a slight tilt of the head, a shift of his eyes, a twitch of his fingers. “Or maybe you are just too old?” He dropped the gun and sprang at him.
He was fast. Spain barely managed to step back before the boy reached him—those blue-black eyes suddenly like gun barrels, caves, a well—silver!
Spain jerked and ducked, the knife missed him by an inch. He jerked the pole of his long axe, slamming it into the boy’s hip. It made him stagger and list. Spain swept the head of the axe—and then the bombers were flying low and fast—firing and Spain took off. It shattered the concrete around his feet. He ducked, weaving and staggered—felt a bullet go straight through him and burst out the front of his uniform. He grit his teeth.
The boy caught up to him in a flash, grabbed his shoulder and jerked back—raising the knife and sweeping in—
Spain dropped like a stone and flipped, slamming his boots into the boy’s knees. His hands scrambled at his belt, drawing a knife and slashed. The back of the boy’s ankle—the tendon there—split open and he fell. Spain shoved him off, grabbed his axe and ran. He ducked into headquarters and waited in the front lobby.
“Sir!” yelled a sergeant. “We’ve had no word! When is Denhaus—”
“All of you go upstairs!” He readied the axe and squared his stance.
The boy got up and looked at his ankle, seemed to test it and then deemed it adequate. He started for the building.
“Sir, you’re bleeding! Who is that—?”
“Go, Sergeant!”
One of the French soldiers ran up and pressed his firearm into Spain’s wrist. The nation took it, looking at blond-haired young man and seeing France for just a moment. “Merci,” he told him.
“Da nada,” he responded and turned. The sergeant was yelling at them, herding them upstairs and leaving Spain alone as the boy got to the lobby doors.
“I’m going to kill all of them once I take you,” said the boy, eyes gleaming like black beetles. Like the darkness that was falling in behind him, absorbing starlight.
“Ha, don’t think so highly of yourself, boy. I’ve been around for a long time. We’re hard to kill once we reach a certain age. Not like you young ones.”
“I have many different skills from my people. They taught me a lot.”
“So did America’s.”
“But I’m willing to use what America won’t.”
Spain paused. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” he said, and the corners of his mouth twitched, “he did use them once, I suppose.”
Spain stiffened, eyes going wide.
And then the boy moved—fast and he had a side arm in Spain’s face. Spain dropped his axe and grappled for it. He kicked him and the boy crumpled. Spain tackled him, fist winding back and slamming down over and over again. “You cocky little bastard! Threaten us with nuclear weapons! You weren’t even spawned when they were created! You have no damn clue what you’ll be in for!”
The boy raised his hands and grabbed at Spain’s wrists, trying to block. He was smiling, despite the blood. “I will though. Because I have an important ally now. I am the only one that can replace what he’s lost. You all made the mistake of not utilizing his impressive skills and restless nature.”
Spain stopped, staring down at him. “Don’t you dare speak like you know him.” He was shaking, quaking with—oh, this little—snarling, he spun around and grabbed his axe. He stood up, whirled the weapon and brought it down.
And the back of Spain’s head exploded.
The boy looked to the stairs. Prussia lowered his firearm as Spain staggered and fell. “The men upstairs?”
Prussia’s face was void of anything but a tiny smile. He lifted Spain’s axe and stuck it into the wall. “Taken care of.” He turned back and scooped his fellow nation up, throwing him over his shoulder. “Spain isn’t dead, of course.”
“Good,” said the boy and he stood as well. “Let’s go then. I want to be gone before Austria arrives.”
Prussia chuckled and followed into the night.
Germany was in the middle of writing when the phone rang. He checked the number and raised a hand to quiet Italy, who was practicing his swimming form on a chair. Hungary was in front of one of the maps on the wall. “Is it Austria?”
Germany nodded and picked up. “Austria, we heard there was some kind of attack on—“
Hungary turned to watch, doing something of a double-take when Germany abruptly stopped speaking, the pen dropped from his hand and all the color drained from his face. He was silent for a long time. Long enough that Italy sat up, peering at him in curiosity. Hungary approached too, putting her hand on Germany’s desk.
Italy’s fingers were crawling across the wood, settling onto German’s free hand, which, Hungary now saw, was shaking.
Finally, Germany said, “I understand. I’ll come.” But his voice was faint and wavering. He let the phone slip from his ear and back into the cradle.
“Ve, what’s wrong, Germany?”
“What happened?” Hungary echoed.
Germany didn’t look at them right away. He stared at his desk and licked his lips and took a deep breath. When he finally raised his eyes, he raised them to Hungary’s. “Prussia…,” he eyes flickered and then came back, “…has betrayed us.”
Hungary stiffened. Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“Spain came for a base review and Prussia didn’t expect it. Prussia told Spain what was about to happen and Spain ran off to try and radio for help but by the time Austria arrived…the base had been overwhelmed, all the men killed and Spain is missing.”
Italy’s face fell. “The enemy took him?”
Hungary broke eye contact with Germany and looked away to the maps. She bit her lip. “That bastard. I’ll…I’ll…I’ll kill him when I see him. That—how could—no—he wouldn’t do that. He’s—he’s a bastard but even he…. ”
Germany said nothing. He just stared at his desk, hardly noticing when Italy came around it and hugged his neck.
Spain awoke and jerked, eyes flickering everywhere. Bless the Virgin, his head hurt.
“Spain.”
Spain looked up, or as up as he could manage. Prussia was standing over him. Spain hissed and jerked, but his hands were cuffed. “Prussia! What is going on!”
“Well, you are currently on a ship. You—“
Spain swore in Spanish, a long string of blood-speckled insults.
Prussia laughed a little and wiped his nose off. “Really? Well. I’ll keep all that in mind.” He reached out, picking up a small, metal baton, about two feet in length and two inches in diameter. “You still remember the rules, right?”
“Does Germany know you’ve betrayed us?”
Prussia raised an eyebrow and put the tip of the baton under his chin. “No, I didn’t tell him. There’s a very thin line between hate and heart-break.”
“What the fuck could that goddamn boy have offered you that it would be worth this!” Spain bared his teeth.
Prussia chuckled and then snorted. “Well, this is my interrogation, isn’t it? I wanna ask some questions. Do you mind?”
“Yeah, I do!”
“Well,” said Prussia, “I guess the short answer is…land. Which, honestly, that should just be fuckin obvious. I want to be me again. Tired of being abolished. It’s boring.”
“You—what kind of excuse is—!“
Prussia whacked him with the baton.
Spain’s eyes lost focus and his head snapped to this side.
“Now, let’s get started.”
By the time the boy-nation came into the cell, he found Prussia cackling and Spain tied into a chair. Prussia's boot was on the seat, between Spain’s legs and the baton was sliding along his blood-splattered throat.
“Anything?”
Prussia looked at him. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised but not a damn thing.”
Those blue-black eyes flickered but Prussia held them. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” said Prussia. He laughed and grabbed Spain by the hair, jerking him. “Wanna ask him yourself?” He slammed his head back and looked into his face. “Hey, Spain! Mind telling me what you know about Russia?” He waited a deliberate moment and then imitated a bad Spanish accent and said, “I tell you nothing, you bull’s testicals!” He looked back at the blue-black eyes. “See?”
The boy-nation smiled a little. “I take your point.” He approached and reached out, rubbing a thumb into Spain’s eyelid and forcing it up so he could look into his eye. “You are a passionate, stubborn nation. We will break you before we send you off to die.”
Something in Spain’s bloodshot eye seemed to focus. He took a wheezing breath and said, “You don’t have…the power to…”
“I do.”
“So you get to live a little longer, if that’s any consolation.” Prussia laughed and patted him on the back.
Spain choked a little, opening his other, swollen eye and made a vague lunge towards Prussia but he struck him with the baton and threw him back into the chair.
“Take him downstairs.”
