Author's note: Hi guys! This is my first attempt at writing a Hetalia fanfic after years of lurking in the fandom. So I hope it's not too bad. So basically it's a historical fiction based on the Vietnam war. I have not yet chosen Vietnam's human name but something tells me it will start with "L". Ly, perhaps Le Ly. If you have any ideas, please leave a review :) The chapter was rather tough to write because it had to deal with so many historical events it made me dizzy. Also, Alfred will be kind of a jackass at first (more than usual anyway). Next chapter will be Vietnam-centric. So yeah, here we go.

Un pas vers le salut

Chapter 1

The gentle squeak of a door opening behind him nearly made Matthew jump out of his skin. His first reflex was to stuff the leaflet he was looking at in his pocket, hoping that the intruder would not notice his quick gesture. Grinning from ear to ear, Alfred entered the room, the floorboards groaning under his heavy footsteps.

"Ssshhhh Alfred, you are going to wake up mom and dad!" Matthew hissed.

In the corner of his mind Matthew was aware that Alfred had not even said a word yet but somehow the mere presence of his brother made him nervous. In fact, it was no secret that Alfred could make people uneasy by simply staring at them with his deep, soulful eyes that his glasses made a very bad job at concealing. Although they were almost identical twins, everyone seemed to agree on the fact that those shiny eyes were Alfred's trademark and had nothing to do with Matthew's somewhat glassy eyes.

"Hey Matt, whatcha doing?!" Alfred said rather loudly, utterly ignoring his brother's warning.

He then attempted to open the bag of potato chips he was carrying with him, filling the room with wild plastic crinkling noises. Thirty seconds. Thirty freaking seconds. It was the amount of time it had taken Alfed to entirely ruin the scholarly atmosphere of their parents' library.

"Seriously Alfred! You eat those all the time, why on earth do you have to wrestle with the bag when we aren't supposed to make any noise?" It was more a statement than a question.

"Oh shut up, I'm trying my best here!" Alfred sounded distressed, as if his life depended on the potato chips. Just as he said so, he managed to tear the bag in two, liberating an aroma of salt, pepper and oil.

Matthew silently apologised to the collection of leather-bound books and antique furniture as Alfred started to munch on the chips, carelessly sprinkling the Orientel rug with crumbs in the process.

"Anyway fella, what are you doing here? I always thought that you found the library creepy so it was kind of a surprise when I noticed there was light under the door. I couldn't help taking a look, you see?"

Actually they both disliked spending time in the library, since it was so ancient, and prefered studying in the comfort of their respective rooms. But it seemed that not even his strong dislike for spooky atmospheres could prevent Alfred from sticking his nose into other people's business. Matthew's attempt at avoiding Alfred for the evening had miserably failed.

"Perhaps you're just trying to avoid me, which I understand perfectly," Alfred said. "I think I saw you putting a picture in your pocket when I entered the room so I guess I'll let you do whatever you feel like doing during your... spare time. Bye!"

Alfred turned to leave and Matthew was surprised at how easy it had been to get rid of him. Too easy. He replayed his brother's words in his head and his face reddened when he realised what Alfred was implying he had been doing -or about to do.

"Hey come back here you idiot!" Matthew yelled, which was just above a whisper. "Fine, I'll show you okay?"

"Really? Thanks dude!"

Alfred sat across him on the rug, smugness etched on his features. It was an expression that Matthew often saw on Alfred's face when he managed to get his own way, which happened more times than he wanted to admit. He realised that his twin was probably hinting things that were not appropriate on purpose and he suddently felt less eager to reach inside his pocket. He stared blankly at Alfred and Alfred mirrored his expression.

"So you're not going to show me your dirty pictures after all?"

"Oh damn you Alfred, you know very well those are not dirty pictures!" Matthew said, cheeks flaming in embarrassment.

" The only way to convince me is to prove it! Come on dude, show Alfie!"

Alfred poked Matthew's ribs and continued to sing "Show Alfie, show Alfie!" with the twangiest he could muster. Matthew resisted the urge to poke back as he reached inside his pocket, finally giving in.

"Here you go," he said, as he placed the leaflet in his brother's open palm.

