{A/N: A few notes on this. I have not done an ounce of research. I wrote this because the idea of it has been bugging me for ages now.
#1. Australia swears constantly because you would be hard pressed to find an Aussie that doesn't, and from what I can tell from this generation coming up, it's getting worse.
#2. The racism does not reflect me in anyway. At this time, Aussies take the piss out of everyone, but Americans get more of the backlash. I can only imagine how bad it would be if we where waring (One 'r' or two?).
#3. I can only write one American accent (Brooklyn), but the Aussie accent fluctuates, so one minute we would be saying 'Oi' then in the same sentence 'I'.
#4. Aus usually uses only a few words to show dislike, and that is because terms like 'shit head' and 'dick knob' are generally affectionate terms.
I'll stop rambling now}
2011: Australia begins to retract all forces from Afghan
2015: Australia has become a world power
2020: Australia cuts off all ties to America
2023: Australia becomes its own country and allies itself with Russia and China
2025: Russia, Australia, Japan and China are now allied under the name Austra-Eur-Asian Corps (AEAC)
2027: America declares war on the AEAC for supplying the Middle East with weapons
Thunder cracked over the dark forest as a lone figure jogged from cover to cover. They clutched an A-32, a new design based on power and rate of fire- a Japanese design, tightly. Their breath condensed into small puffs, quickly being wiped out by the rain. The trees around the man shuddered as the thunder sounded again.
Keith was sopped. The bastard Americans just had to choose to hide out in the fucking rainforest. Yeah, he was used to it, but his amour and camouflage was weighing him down like nobody's business.
Yao just had to deck him out with all the latest surveillance gear. Fucker must have known that it was going to rain. Shit, he was probably making it rain as a test or something. At least Keith wasn't in the middle of Siberia or something. As much as he was used to it, Keith hated how lightning always, without fail, went off at the most unexpected times. But the thunder wasn't so bad; he could always time it perfectly so it would mask the sound of his movements.
He was, after all, the fucking personification of Australia. Keith could feel the give of the mud beneath his feet and his face-paint running. Of course they send the freaking newbie for recon. Fuckers.
He mentally chanted that as a mantra. Fuckers. Send in the freaking newbie. Fuckers. Thank God Russia couldn't read his mind; otherwise he would have him flogged. And then he would embrace him and apologise. Fucker.
Keith had been trudging uphill in the rain for so long that he nearly stumbled into the American camp. About two dozen of them. Four tents and the whole set up covered by one of those new camouflage tarps. America nowhere in sight. The bastards don't even see him right there, only twenty meters away. He could assassinate them now and disappear into the forest.
No. That wasn't the plan. The plan was fool the bastard Americans into thinking that he was working to bring peace, and then shut the fuckers down from the core. Easy enough on paper.
Switching his body from fugitive spy to weary traveller we stumbled out into the fire light. Keith's heart was in his ears as he panted and limped, watching the Americans' reactions. They immediately drew their weapons. Shotguns, he noted. They weren't here for anything other than quick hit and runs.
They surrounded him, weapons drawn and casting nervous glances towards the larger of the tents. Keith dropped his gun and held his hands behind his head before turning around and addressing the bastards.
"Look, mates, I dun want any 'arm done. I just wanna talk to ya leader," he said in what he hoped to be a convincing tone. They were kids, no older than twenty. Keith wondered if the Americans were running out of soldiers.
He met one of the boy's eyes. Blue, framed on an adolescent face. They were fearful and spoke volumes to the country. The kid's gun wavered, he was not properly trained. So now they send fricken kids to fight. Bastards.
An older man grunted at Keith to get his attention. He wanted to tell the man that he wasn't a fucking animal, but keeping in character, he turned slowly.
"Who the fuck 're you?" He was defiantly an American. The accent gave him away. Fucking awful accent at that. This man was experienced, no doubt about that. His eyes had no fear in them, only suspicion. He was grizzled and lines marked where he frowned frequently. Keith made a note not to screw with this guy.
"Tha' dun matter to you. I need ta speak with ya commandah or superiah officah." The American didn't move or register, but there were shifting sounds behind Keith. The kids were nervous. Great. Fan-frickin'-tastic. Nervousness led to trigger happy-ness.
Not that being shot would kill him, but it would hurt like a bitch.
The older soldier swivelled towards the bigger tent so that he still aimed at Keith.
"A Ocker is 'ere to see ya!" Ocker. That's wha' they call us? 'Ell, we call 'em yanks, so it works out. They're still bastards, Keith thought grimly.
A faint rustling came from inside the tent, and THE cuntbag American decided to show his face.
Shit.
{Sweet baby Jesus, this was much longer in Word. Anyway, I will (eventually) get around to writing the second chapter. Americans, please don't hate me for this, and review if I'm doing anything wrong. Now I'm going off to figure how to write America.}