Prussia nodded and waited for the boy-nation to leave before he grabbed Spain up and threw him over his shoulder. “Oh, man, that guy. For such a young one, he sure is bossy. He’s already sectioned off a piece of land for me. I feel stronger already. It’s awesome. That guy still doesn’t seem to have a name yet—his men just call him the World Resistance. The WR.” He kipped down a set of damp, concrete stairs. “You can smell the ocean from down here, so it’s almost like home, right?”
He swung Spain down into his arms and made his way to the back where two cells were joined, side by side. “Hey, Burma! You got company now!” Prussia went to the left one, jangled the keys and opened the door. He tossed Spain inside in a lump, closed it and then leaned against it. “Now see…look to your right. Hey, Spain! Spain, look to your right!” He jeered at him until Spain managed to lift his eyes and look.
There was a young man there, another nation. Spain recognized him, barely. His skin was a warm brown, though he was dirty now and covered in rags. His hair, once neatly trimmed was now long and ragged and filthy. He had curious golden eyes, though they were fixed on the floor and just barely flickered over to them; they seemed dim.
“That’s Burma! Or Myanmar, or whatever! He answers to both! See, he’s not dead! Well, you guys get along. No fighting over the rats.” He laughed and turned away, heading back up into the light.
Spain wiped blood out of his face and said, “Burma…are you okay?”
Burma shifted and swallowed and made a shuffling crawl to the bars between their cells. He clung to them. “I’m all right. Are you okay?”
“I might be,” Spain murmured and he shuffled over and slumped in the corner, leaning on the bars that separated them, now close enough to see that sad dimness in Burma’s eyes. “I didn’t expect Prussia to…”
“I was here before he arrived,” Burma said, faintly. “I was surprised too. Why did he capture you?”
“Wrong place, wrong time,” Spain said, managing a little smile. “As seems to be the problem with me. I don’t have much luck. I should have stayed home and taken a nap.”
Burma smiled a little and unwound one of the rags around his thin ankle. He passed it through the bars and Spain took it with a murmured thanks.
“I’m glad I’m not alone anymore,” Burma said, quietly. “It’s very lonely here.”
Spain did a double-take and smiled for him. “Glad I’m not alone either.”
“He broke Thailand’s glasses. He only barely got away. The boy said was going to hit the rest of Africa after he took Egypt.”
“Egypt is strong,” Spain said to the bars. “It would take a lot to bring him down. He’s been around forever.”
“He wants China too.”
“Well, he’ll have to learn that you don’t always get what you want.” Spain wiped his face off. “Did he talk to you a lot?”
“He told me about the bombs. The nuclear bombs.”
Spain stopped and just held the rag for a moment. “He wasn’t bluffing?”
“No.” And Burma’s voice shook. “He said he would bomb India. He says he has spies everywhere. Even in Russia and America. Right under their noses. I don’t want him to bomb India. She and I…we fought sometimes and didn’t always agree…but…I miss her. I haven’t been able to see her much since…the coup…”
“Hey, don’t worry. She’ll be okay. The others will help her if something happens. I am certain of this, okay?”
Burma pushed his fingers into his hair and nodded. “Yes,” he said, quietly.
Thailand ran. He could barely see, given how that damn boy-nation had broken his glasses. But he managed to make his way south and then went east through Laos and Vietnam and then traded his shoes, watch, gloves and jacket with a boy in return for his boat and ragged robe.
He was glad to be out of the restrictive shoes, despite his predicament. Thailand felt most at home in his own skin. Of course, the current situation was certainly a pain. This was not the time for this sort of business. He was newly-industrialized. He sighed as he hurried with the sails and struck out east, towards the Philippines. “Only one around here who wasn’t colonized by Europe and I’m the one that ends up on the run. You think after all the political problems I’ve had the last couple of years—” he stuck his oar in and helped the wind push his boat, “—I’d have a chance to rest a little.” He shook his head.
He was rather hoping he’d run into one of China’s patrol ships. It was a long way to the Philippines and he had close to no supplies. He’d have gone north and west but...well, after the little black bombers started appearing…
And speaking of black bombers…
He heard them whistle overhead and looked up, watching a little fleet zip across the sky.
“Where the hell did they come from?” He stood and looked around. There were no battle ships. Maybe a submarine? He peered over the edge of the boat but—
The whistling was getting louder.
Thailand looked up and then he jumped because one of the bombers had peeled away from the group and shot low over the water and he was firing at him. Thailand grabbed the edge of the boat and flipped it. He grabbed onto the wooden seat and kept himself under the overturned boat, hearing the thump and zing of bullets piercing the wood hull.
“Oh, no.” He sighed as the back end of the boat disintegrated. “So I either get shot to death or I drown.” He held on tight to the wood, hiding under it as the black bomber swept by again and then headed back to its fleet.
Thailand didn’t bother trying to flip the boat back up. He busted off the curve of the hull and clung to the bottom as it drifted in the ocean. His oars had both snapped off but his mast was still in one piece. He took a deep breath and dove under the water, kicking and pulling at it until it cracked.
He surfaced, sputtering and heaved himself onto the largest bit of shattered vessel. Soaked, half-blind, cold and tired, Thailand locked his jaw stubbornly and dipped the bit of mast into the water to use as an oar.
When thunder rumbled in the distance, he groaned. Where are China’s patrol ships, he thought. He was only a few hundred miles off the coast of China. There should have been at least one…they were in the middle of war, after all.
For some reason, it made him more uneasy than the coming storm.
“Well, well, he’s a dumbass and he deserved to be captured!” Romano yelled, curling his lip and stomping his boot. He pointed at Germany. “This is all your fault! Stupid potato-scarfing bastard, your goddamn brother! He’s—“
“Romano!” Italy wailed. “Stop…” He pulled on his arm.
“Shut up, idiot!” Romano snapped. He sniffed and glared back at Germany. “How do we know you aren’t going to betray us too! You Krauts are always—“
“Hey! Shut up, kid.” Denmark sat back in his chair. “Nobody asked for your opinion.”
“Spain could die, Romano,” said Austria, looking down his nose.
“So!” Romano’s voice suddenly became shrill. “Who cares! I-I don’t! I—I’d kill him myself if he were here!”
China shifted in his chair. “This is not getting us anywhere. We should—“
“What we do about Spain is—“ Austria began.
“Spain knows the risks!” someone interrupted.
“Spain is a goddamn moron!” Romano was becoming increasingly shrill, shaking.
Portugal jumped and slammed his hands down on the table. Everyone went silent and looked at him. Hungary, Germany, Italy, Romano, Austria, China, Russia, Denmark, Belgium and England, who met his eyes directly and gave him a small nod. “This is exactly what they want from us. Don’t you see? And now we know it’s someone. New Zealand and America told us about the flag and India confirmed reports of an unknown like us. He would probably love nothing more than to have us at each other’s throats. And now he has Prussia—who is very good at what he does. It was an oversight on everyone’s part not to see the potential there. We assumed Prussia would not betray us. He’s an old nation, like us. We should have known better. But now we know and nothing can be done about it. We don’t know where Spain is because they have no physical boundaries. No locations. We just know that he controls large chunks of India, Burma and Thailand and that they’re hiding in southern Germany.”
“Was anyone able to make further contact with India?” Hungary asked.
England shook his head. “America and New Zealand were the last to speak to her. There’s been radio silence above the western rain forest. Fortunately, her air force is landing in safe airfields. I brought in a unit just two days ago. Russia took in another.”
“Now that Prussia has turned his colors, they may become bolder,” Austria said, carefully. “Now we know their flag—they’re showing it to us—they want us to know who they are.”
“Where are America and France?” Belgium asked.
England waved a hand. “I told America after he radioed me on Japan’s patrol ship. I sent him off on another mission. France headed out to give Egypt a hand.”
China frowned. “We need to keep better track of where everyone is. It’s strange having so many allies on one side.”
“When Canada returns from Ukraine, he, Iceland, Denmark and his brother, Greenland, Norway, Finland and myself will be heading north,” said Russia, raising a hand. “America’s submarine crews reported hearing echoes in the water in the North Pole.”
“You all are certainly best suited for it,” Austria sniffed.