Alfred's face lit up as he greedily examined the flyer. The front page showed the logo of the Peace Corps and a photograph of President Kennedy, which was a grim reminder that he had been assassinated less than a year before, in November 1963. Alfred shuddered as he remembered all the madness that had issued. People crying in the streets, clutching radios that had just announced the fateful incident and that look of distress he had seen on his fellow classmates and teachers. They all had felt very alone that day, as if the universe had given up on them. And then there had been the funeral and the mournful drumbeat that accompanied it. He could still remember the look of sorrow on Jacqueline Kennedy's face as she walked beside the coffin.

Alfred tried to shake off these horrible memories by concentrating on what was written on the leaflet, rather than the photographs that decorated it. And it was surpringly interesting to learn about all those missions that were currently recruiting volunteers. Judging from the battered appearance of the leaflet, Alfred could guess that Matthew had been carrying it for a long time.

"Interested in the Peace Corps, eh? Are you planning to join them when you finish college?" Alfred asked.

"Well errr, not exactly, I mean errr..." Matthew stammered. That was why he had wanted to be alone. He had enough trouble figuring out what he wanted to do without Alfred pestering him around. Damn it, his shining blue eyes made him want to squirm!

"I can't say I'm surprised. I guess it's just like you to try and help people around the world, even if you catch dysentria and pneumonia in the process. But hey, you've got better things to worry about, like which college you are going to enroll at."

"Alfred, I think this is all the problem. I -I don't think this is what I want to do. At least for the moment. I want to make a difference, Alfred."

"What do you mean, making a difference? You want to join the Peace Corps before college? Dude are you crazy, it says that a standard tour is about twenty-seven months, you will be freaking twenty when you get back!"

The concerned look on Alfred's face made Matthew reconsider his life plans for the slightest instant. When Alfred had that almost serious expression on his face, you knew something wasn't quite right. But in his heart of hearts, Matthew felt that this time he had to stand his ground no matter what. Because it was what he believed was right, not Alfred or their parents.

"Alfred, I want to do it. I have to do it. Something is calling me there and I have to answer that call. It wouldn't feel quite right to just sit on my ass here when I have the opportunity to do something ream." Matthew said softly, with more confidence than before.

Alfred stared at him.

"So something is telling you that you have to go to some Third World country and waste the best years of your life digging trenches and building latrines," he said bluntly

For some reason, Matthew was not angered by Alfred's tactlessness and it surprised them both when an amused chuckle rose from his throat.

"That's one way of putting it but yes, I think so. Building latrines for the next two years of my life seems okay as long as someone benefits from my actions. And someone certainly will."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow at him and muttered something along the lines of "You're a strange motherfucker", which made Matthew chuckle even louder. For the first time of his life he felt that he was doing something his brother didn't approve of and he relished on the sensation. He also secretly hoped that people would stop treating him like a less-cool version of his sassy brother and finally accept the fact he had an identity of his own once he joined the Peace Corps. But of course he would never admit it openly.

"You are aware that mom and dad will kill you, right?"

"Well, the threat of our parents never stopped you from doing anything so I don't see why it would stop me."

Alfred was about to say that it was not the same thing but Matthew cut him. He suddently wanted to change the subject.

"So now you know why I'm hanging out in the library at two in the morning, but that doesn't explain why you are still awake." Matthew said, glad to finally have the upper-hand in the conversation.

Alfred shrugged as he fished for a potato chip in the almost-forgotten bag.

"Couldn't sleep," he said evasively.

"This isn't like you. Is something bothering you?"

Alfred said nothing for a few seconds, then let out a sigh.

"The answer from UC Berkeley. It still hasn't arrived. Most of the colleges I've applied to have sent their acceptance letters in the end of March, but it's already the beginning of April and there's still nothing for me in the mailbox. So yes, it's a bit bothering," he mumbled.

Matthew stared at Alfred, his mouth agape.

"I had no idea it bothered you that much," he said.

"I had no idea you wanted to spend the rest of your life in Tanzania," Alfed replied.

"Fair enough," Matthew chuckled. "But really Alfred, why UC Berkeley? I always thought you wanted to go to New York and Berkeley isn't exactly far from home."

"Dad graduated from there sixteen years ago and I guess I feel a bit duty-bound. Just think about how agonising it would be for dad if his dummy of a son could not even have the same college education as he did," Alfred said with a sheepish grin. "And how agonising for me", he said inwardly.

"But what about the other colleges you applied to?"

"Back-up plans."

"Woah. So I guess you've been thinking about this for some time. Are you planning to work for dad or something?"

Their father owned the third biggest newspaper in California, The Rising Sun.

"I guess so, but I don't want him to smooth the way for me. I want to prove that I can have a career of my own withotut his help."