“Greenland technically doesn’t belong to me anymore—I think he’d resent that,” Denmark chuckled.
“You do still control his finances, foreign affairs and defense, don’t you?” asked Belgium.
“What are we going to do about Spain? Remember, the original topic?” Romano interjected, looking somewhere between teary and angry at the same time. “You all are such morons!”
Portugal looked at England. England glanced at Russia. Russia smiled and said, “There isn’t much that we can do. We have no idea where they are.”
Hungary looked down at the table, reaching over and gently tapping Germany’s wrist. He was also looking down. No doubt blaming himself for not knowing, Hungary thought and when Germany looked at her, she gave him a nod.
He looked back down.
“Germany,” and that was England, tone clipped and blunt. “I need to know if you will be able to fight, aware that you may end up having to fight Prussia.”
Germany only nodded.
“Hungary, would you be averse to accompanying Germany from now on?” England eyed her, silent saying, Should you actually run into Prussia, I want a guarantee that he will be dealt with.
Hungary nodded, fists clenching under the table. “Of course.”
Belgium stood up and took out a red marker. “Let’s get the map down and re-coordinate our plans. France is with Egypt and—“ she looked at England, “where did you send America?”
England let his eyes linger on Hungary’s and then he stood, going to the wall and pulling the map down. He laid it on the table and China put a little cup on the corner to stop it curling back. England said, “Put two red stars in the areas we’ve lost control over. We should update all at once. Burma and Thailand have fallen completely. Cambodia and Laos probably won’t be far behind. India’s coasts and north-western border are gone so the middle likely won’t hold. Nepal is right between India and China—“ England glanced up at him. “Have you word from Nepal?”
China swept his wrist back, tracing the border with his finger while Belgium started drawing pairs of red stars. “Kathmandu has maintained radio silence. India might have taken him in. Nepal was always a stubborn little nation though. He may have stayed in his capital.”
“America and I have satellites that can spot dimes on football fields,” said Russia. “It would not be much to take a look that way.”
“Well, what the hell have you been doing with them up till this point!” Romano snapped. “You stupid drunk!”
Denmark kicked his chair. “Someone take this idiot out before I shove my boot up his ass.”
Russia just smiled and chuckled. “I have been watching you.”
Romano started and froze in his chair. Italy whimpered and grabbed his elder brother, dragging him out of the room.
Russia seemed tickled by this response and he looked back to the others. “Actually, America and I have been watching the trade routes. We coordinated these ourselves. To keep an eye on suspicious ships and I have already redirected two of them to start looking for aircraft carries without an Allied flag.”
“To find out who is shipping the black bombers. Who is selling them?” Austria clarified.
Russia smiled. “I will be very happy when I discover who the other traitors are.”
The rest of them paused. Denmark grinned.
England coughed to break the silence. “We should keep in mind that we may not be dealing with other nations in regards to that. From America’s and New Zealand’s reports, India’s words indicate that this is some kind of massive underground group.”
“Terrorists?” suggested Hungary.
“Not in the same sense we’ve used it in the past,” England said. “But that might suffice. In any case, given their technology—the black bombers and skilled pilots, especially, we should assume that they are not all from one place. Austria, did the cameras record anything of use?”
Austria’s lips thinned. “They were quick to bomb the lines. So, from the time stamps, they lost power first. When the emergency power kicked on, it didn’t last long before it was redirected to headquarters main building. And then there were only soldiers upstairs.”
“Mine?” asked Germany, suddenly. He looked up.
“Yours,” Austria confirmed, not looking at him. “Spain’s and France’s. On the tapes, Spain is yelling for them to go upstairs and station the windows. Unfortunately, Prussia was up there waiting for them; they never had a chance. One of the ceiling cameras happened to be pointing out the window—it shows a man with an axe—undoubtedly Spain—and he has a scuffle with someone—black uniform, like the others, but then the power went out completely.”
Germany rested his forehead in his palm.
England’s eye hardened. “Nothing else?”
Austria gave him a cool look. “I wasn’t finished. We found that many of the cameras outside headquarters were broken open. But there was one they failed to break in the flight hangar. It actually had very few planes in it—Prussia had sent out multiple units that day for patrols and the like, obviously so that there would be little resistance on the base itself. But it showed a small unit of men and women in black uniforms. As a group, they called orders in English. But, the four who approached the camera in question; two spoke Chinese, one spoke Italian and one spoke British English. To talk to each other, they spoke English but amongst themselves, they spoke in their native languages. I have made copies for each of you to view in your own time but you can hear other languages being spoken by the unit—as apparently their only orders were to secure the hangar.”
“Was there any detailing on their uniforms?” Denmark asked.
“Two red stars on the sleeve--just like the flag they left behind. Of the four that approached the camera, one had a little red pin on his collar, possibly indicating rank.”
“They sound like they’re already pretty organized,” Portugal said. “He must want Prussia for strategy.”
“He’s fought all of us at one time or another.” England frowned. “Did anyone tell Mexico and Cuba about Spain’s capture?”
“I sent word,” said Austria. “I haven’t heard back from Cuba yet. Mexico is coming tomorrow.”
China was still standing, watching Belgium make marks of interest on the map around Nepal. “My borders may be too large to—ahh—!”
He seized, a choked yell tearing out of his mouth. China shoved himself back from the table, hands flying to his chest.
“China?” England furrowed his eyebrows.
He tore at his chest, ripping at his shirt, eyes frantic. Denmark got up from his chair. “China, hey—were you attacked?”
And then a terrible moan, like a wounded animal, pitiable and helpless and China staggered. Denmark tried to catch him but then Russia was there, ripping Denmark back by his collar and grabbing China himself. Russia shoved the other nation against the wall and tore his shirt open with one fatal rip.
China’s fingers latched onto Russia, writhing and coughing and gagging.
Russia watched the burn bloom on his chest and start to spread. He knew this mark. He had seen it on Japan after…
China’s entire body stiffened, seized again but he managed to keep his silence; the scream stuck in his throat. He convulsed there against the wall, Russia the only thing keeping him on his feet.
“What the hell is that?” Belgium demanded, pointing.
Hungary whirled to look at England, “Is that—?!”
England just stared. In his mind’s eye, there was Japan—fair skin that he had seen every inch of—and then—after that day…
“England!”
Russia’s suddenly brusqueness jerked him back into the present and he shoved the table away and went to him, looking at the wound. It was spreading. So fast, it was spreading. Russia’s tone was dark. He growled, “This means nuclear weapons.”
England reached out, touching, shoving China’s shirt aside and raising a hand, laying it over China’s eyes. “It is. I saw Japan…after.” He looked up.
Russia did not look down to meet his gaze. He had a lock on China’s skin, bubbling and peeling away, soaking Russia’s gloves in red.
Another shock ripped through him. Russia struggled to hold him as China’s back arched again and he jerked his eyes out from under England’s hand. “Beijing!” he cried, rasped, as if liquid fire tore at his throat. His skin crackled and splattered.
Belgium jerked away, stepping back into the table. She bumped it, started and looked down.
Their world map had blood on it.
[Part One||Part Three]
1. The use of Burma's name is a little tricky, as per Wiki tells me, "However, governments of many countries including the United States,[9] the United Kingdom, Australia, France,[10] and Canada still refer to the country as "Burma", with varying levels of recognition of the validity of the name change itself. Others, including the Association of Southeast Asian Nations and the governments of Germany, Japan,[11] China and Russia[12] recognize "Myanmar" as the official name." I went with Burma because that's what I know. So I hope I don't offend anyone.
ALSO,lilgreekaus91 drew a picture of Ireland for me! Isn't she awesome! High-five!
Author/Artist:
historyblitz, kept track of at historizeCharacter(s) or Pairing(s): Basically, everyone. This particular part has a lot of Spain and Prussia. [Also includes the America and NZ bit that I had to cut off last time that includes Japan and South Korea, Australia and Taiwan.] China, Russia, Denmark, Italy, Romano, Belgium, Germany, Austria, England and Hungary also appear. Also, Burma (Myanmar) and Thailand.
Rating: thematic R
Warnings: violence,
Summary: Basically, World War III
“You know, he sort of looks like Austria.”
Japan’s mouth barely quirked. “I suppose that is so.”
“You quirked a little. You thought it was funny, c’mon, Japan. Laugh.”
“Given that Thailand’s current condition is unknown…”
“Aw, don’t worry about him. C’mon, try some of this chicken. I wrote the recipe myself.”
“Congratulations,” Japan told him, “but—“
“Just try it—“
The door flew open and the two received a smart salute. “Sir,” said the officer, “there is something up ahead. A little boat. There’s two men inside.”
“A fishing boat?” asked Japan, standing and heading out the door. South Korea followed behind, looking vaguely interested. The officer scurried to walk just behind Japan.
“It’s too far from the coast, sir,” said the officer. “The sails are new.”
On deck of the patrol boat, Japan gestured for the binoculars.
South Korea jumped when Japan hurled them aside. “What are you—“
“Get that boat,” Japan commanded. “That’s America and New Zealand.”
“They went down on the—“ South Korea seemed to realize the significance of this. “I’ll radio the port in Oman.” He turned away, hurrying.
Japan’s crew intercepted the boat, letting it bump against their much larger hull but Japan’s calls down to the boat went unanswered. “Lower the ropes.”
They hauled the boat up.
Word traveled fast and Australia was on a patrol boat that very evening, meeting up with Japan’s ship around twilight. He jumped onto the deck and Taiwan appeared. He took off his cap and gave her a nod. “Where—?”
“This way,” she said, nodding back and turning. She hurried because he was nearly running. Down in the infirmary, she took quick little steps to match his longer stride to another wing. “These two rooms. New Zealand got out of emergency surgery a little while ago and he’s currently on fluids.” She pointed to the next door. “America is in this room. He’s on fluids too. Japan has been keeping a close eye on both of them personally.”
“Why?”
Taiwan shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
Australia shook himself and dismissed it. “Right—New Zealand then.”
Taiwan opened the door for him and he ran in, going to his brother’s bed. “Zealand? Zea? Hey?” He grabbed his hand in both of his calloused ones. “Fuck me, mate. You look awful.”
New Zealand’s eye (the one not covered in fresh gauze) opened, feeling somehow sticky. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Australia’s voice shake like that. “Hey…Aussie…”
“Fuck, mate, I feared the worst.” His smile was relieved and he leaned over, burying his nose in New Zealand’s collarbone and wrapping his arms around him. “Don’t go scarin’ your older brother like that. Makes me nervous, y’fuckin twit.”
New Zealand smiled. “Missed you too.”
America’s eyes opened and his whole body twitched. “Ah…damn…” He felt like someone had beaten him with a tire iron.
“I have radioed England and he told me your prescription type. When we get back to Oman, we will have a new set of glasses ready for you.”
Japan watched America’s eyes twitch and then try to focus. It was strange, seeing America like this, uncertain and half-blind. America swallowed, still in pain but ignored it, saying, “Japan?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” America said, smiling faintly, reaching out to touch his wrist. “Where’s New Zealand? Is he okay? Were you the one in the ship?”
“Yes, it was our ship that found you. A patrol ship. New Zealand was taken for emergency surgery. He is recovering. Australia has just come on board.”
America nodded. “He’ll be with New Zealand then. Good.” He chuckled a little. “Don’t think I could get up to go check on him. And I think Australia would kick my ass for bringing him back in such poor shape.”
“You fulfilled your duty, America.”
America smiled a little, eyes on the ceiling and snorted. “Thanks, Japan.”
Japan barely stirred at his tone, a rare show of self-derision that Japan found somehow familiar and then bowed slightly in his chair. “England requested you radio him when you are able.”
America chuckled again. “Yeah.” And then he seemed to shake himself and come out of whatever reverie he was in. “Yeah,” he said, tone stronger and he sat up, breath hissing through his teeth.
“He did not say that you needed to do so as soon as you woke up.”
America was gingerly touching his shoulders. “I’m all right. Haha.”
He pushed himself to get up and Japan stood. “I will take you to the transmission room.”
“Thanks,” America said, reaching out through his foggy vision and touching Japan’s shoulder. “Don’t suppose you’re serving lunch later?”
“We will but I doubt there will be hamburgers.”
“You won’t make an exception?”
Japan smiled. ”One thing at a time, America.”
“Always that with you,” America told him, grinning, still holding onto Japan’s arm. “Gotta multi-task, man.” He stumbled a little, reaching out with his other hand to touch the wall.
Japan’s eyes slid over but he said nothing, letting America into the transmission room and then leaving him alone to talk to England.
He only came back and looked in the window of the door once, looked in at America, legs in hospital scrubs but shirtless with his elbow on the table and his forehead in his hand, eyes closed, apparently in the middle of a difficult conversation. He turned away, to give America his privacy and didn’t go back.
When Japan went to check on New Zealand he found him asleep, with Australia curled up on the bed right beside him.
New Zealand was up and around the next day. He went next door, peering into the inch of open door of America’s room. The other nation looked somber, either deep in thought or troubled but when New Zealand touched the door and pushed it open, America jumped and a smile lit up his face, though it hardly touched his eyes.
“Hey, Ricky.”
America sat up a little. “Hey, Zea. You look better. How are you feeling?”
“Doin’ better.” He nodded at him. “Y’all right there?”
America gave him a lofty grin and lifted his nose. “Course. I’m fine.”
“Right then,” said New Zealand, nodding a little. He’d never fully understood America. Canada and Australia were better at interpreting his actions and little nuances. “Well, once my eye heals, I’ll be ready to go. How are your blisters?”
“Blistery,” said America and he chuckled. “I’ll be up here in a little bit. Gotta get goin’, after all. I’m set to meet Russia out in the east.”
New Zealand blinked. “Already? You’ve already been given another assignment?”
“England and my generals don’t want me to get bored.” America laughed again and looked away.
New Zealand paused, watching him. “Did you ‘ave a fight with ‘im?”
“Huh?” America looked back. “No. Man, we’re cool.”
New Zealand lingered, unable to shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. “Okay. Well…tell me before y’leave, yeh? Australia wants to see you too.”
America nodded. “Sure thing, man. I’ll give ya a call.”
But America didn’t. He left without a word to anyone but Japan, thanking him for his new glasses before stepping gingerly into another patrol ship.
“America,” said Japan, lifting his chin before the men cast off the ropes. “You’re not really going east, are you?”
America did a double-take and snorted. “What, did someone call ahead to make sure I’d go? China hasn’t called you yet.”
“I have a very long history.” Japan inclined his head. Why would China have called?
“Yeah, yeah.” America looked thoughtful for a moment and then sighed. “Don’t tell them, okay?”
“If you are still feeling guilty about—“
“Look, that isn’t—“
“It is, of course, not my place to presume to know what you feel. Some would do better to remember that one can’t do everything. But, perhaps that is not the case at all.”
America looked stern but only for a minute before he sighed. “Ja mata ne, Nihon.” See you later, Japan. He bowed to him and turned away.
Japan bowed to his retreating form and waved for the ropes to be loosed.
And then Taiwan whirled around the corner. “Japan! Japan! China is on the line—he says it’s urgent! It’s about Prussia!”
Spain was good at dancing. At eastern styles and western styles. This wasn’t surprising over all; most people knew it. He knew a good dance when he saw one. He knew how to move himself; how to fit to a beat. His skin would hum and his eyes would burn and he would feel it everywhere. It was glorious.
So when he entered a bunker and heard music, he could already feel his muscles twitch. The desire to move and slide, arch and spin and glide—he followed the sound, he wasn’t on call after all. His review of the base was over. He trailed his fingers along the wall, smiling, listening and hurrying to the door he suspected.
And when he opened it, he saw another person dancing.
Though he hadn’t expected it to be Prussia, somehow. Spain hadn’t been aware that Prussia was even here; the officers told him he’d be in and out all day. “Prussia!”