Matthew smiled warmly at him.

"It's not like you don't have the potential, Al," he said.

Alfred did have the potential. While maintaining the general appearance of someone who didn't give a fuck, he still managed to keep his grades up and could stand his ground pretty well when confronted. That was what was so amazing about him. Amazing and startling at the same time, when you didn't know him that well. In Matthew's opinion, he was the type of person who could plan things way ahead and not tell anyone about it until it became too obvious.

Despite his apprehensions, Matthew had to admit that talking to his twin brother had appeased him. Alfred went back to his room and Matthew went upstairs shorly after him.

They never talked about this again during the following days. Alfred was checking the mailbox everyday and Matthew was still waiting for the right time to tell their parents.

Then, the second week of April, when the twins came back from a short trip at San Diego, there was a letter from Berkeley waiting for Alfred in the living room. Their parents had chosen to let Alfred open the letter himself, although they could barely stand the suspense. As predicted, it was an acceptance letter. Among other things, it meant that Alfred's future was secured and that he no longer had to worry about not being good enough. But to Matthew, it meant that he had to inform his parents about his decision. And as predicted, their reaction was far from favourable.

"Are you out of your right mind ?" screamed Beatrice Jones, their mother, as she banged her first on the dinner table for more emphasis. It was quite unnecessary, since her voice was already pretty shrill.

Matthew gently put down his spoon and fork and exhaled heavily. He had rehearsed a little speech for two weeks and there was no reason for him to be impressed now that he had to put it into practice. He spoke slowly, steadily, as he tried to ignore the violently pounding organ in his chest. He gave his mother more or less the same arguments he had used on Alfred, with fairly new additions, one of them being that he could still enroll at college after his two years of service.

Beatrice blinked, open her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"Peter, please say something."

Peter Jones let out a pained sigh.

"You don't have to go that far to prove that you give damn, there living conditions are quite sordid and you aren't even paid for what you are doing. Plus local populations are not always cooperative. They accuse us of neocolonialism, of spying on them and god knows what else. We've had correspondents there for some time and believe me when I tell you this isn't a suitable career for a boy like you. Joining right before college seems rather preposterous to me."

This wasn't quite the clear-cut "no" Beatrice Jones had expected. So she turned to the only other person avaible.

"And you Alfred, what do you have to say about this?"

Alfred had been staring at his half-eaten chicken leg for the past ten minutes and he nearly jumped when he heard his name in the conversation.

"Well, if you ask me my opinion, Matthew has every right to join the Peace Corps if he wants to, even if it means joining right before college. Who knows, perhaps out there he'll learn about new perspectives that will help him make the right decisions when he gets back. And anyway, are you planning to tie him to a chair until he changes his mind?"

Peter Jones seemed to agree with that.

"Alfred is right Beatrice, what can we do if he's really determined to go?"

Matthew could not believe his ears. His father and his brother were both siding with him. Without a word, Beatrice got up and left the dinner table.

Three weeks later, Matthew started his training for Nigeria.

It felt weird celebrating Thanksgiving without Matthew that year. The living room was full of important people as usual and all they were talking about was the recent business in Vietnam. In October the Bien Hoa airbase had been attacked by the Viet Cong and five Americans had been killed, leaving seventy-six wounded. The current discussion was about whether or not Johnson had been right not to order a retaliation attack. Beatrice Jones strongly believed that all US forces should leave Vietnam at once after two futile years of being there as mere "advisers".

"Considering what happened to the French out there, that would be the most logical thing to do," she said.

"But that's not the same thing, we are smarter than they are," replied Peter Jones. "We could really cripple the North and get away without too much damage if only Johnson could see the sense in that."

It was no secret that Peter Jones was a supporter of Goldwater.

"So you really think that bombing the hell out of Vietnam is the right solution?" she said with a look of disbelief.

"But mom, we can't let the Communists take over the world, can we?" Alfred said.

All the guests that were listening to the conversation seemed to agree on that.

Beatrice looked at her son with a look of utter horror. Alfred strongly suspected that she still resented him for siding with Matthew during the Peace Corps argument.

"Alfred, I don't think you know what you're talking about," she said, her face devoid of blood.

"Of course I know what I'm talking about! This is what the domino effect is all about, isn't it? This is more or less a second Korean War," Alfred replied with confidence.

"Yes, with more or less the same war crimes of we let that happen."

"Oh come on mom, it wouldn't go that far."