Prussia flipped his hands, arching, moving his hips and then looked back. And then did a double-take. “Spain!”
Spain laughed and came into the room. “How come you never told me you could dance!”
“What are you doing here?”
Spain blinked. “What? Oh, I just finished my review! Great job, though I expect nothing less from you.”
“No,” said Prussia, and he lifted a little remote and turned the stereo off. “What are you doing at this base? I’m supposed to be the only Nation here.”
“I came out here yesterday to do a base review. Where’ve you been?”
Some note of recognition came to Prussia’s red eyes and then, in a flash, it was gone. “I thought that was next week.”
“What, are you hiding something? I don’t really care if you have a whore or booze or something. They told me you sent out a lot of units today—but that’s sort of expected, isn’t it?” Spain chuckled and fiddled with his cuffs. “You should turn the stereo back on. That was a good song.”
But, for some reason, Prussia didn’t move. He was staring at Spain. “Did anyone else come with you?”
Spain did a little double-take. “What? No, just me.” He eyed him. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What time is it?”
An inkling of unease was trickling, niggling at Spain. “It’s nineteen hundred or so. Why?”
Prussia went silent for a long moment.
Spain took a step forward, peering; smiling uncertainly. “What’s going on?”
Prussia smiled a little. “I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to shoot you. You deserve the opportunity to fight. I respect you enough for that.”
Spain blinked. “What?”
Prussia looked at his watch. “You’ve got about five minutes. They’re coming. Go get your axe. You still have it right?”
Spain’s mouth fell open. He blinked again. “Wh-what?”
“Spain—you still take it around with you, right?”
“Yes, but why would I—“
“Spain. They’re coming. You need to go warn the men, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, faintly, automatically. He’s betrayed us.
“Go and get it. Hurry up.”
“What did they offer you?”
Prussia shrugged. “It’s a little late for that now. Go.”
“Prussia, you—“
“Go! You idiot! They’re coming!” Prussia was coming at him, grabbing his arm, shoving him out the door. “If you want the rest of them to know—if you want to spare the lives of the men who are still here-fucking move!”
Spain staggered back into the wall, staring still when Prussia slammed the door in his face. Five minutes. He took off, yelling at the top of his voice, scrambling into the control room and pulling the alarm. He barked orders to his men and was gone again. He made it to his own room when the air raid sirens went off.
His weapon of choice on the field was what any soldier nowadays would have—a gun. But for close range combat, he preferred a long axe. Seven feet long, weighted tip and heavy head; a worn grip that felt good in his fingers—it was a weapon he could feel connected too. Like Denmark’s battle axe or China’s sword. He swung it, hefted it and ran out into the halls, where men and women were flooding out. They grabbed weapons and gear and raced to their stations but though it seemed like such a crush in the hallways…there were pitifully few soldiers here.
Of course. Prussia had sent large numbers of units out today.
Spain felt the ground quake underneath. The lights went out and the backup power kicked on and the windows shattered. The bombs fell—and that got Spain moving again. He carried his axe into the control room and dismissed the two lone officers present. “Get out of here! We’re going to be overrun!”
He grabbed the radio. “Transmission number four-six-two-three-eight!” He threw a look over his shoulder at the map, laying out where all the nearest bases were in the area. “Base call, Denhaus! Base call!”
“Received—Base call—”
“Surprise attack! Most of our units are out! I need some help! Like, ten minutes ago! We’re going to be overrun!”
There was another voice and sounds of shuffling and then Austria’s voice came in over the transmitter. “Where’s Prussia?”
“He’s the one who told me they were coming.”
There was a long silence over the line.
“Austria! I need help now! We’re—!”
Something blew outside and the backup power went out. Spain swore and slammed the receiver down. He grabbed his axe and went to the windows. There were troops on the ground now, and burning planes. A fuel tank had exploded. His recognized the uniforms of the men and women. Spaniards, Germans and Frenchmen were on this base. (Oh. Oh.) And they were fighting the enemy—they wore black, a pair of red stars on their sleeves.
Spain raised his axe and slammed it into the window.
By the time Austria arrived, the double-red star and stripe had been hung from the flagstaff but, curiously, the base was empty. They had left all the bodies behind and they were ominous, silent lumps in the darkness. Austria’s men fanned out to identify and collect them, except for his lieutenant, who stood next to him and said, “Shall I search the interior, sir?”
“No. I’ll do that.” His frown deepened. “You’ll radio back to base and inform them that it appears that we’ve been compromised by one of our own. Also, start a crew to get the electricity back up so we can turn on the airstrip lights.” Austria didn’t watch the smart salute. He walked towards the buildings.
They were empty. No Prussia and no Spain. The only indication that he’d even been given a fighting chance was that Austria found his long axe embedded in blood-covered wall on the first floor. Austria took it down and looked over the area—there was nothing else.
Canada sat back in his chair and looked up.
Spain was coming to the table. “Okay~ here we go. My famous hot chocolate—where’s the mugs?”
“Oh!” Canada jumped up and grabbed a couple, setting them on the countertop. “There.”
“Gracias~!” He poured the sweet-smelling liquid in from the pot and then placed it back on his stove. “So, what brings you to Madrid? You don’t come here often enough, Canada!”
“Actually,” Canada said, sitting again. “I have to ask you something—and, unfortunately, only you can answer.”
Spain’s smile stilled and his eyes went down to his mug. “Ah. I see.”
Canada nodded. “I am sorry.”
“No,” said Spain and he shook his head, smile still fixed on his face like a mosaic. “I understand. Are you writing about it?”
“Yes—and there are some bits I don’t know so…”
Spain was nodding again. “I understand. Not a big deal.” He laughed. “You should have said earlier—I would have made a meal. But—I can cook and talk at once. Do you have something to write on?”
Canada raised his notebook and clicked his pen.
“Perfect.” Spain looked down at his mug for a long time and then he got up again. “I will cook while I talk. Feel free to pour yourself some fresh Sangria.”
Spain fought out on the concrete with the other soldiers, until the black bombers flew in and rained down machine-gun fire. They were forced to take cover in headquarters.
“Two lines back at the walls!” Spain roared at them. “The rest of you, go up to the other floors and station the windows!”
The force was a mixed group but they seemed to coordinate themselves all right regardless. Spain started forward. “I’m going outside. Hold this fucking building until Austria gets here!”
Someone called after him but Spain ignored it. He walked out the double doors and into plain sight on the concrete, looking out on the airfield.
Where are you? I know you’re here.
He could feel it in his gut. There was a nation out there somewhere. He heard the crack of gunfire and started running. If anything, his weapon should have given away who he was; no one else on the battlefield would carry a long axe. He whirled it in a swooping circle, spinning and blood was on him and on the ground and in the air.
Soldiers were—but they weren’t as tanned as a Middle Eastern. These were white men, brown men, black men—a mix, they were a little bit of everything. And that surprised him—just how far-reaching was this? He could hear the clipped tones of the Europeans, the harsh German, musical French, lilting Spanish and Italian. He could hear elegant British English, laid-back American and Canadian English. The precise Japanese, guttural Arabic, the flow of Chinese. And it all came together in a terrible din of fighting.
An international underground movement. But where did the bombers come from? Who sold them those?
The fluttery feeling almost came too late. He whipped around and a bullet pinged off the head of his axe. His eyes met a set of blue-black ones.
You.
His hair was dark too and his skin was a dusty light brown; almost impossible to say where he might have been from. When he spoke, his Spanish was perfect, only a hint of an accent—but from where? The boy—because he hardly looked older than Mexico—lowered his gun and said, “You are Spain.”
“I am. It’s quite an operation you have here. Soldiers from all over the world, right?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “There’s no point in attempting to mask that from European nations. They know themselves too well.”
“Did you kill Burma?”
The young boy’s eyebrows went up. “Myanmar?”
Spain grunted. “He was Burma before he was Myanmar.”
“Back when he was England’s.”
“And back before he had a military coup that drove the whole country into shambles.”
“Then it’s no loss,” said the boy. His dark eyes suddenly seemed bigger, like black pits.
“It is always a loss. You’re just too young to realize it.”
The boy moved. It was very subtle, a slight tilt of the head, a shift of his eyes, a twitch of his fingers. “Or maybe you are just too old?” He dropped the gun and sprang at him.
He was fast. Spain barely managed to step back before the boy reached him—those blue-black eyes suddenly like gun barrels, caves, a well—silver!
Spain jerked and ducked, the knife missed him by an inch. He jerked the pole of his long axe, slamming it into the boy’s hip. It made him stagger and list. Spain swept the head of the axe—and then the bombers were flying low and fast—firing and Spain took off. It shattered the concrete around his feet. He ducked, weaving and staggered—felt a bullet go straight through him and burst out the front of his uniform. He grit his teeth.
The boy caught up to him in a flash, grabbed his shoulder and jerked back—raising the knife and sweeping in—
Spain dropped like a stone and flipped, slamming his boots into the boy’s knees. His hands scrambled at his belt, drawing a knife and slashed. The back of the boy’s ankle—the tendon there—split open and he fell. Spain shoved him off, grabbed his axe and ran. He ducked into headquarters and waited in the front lobby.
“Sir!” yelled a sergeant. “We’ve had no word! When is Denhaus—”
“All of you go upstairs!” He readied the axe and squared his stance.
The boy got up and looked at his ankle, seemed to test it and then deemed it adequate. He started for the building.
“Sir, you’re bleeding! Who is that—?”
“Go, Sergeant!”
One of the French soldiers ran up and pressed his firearm into Spain’s wrist. The nation took it, looking at blond-haired young man and seeing France for just a moment. “Merci,” he told him.
“Da nada,” he responded and turned. The sergeant was yelling at them, herding them upstairs and leaving Spain alone as the boy got to the lobby doors.
“I’m going to kill all of them once I take you,” said the boy, eyes gleaming like black beetles. Like the darkness that was falling in behind him, absorbing starlight.
“Ha, don’t think so highly of yourself, boy. I’ve been around for a long time. We’re hard to kill once we reach a certain age. Not like you young ones.”
“I have many different skills from my people. They taught me a lot.”
“So did America’s.”
“But I’m willing to use what America won’t.”
Spain paused. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” he said, and the corners of his mouth twitched, “he did use them once, I suppose.”
Spain stiffened, eyes going wide.
And then the boy moved—fast and he had a side arm in Spain’s face. Spain dropped his axe and grappled for it. He kicked him and the boy crumpled. Spain tackled him, fist winding back and slamming down over and over again. “You cocky little bastard! Threaten us with nuclear weapons! You weren’t even spawned when they were created! You have no damn clue what you’ll be in for!”
The boy raised his hands and grabbed at Spain’s wrists, trying to block. He was smiling, despite the blood. “I will though. Because I have an important ally now. I am the only one that can replace what he’s lost. You all made the mistake of not utilizing his impressive skills and restless nature.”
Spain stopped, staring down at him. “Don’t you dare speak like you know him.” He was shaking, quaking with—oh, this little—snarling, he spun around and grabbed his axe. He stood up, whirled the weapon and brought it down.
And the back of Spain’s head exploded.
The boy looked to the stairs. Prussia lowered his firearm as Spain staggered and fell. “The men upstairs?”
Prussia’s face was void of anything but a tiny smile. He lifted Spain’s axe and stuck it into the wall. “Taken care of.” He turned back and scooped his fellow nation up, throwing him over his shoulder. “Spain isn’t dead, of course.”
“Good,” said the boy and he stood as well. “Let’s go then. I want to be gone before Austria arrives.”
Prussia chuckled and followed into the night.
Germany was in the middle of writing when the phone rang. He checked the number and raised a hand to quiet Italy, who was practicing his swimming form on a chair. Hungary was in front of one of the maps on the wall. “Is it Austria?”
Germany nodded and picked up. “Austria, we heard there was some kind of attack on—“
Hungary turned to watch, doing something of a double-take when Germany abruptly stopped speaking, the pen dropped from his hand and all the color drained from his face. He was silent for a long time. Long enough that Italy sat up, peering at him in curiosity. Hungary approached too, putting her hand on Germany’s desk.
Italy’s fingers were crawling across the wood, settling onto German’s free hand, which, Hungary now saw, was shaking.
Finally, Germany said, “I understand. I’ll come.” But his voice was faint and wavering. He let the phone slip from his ear and back into the cradle.
“Ve, what’s wrong, Germany?”
“What happened?” Hungary echoed.
Germany didn’t look at them right away. He stared at his desk and licked his lips and took a deep breath. When he finally raised his eyes, he raised them to Hungary’s. “Prussia…,” he eyes flickered and then came back, “…has betrayed us.”
Hungary stiffened. Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“Spain came for a base review and Prussia didn’t expect it. Prussia told Spain what was about to happen and Spain ran off to try and radio for help but by the time Austria arrived…the base had been overwhelmed, all the men killed and Spain is missing.”
Italy’s face fell. “The enemy took him?”
Hungary broke eye contact with Germany and looked away to the maps. She bit her lip. “That bastard. I’ll…I’ll…I’ll kill him when I see him. That—how could—no—he wouldn’t do that. He’s—he’s a bastard but even he…. ”
Germany said nothing. He just stared at his desk, hardly noticing when Italy came around it and hugged his neck.
Spain awoke and jerked, eyes flickering everywhere. Bless the Virgin, his head hurt.
“Spain.”
Spain looked up, or as up as he could manage. Prussia was standing over him. Spain hissed and jerked, but his hands were cuffed. “Prussia! What is going on!”
“Well, you are currently on a ship. You—“
Spain swore in Spanish, a long string of blood-speckled insults.
Prussia laughed a little and wiped his nose off. “Really? Well. I’ll keep all that in mind.” He reached out, picking up a small, metal baton, about two feet in length and two inches in diameter. “You still remember the rules, right?”
“Does Germany know you’ve betrayed us?”
Prussia raised an eyebrow and put the tip of the baton under his chin. “No, I didn’t tell him. There’s a very thin line between hate and heart-break.”
“What the fuck could that goddamn boy have offered you that it would be worth this!” Spain bared his teeth.
Prussia chuckled and then snorted. “Well, this is my interrogation, isn’t it? I wanna ask some questions. Do you mind?”
“Yeah, I do!”
“Well,” said Prussia, “I guess the short answer is…land. Which, honestly, that should just be fuckin obvious. I want to be me again. Tired of being abolished. It’s boring.”
“You—what kind of excuse is—!“
Prussia whacked him with the baton.
Spain’s eyes lost focus and his head snapped to this side.
“Now, let’s get started.”
By the time the boy-nation came into the cell, he found Prussia cackling and Spain tied into a chair. Prussia's boot was on the seat, between Spain’s legs and the baton was sliding along his blood-splattered throat.
“Anything?”
Prussia looked at him. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised but not a damn thing.”
Those blue-black eyes flickered but Prussia held them. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” said Prussia. He laughed and grabbed Spain by the hair, jerking him. “Wanna ask him yourself?” He slammed his head back and looked into his face. “Hey, Spain! Mind telling me what you know about Russia?” He waited a deliberate moment and then imitated a bad Spanish accent and said, “I tell you nothing, you bull’s testicals!” He looked back at the blue-black eyes. “See?”
The boy-nation smiled a little. “I take your point.” He approached and reached out, rubbing a thumb into Spain’s eyelid and forcing it up so he could look into his eye. “You are a passionate, stubborn nation. We will break you before we send you off to die.”
Something in Spain’s bloodshot eye seemed to focus. He took a wheezing breath and said, “You don’t have…the power to…”
“I do.”
“So you get to live a little longer, if that’s any consolation.” Prussia laughed and patted him on the back.
Spain choked a little, opening his other, swollen eye and made a vague lunge towards Prussia but he struck him with the baton and threw him back into the chair.
“Take him downstairs.”