Beatrice once again looked at him with horror and pain etched on her face. And Alfred realised that look had nothing to do with Matthew or the Peace Corps.

In Chrismas 1964 the Viet Cong terrorists bombeb the Brinks Hotel in Saigon and on February 7th Johnson ordered the first major bombing against the North. One month later the first ground combat troops arrived in Danang and two weeks after that the American embassy in Saigon was attacked. At last, Alfred realised that there was cleary something wrong in Vietnam.

The university of Michigan staged the first anti-war teaching and other colleges followed shortly after. Alfred could not recall the exact number of times he'd had his ass dragged down the street and thrown in a paddy wagon during Free Speech Movement sit-ins, but he was pretty sure the American troops were useful in Vietnam. So he didn't go to any of those anti-war teachings while remaining deeply involved with everything else that happened in Berkeley. Most classes he'd picked were involved with journalism and writing in general and so far his grades were good.

Matthew seemed to do pretty well too, according to his letters. He had been in Nigeria for eight months now and even if his living conditions were sometimes precarious, he seemed happy out there doing something that mattered.

In October 1965 a major draft card burning was staged at Berkeley and again Alfred didn't attend. He found it quite revolting that people could do such a thing when soldiers were dying for their country in Vietnam. He wrote his impressions to Matthew that month and was quite surprised to learn that his twin brother did not share his views. Matt didn't believe in the war and for that matter he sided -unknowingly- with Beatrice Jones. Alfred couldn't help wondering if living in Nigeria for so long had altered his brother's patriotism.

In Christmas that year Alfred was shocked to read that the number of troops in Vietnam had escalated to two hundred thousand. Maybe the demonstrators were right after all, perhaps the draft really was making more victims than he initially thought. No. He couldn't start thinking like this. It wasn't quite right. What they needed to end this war was more bombs. More bombs to finish off the VC and finally put the war beside them, like a bad memory.

A seemingly uneventful year went by. Alfred was starting his third year at UC Berkeley and he mused on the fact that Matthew would nearly be done with his work in Nigeria. According to the statistics published in The Rising Sun, by January 1967 thirty thousand Americans had died in Vietnam, seven hundred were missing and four hundred thousand were still there. It was getting more and more difficult for people to avoid the draft and Alfred finally began to understand what was actually happening. It was a butchery. Boys were shipped to Vietnam everyday only to return in body bags. The very thought of it made him sick.

Although it seemed a rather hypocritical thing to do, Alfred called Matthew that day and told him not to return until things calmed down a bit. He explained to him how the draft board was no longer accepting weddings as a deferral and that whoever flunked out of college was screwed. He knew a few guys to whom it had happened. But Matthew wouldn't listen. He said that he would be there in October 1967 no matter what because he missed them so much. Alfred wanted to say that they would miss him even more if he was shipped to Vietnam and shot by a VC, but he didn't. He didn't because he knew it would be no use.

"Alfie, I've missed you so much! Oh, man, I have to tell you everything about Nigeria!"

It was October 8th. Matthew had finally returned after twenty seven months of service in the Peace Corps and he couldn't stop babbling about his experience there. He was tanned, thinner, had muscled up a bit and had scars there and there but overall he seemed okay. And he looked happy, too, as he chatted about that time he'd had dysentria so bad he thought he was going to die.

"You look good too, Alfie! And dad told me you were doing wonderful at Berkeley!"

The twin brothers chatted excitedly about the lives they had been living for the past two years and three months and for a few hours, Alfred even forgot about his fears concerning the draft. After the two years he'd spent abroad, perhaps the draft board had forgotten about his brother, lost his track or something like that. He secretly hoped so. It was too late for Matthew to start college this year and he decided he was going to work with their father until September 1968.

Weeks went by without hearing of the draft board and Alfred finally convinced himself that aftet all, they really had lost track of his brother. He relished on the feeling of having his brother here with him, a sensation that he had forgotten after so long. Everything was finally returning back to normal. Even Beatrice Jones seemed happy to have both her sons with her, despite the war she hated still going on.

Alfred felt he had to make something to celebrate. In times like those, when more and more families were counting missing members, their lucky situation was definitely worth celebrating. So he went to the bakery just outside the university and ordered two dozen maple syrup cupcakes, because he knew Matthew loved those. He was still trying to fit the giant box of cakes in his car when he heard the telephone ringing in his appartment. It was Matthew. The draft board had sent a letter that morning. He had been called.