Prussia nodded and waited for the boy-nation to leave before he grabbed Spain up and threw him over his shoulder. “Oh, man, that guy. For such a young one, he sure is bossy. He’s already sectioned off a piece of land for me. I feel stronger already. It’s awesome. That guy still doesn’t seem to have a name yet—his men just call him the World Resistance. The WR.” He kipped down a set of damp, concrete stairs. “You can smell the ocean from down here, so it’s almost like home, right?”
He swung Spain down into his arms and made his way to the back where two cells were joined, side by side. “Hey, Burma! You got company now!” Prussia went to the left one, jangled the keys and opened the door. He tossed Spain inside in a lump, closed it and then leaned against it. “Now see…look to your right. Hey, Spain! Spain, look to your right!” He jeered at him until Spain managed to lift his eyes and look.
There was a young man there, another nation. Spain recognized him, barely. His skin was a warm brown, though he was dirty now and covered in rags. His hair, once neatly trimmed was now long and ragged and filthy. He had curious golden eyes, though they were fixed on the floor and just barely flickered over to them; they seemed dim.
“That’s Burma! Or Myanmar, or whatever! He answers to both! See, he’s not dead! Well, you guys get along. No fighting over the rats.” He laughed and turned away, heading back up into the light.
Spain wiped blood out of his face and said, “Burma…are you okay?”
Burma shifted and swallowed and made a shuffling crawl to the bars between their cells. He clung to them. “I’m all right. Are you okay?”
“I might be,” Spain murmured and he shuffled over and slumped in the corner, leaning on the bars that separated them, now close enough to see that sad dimness in Burma’s eyes. “I didn’t expect Prussia to…”
“I was here before he arrived,” Burma said, faintly. “I was surprised too. Why did he capture you?”
“Wrong place, wrong time,” Spain said, managing a little smile. “As seems to be the problem with me. I don’t have much luck. I should have stayed home and taken a nap.”
Burma smiled a little and unwound one of the rags around his thin ankle. He passed it through the bars and Spain took it with a murmured thanks.
“I’m glad I’m not alone anymore,” Burma said, quietly. “It’s very lonely here.”
Spain did a double-take and smiled for him. “Glad I’m not alone either.”
“He broke Thailand’s glasses. He only barely got away. The boy said was going to hit the rest of Africa after he took Egypt.”
“Egypt is strong,” Spain said to the bars. “It would take a lot to bring him down. He’s been around forever.”
“He wants China too.”
“Well, he’ll have to learn that you don’t always get what you want.” Spain wiped his face off. “Did he talk to you a lot?”
“He told me about the bombs. The nuclear bombs.”
Spain stopped and just held the rag for a moment. “He wasn’t bluffing?”
“No.” And Burma’s voice shook. “He said he would bomb India. He says he has spies everywhere. Even in Russia and America. Right under their noses. I don’t want him to bomb India. She and I…we fought sometimes and didn’t always agree…but…I miss her. I haven’t been able to see her much since…the coup…”
“Hey, don’t worry. She’ll be okay. The others will help her if something happens. I am certain of this, okay?”
Burma pushed his fingers into his hair and nodded. “Yes,” he said, quietly.
Thailand ran. He could barely see, given how that damn boy-nation had broken his glasses. But he managed to make his way south and then went east through Laos and Vietnam and then traded his shoes, watch, gloves and jacket with a boy in return for his boat and ragged robe.
He was glad to be out of the restrictive shoes, despite his predicament. Thailand felt most at home in his own skin. Of course, the current situation was certainly a pain. This was not the time for this sort of business. He was newly-industrialized. He sighed as he hurried with the sails and struck out east, towards the Philippines. “Only one around here who wasn’t colonized by Europe and I’m the one that ends up on the run. You think after all the political problems I’ve had the last couple of years—” he stuck his oar in and helped the wind push his boat, “—I’d have a chance to rest a little.” He shook his head.
He was rather hoping he’d run into one of China’s patrol ships. It was a long way to the Philippines and he had close to no supplies. He’d have gone north and west but...well, after the little black bombers started appearing…
And speaking of black bombers…
He heard them whistle overhead and looked up, watching a little fleet zip across the sky.
“Where the hell did they come from?” He stood and looked around. There were no battle ships. Maybe a submarine? He peered over the edge of the boat but—
The whistling was getting louder.
Thailand looked up and then he jumped because one of the bombers had peeled away from the group and shot low over the water and he was firing at him. Thailand grabbed the edge of the boat and flipped it. He grabbed onto the wooden seat and kept himself under the overturned boat, hearing the thump and zing of bullets piercing the wood hull.
“Oh, no.” He sighed as the back end of the boat disintegrated. “So I either get shot to death or I drown.” He held on tight to the wood, hiding under it as the black bomber swept by again and then headed back to its fleet.
Thailand didn’t bother trying to flip the boat back up. He busted off the curve of the hull and clung to the bottom as it drifted in the ocean. His oars had both snapped off but his mast was still in one piece. He took a deep breath and dove under the water, kicking and pulling at it until it cracked.
He surfaced, sputtering and heaved himself onto the largest bit of shattered vessel. Soaked, half-blind, cold and tired, Thailand locked his jaw stubbornly and dipped the bit of mast into the water to use as an oar.
When thunder rumbled in the distance, he groaned. Where are China’s patrol ships, he thought. He was only a few hundred miles off the coast of China. There should have been at least one…they were in the middle of war, after all.
For some reason, it made him more uneasy than the coming storm.
“Well, well, he’s a dumbass and he deserved to be captured!” Romano yelled, curling his lip and stomping his boot. He pointed at Germany. “This is all your fault! Stupid potato-scarfing bastard, your goddamn brother! He’s—“
“Romano!” Italy wailed. “Stop…” He pulled on his arm.
“Shut up, idiot!” Romano snapped. He sniffed and glared back at Germany. “How do we know you aren’t going to betray us too! You Krauts are always—“
“Hey! Shut up, kid.” Denmark sat back in his chair. “Nobody asked for your opinion.”
“Spain could die, Romano,” said Austria, looking down his nose.
“So!” Romano’s voice suddenly became shrill. “Who cares! I-I don’t! I—I’d kill him myself if he were here!”
China shifted in his chair. “This is not getting us anywhere. We should—“
“What we do about Spain is—“ Austria began.
“Spain knows the risks!” someone interrupted.
“Spain is a goddamn moron!” Romano was becoming increasingly shrill, shaking.
Portugal jumped and slammed his hands down on the table. Everyone went silent and looked at him. Hungary, Germany, Italy, Romano, Austria, China, Russia, Denmark, Belgium and England, who met his eyes directly and gave him a small nod. “This is exactly what they want from us. Don’t you see? And now we know it’s someone. New Zealand and America told us about the flag and India confirmed reports of an unknown like us. He would probably love nothing more than to have us at each other’s throats. And now he has Prussia—who is very good at what he does. It was an oversight on everyone’s part not to see the potential there. We assumed Prussia would not betray us. He’s an old nation, like us. We should have known better. But now we know and nothing can be done about it. We don’t know where Spain is because they have no physical boundaries. No locations. We just know that he controls large chunks of India, Burma and Thailand and that they’re hiding in southern Germany.”
“Was anyone able to make further contact with India?” Hungary asked.
England shook his head. “America and New Zealand were the last to speak to her. There’s been radio silence above the western rain forest. Fortunately, her air force is landing in safe airfields. I brought in a unit just two days ago. Russia took in another.”
“Now that Prussia has turned his colors, they may become bolder,” Austria said, carefully. “Now we know their flag—they’re showing it to us—they want us to know who they are.”
“Where are America and France?” Belgium asked.
England waved a hand. “I told America after he radioed me on Japan’s patrol ship. I sent him off on another mission. France headed out to give Egypt a hand.”
China frowned. “We need to keep better track of where everyone is. It’s strange having so many allies on one side.”
“When Canada returns from Ukraine, he, Iceland, Denmark and his brother, Greenland, Norway, Finland and myself will be heading north,” said Russia, raising a hand. “America’s submarine crews reported hearing echoes in the water in the North Pole.”
“You all are certainly best suited for it,” Austria sniffed.
“Greenland technically doesn’t belong to me anymore—I think he’d resent that,” Denmark chuckled.
“You do still control his finances, foreign affairs and defense, don’t you?” asked Belgium.
“What are we going to do about Spain? Remember, the original topic?” Romano interjected, looking somewhere between teary and angry at the same time. “You all are such morons!”
Portugal looked at England. England glanced at Russia. Russia smiled and said, “There isn’t much that we can do. We have no idea where they are.”
Hungary looked down at the table, reaching over and gently tapping Germany’s wrist. He was also looking down. No doubt blaming himself for not knowing, Hungary thought and when Germany looked at her, she gave him a nod.
He looked back down.
“Germany,” and that was England, tone clipped and blunt. “I need to know if you will be able to fight, aware that you may end up having to fight Prussia.”
Germany only nodded.
“Hungary, would you be averse to accompanying Germany from now on?” England eyed her, silent saying, Should you actually run into Prussia, I want a guarantee that he will be dealt with.
Hungary nodded, fists clenching under the table. “Of course.”
Belgium stood up and took out a red marker. “Let’s get the map down and re-coordinate our plans. France is with Egypt and—“ she looked at England, “where did you send America?”
England let his eyes linger on Hungary’s and then he stood, going to the wall and pulling the map down. He laid it on the table and China put a little cup on the corner to stop it curling back. England said, “Put two red stars in the areas we’ve lost control over. We should update all at once. Burma and Thailand have fallen completely. Cambodia and Laos probably won’t be far behind. India’s coasts and north-western border are gone so the middle likely won’t hold. Nepal is right between India and China—“ England glanced up at him. “Have you word from Nepal?”
China swept his wrist back, tracing the border with his finger while Belgium started drawing pairs of red stars. “Kathmandu has maintained radio silence. India might have taken him in. Nepal was always a stubborn little nation though. He may have stayed in his capital.”
“America and I have satellites that can spot dimes on football fields,” said Russia. “It would not be much to take a look that way.”
“Well, what the hell have you been doing with them up till this point!” Romano snapped. “You stupid drunk!”
Denmark kicked his chair. “Someone take this idiot out before I shove my boot up his ass.”
Russia just smiled and chuckled. “I have been watching you.”
Romano started and froze in his chair. Italy whimpered and grabbed his elder brother, dragging him out of the room.
Russia seemed tickled by this response and he looked back to the others. “Actually, America and I have been watching the trade routes. We coordinated these ourselves. To keep an eye on suspicious ships and I have already redirected two of them to start looking for aircraft carries without an Allied flag.”
“To find out who is shipping the black bombers. Who is selling them?” Austria clarified.
Russia smiled. “I will be very happy when I discover who the other traitors are.”
The rest of them paused. Denmark grinned.
England coughed to break the silence. “We should keep in mind that we may not be dealing with other nations in regards to that. From America’s and New Zealand’s reports, India’s words indicate that this is some kind of massive underground group.”
“Terrorists?” suggested Hungary.
“Not in the same sense we’ve used it in the past,” England said. “But that might suffice. In any case, given their technology—the black bombers and skilled pilots, especially, we should assume that they are not all from one place. Austria, did the cameras record anything of use?”
Austria’s lips thinned. “They were quick to bomb the lines. So, from the time stamps, they lost power first. When the emergency power kicked on, it didn’t last long before it was redirected to headquarters main building. And then there were only soldiers upstairs.”
“Mine?” asked Germany, suddenly. He looked up.
“Yours,” Austria confirmed, not looking at him. “Spain’s and France’s. On the tapes, Spain is yelling for them to go upstairs and station the windows. Unfortunately, Prussia was up there waiting for them; they never had a chance. One of the ceiling cameras happened to be pointing out the window—it shows a man with an axe—undoubtedly Spain—and he has a scuffle with someone—black uniform, like the others, but then the power went out completely.”
Germany rested his forehead in his palm.
England’s eye hardened. “Nothing else?”
Austria gave him a cool look. “I wasn’t finished. We found that many of the cameras outside headquarters were broken open. But there was one they failed to break in the flight hangar. It actually had very few planes in it—Prussia had sent out multiple units that day for patrols and the like, obviously so that there would be little resistance on the base itself. But it showed a small unit of men and women in black uniforms. As a group, they called orders in English. But, the four who approached the camera in question; two spoke Chinese, one spoke Italian and one spoke British English. To talk to each other, they spoke English but amongst themselves, they spoke in their native languages. I have made copies for each of you to view in your own time but you can hear other languages being spoken by the unit—as apparently their only orders were to secure the hangar.”
“Was there any detailing on their uniforms?” Denmark asked.
“Two red stars on the sleeve--just like the flag they left behind. Of the four that approached the camera, one had a little red pin on his collar, possibly indicating rank.”
“They sound like they’re already pretty organized,” Portugal said. “He must want Prussia for strategy.”
“He’s fought all of us at one time or another.” England frowned. “Did anyone tell Mexico and Cuba about Spain’s capture?”
“I sent word,” said Austria. “I haven’t heard back from Cuba yet. Mexico is coming tomorrow.”
China was still standing, watching Belgium make marks of interest on the map around Nepal. “My borders may be too large to—ahh—!”
He seized, a choked yell tearing out of his mouth. China shoved himself back from the table, hands flying to his chest.
“China?” England furrowed his eyebrows.
He tore at his chest, ripping at his shirt, eyes frantic. Denmark got up from his chair. “China, hey—were you attacked?”
And then a terrible moan, like a wounded animal, pitiable and helpless and China staggered. Denmark tried to catch him but then Russia was there, ripping Denmark back by his collar and grabbing China himself. Russia shoved the other nation against the wall and tore his shirt open with one fatal rip.
China’s fingers latched onto Russia, writhing and coughing and gagging.
Russia watched the burn bloom on his chest and start to spread. He knew this mark. He had seen it on Japan after…
China’s entire body stiffened, seized again but he managed to keep his silence; the scream stuck in his throat. He convulsed there against the wall, Russia the only thing keeping him on his feet.
“What the hell is that?” Belgium demanded, pointing.
Hungary whirled to look at England, “Is that—?!”
England just stared. In his mind’s eye, there was Japan—fair skin that he had seen every inch of—and then—after that day…
“England!”
Russia’s suddenly brusqueness jerked him back into the present and he shoved the table away and went to him, looking at the wound. It was spreading. So fast, it was spreading. Russia’s tone was dark. He growled, “This means nuclear weapons.”
England reached out, touching, shoving China’s shirt aside and raising a hand, laying it over China’s eyes. “It is. I saw Japan…after.” He looked up.
Russia did not look down to meet his gaze. He had a lock on China’s skin, bubbling and peeling away, soaking Russia’s gloves in red.
Another shock ripped through him. Russia struggled to hold him as China’s back arched again and he jerked his eyes out from under England’s hand. “Beijing!” he cried, rasped, as if liquid fire tore at his throat. His skin crackled and splattered.
Belgium jerked away, stepping back into the table. She bumped it, started and looked down.
Their world map had blood on it.
[Part One||Part Three]
1. The use of Burma's name is a little tricky, as per Wiki tells me, "However, governments of many countries including the United States,[9] the United Kingdom, Australia, France,[10] and Canada still refer to the country as "Burma", with varying levels of recognition of the validity of the name change itself. Others, including the Association of Southeast Asian Nations and the governments of Germany, Japan,[11] China and Russia[12] recognize "Myanmar" as the official name." I went with Burma because that's what I know. So I hope I don't offend anyone.
ALSO,
lilgreekaus91 drew a picture of Ireland for me! Isn't she awesome! High-five!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-08-05 05:32 am (UTC)Simo is just. Whoa. He's the White Death. And it just. Whoa.
Russia doesn't have certain sensibilities of the western nations. Which is both a good and bad thing (especially when you're talking about human rights).
Oh England. You and your government's policies. XD