A big thank you to those who reviewed/favourited my previous fanfiction. I am afraid the information here might not be completely historically accurate, but I hope you enjoy reading all the same.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
A letter had come from the British. It had come from the women suffragettes, negotiating for a peace treaty. Pope Urban the XV had tried interfering as well, pleading for both warring governments to settle their disputes. Germany gripped the sheet of paper tightly between his gloved fingers, eyes darting from line to line. Christmas was here, but the ongoing war prevented a full out celebration. He wanted badly to agree to the establishment of a peace treaty, but his boss would certainly not allow the Germans to give up so easily. Germany did not want to fight anymore. Especially not on Christmas Eve.
Germany walked out of his tent on the Western Front at Ypres, Belgium, and looked around, observing his ranks. The first thing that caught his eye was the rows of shining candles that poked out of the trenches. Christmas trees shined brightly, the tiny flames casting dancing shadows on the green leaves. Soldiers worked together to decorate the trenches best as they could, making the most of this Christmas as a soft melody began to grow, voices joining together to create a harmonic unity.
Meanwhile, England was sat in his tent, a drawn look on his features. It was Christmas Eve; his soldiers were in low spirits. Many had passed him with subtle tears slowly leaking down their faces after dismissal from their rank's commanders, heading back to their tents alone. England had received many requests for soldiers to go home for Christmas, but he had no choice but to reject them. Many times he had tried to persuade the generals to let the troops go home for a few days at least, but from the ongoing war, he knew it was pointless. The looks on the troops' faces when he told them they couldn't go home to their families was heartbreaking. England sighed and buried his face in his hands, wishing for a miracle that, somehow, the soldiers' Christmas wouldn't be too terrible.
He lifted the flap of his tent and looked around for his troops, hoping that they could participate in what festivities they could to lift their spirits. However, melodic, albeit slightly raucous, singing reached his ears. England raised his eyebrows slightly, but upon looking around the camp, his men weren't the ones singing. He peered over in the direction of the German trenches, a soft glow illuminating the tall trees. England's men were staring longingly at the lights. England found himself transfixed by the singing and the candlelight, and was certain that he himself also wore the same nostalgic expression that most soldiers had.
Suddenly, a young trooper ran up to England.
"Sir, please, can we sing too? Please, sir, it's Christmas." England knew that loud singing from his troops would not help their position in the war, but he had enough of the fighting, the bombs, and the sight of dead soldiers on the battlefield. It was Christmas. He turned back to the trooper.
"Go on. I would suggest 'Jingle Bells', lad." England's reservations vanished as a huge smile broke out on the soldier's face. He ran off towards the troops, profusely shouting out words of thanks to England.
One soldier slapped a hand on his comrade's shoulder in the middle of singing.
"I'm going to wish the Germans a Merry Christmas."
"Are you mad? We're singing with them, but they're still the enemy!" The soldier looked down at his mud caked boots and tattered army uniform. Then he looked his friend squarely in the eye.
"We're all humans. If they're singing, they must be celebrating, and so are we. I'm going to wish them a Merry Christmas."
Germany had joined his troops in decorating the trenches. Lulled by the melodies, he almost forgot about the British ranks and the war. A small smile made its way onto Germany's face. Seeing the battlefield without a bloody war raging on was indeed a miracle in itself. Suddenly, the music seemed to go awry. Germany looked around, trying to spot the odd group of soldiers, when he realized that 'Jingle Bells' carried an unfamiliar accent. Then it hit him. The British were singing Christmas carols, just like the German troops. Suddenly, a voice broke the strange, yet comforting mixture of music.
"Merry Christmas!" A voice shouted over. For a moment, no - one made any response. Then suddenly, another voice broke out from amongst the German soldiers.
"Frohe Weihnachten!" Moments later, realizing that their greeting was received with welcome, more greetings came ringing from the British ranks.
"Happy New Year!"
"Eine gutes neues Jahr!"
The stream of greetings was broken by a sudden flurry of activity from one soldier. He was climbing out of the trenches, and walking straight out into No – Man's Land. Germany was dumbstruck. It was Christmas, but his soldiers couldn't let their guard down that easily!
The British were ecstatic. England was watching his troops rejoice as Christmas spirit was traded between both warring parties. He felt oddly touched at the sight of two nations at war, initiating a truce. A gasp pulled him out of his thoughts. A soldier was pointing in the direction of No – Man's Land. England furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Why would he be pointing to the battlefield at this time? Then, England's piercing green eyes made out a figure in the darkness, walking towards the British lines. As the figure got closer, they could see that both of his hands were held up in the universal gesture of peace, and a voice floated over:
"I am not here to fight. I have come to wish the British a Merry Christmas." No one in the British lines moved. Then, a soldier scrambled out of the trench and joined the German soldier on No – Man's Land.
"Merry Christmas, friend." Both soldiers, strangers who didn't know each other but were forced to fight for their country, were united in that moment of humanity. Embracing each other, both ranks could see their own wipe tears off their faces as they did so.
A moment's pause was instantly followed by tons of soldiers all clambering out of their trenches, the troops walking towards each other, not with intent to kill, but with open arms. England observed his troops embracing the German ranks like old friends. He, too, climbed out of the trench and joined his troops in wishing the Germans a Merry Christmas. Shaking hands with a young German soldier, England warmly wished him all the best in the festival. The young soldier had tears leaking from his eyes as he firmly grasped England's hand and heartily returned the season's greeting.
Germany, too, was witnessing the exchange between both warring nations. He could not believe that both sides could meet with such friendliness, and was willing himself to turn back to his tent, but somehow he found his limbs moving of their own accord, and he was soon with his men on No – Man's Land, surrounded by British and German soldiers alike.
England caught sight of Germany amongst the sea of men and, after only a moment's hesitation, walked steadily over to his enemy and held out his hand.
"Merry Christmas, Germany." Germany stared at the hand for a while. Then he looked straight into England's eyes, finding no hostility in them, and took England's hand in his own gloved one.
"Frohe Weihnachten, England." Both nations sat together in a comfortable, peaceful silence as their troops exchanged greetings, and soon enough, small gifts.
Over Christmas Eve, friendly games of football were played and the British and the Germans interacted together as friends. England and Germany joined in, and both had gained a newfound respect for each other. They hoped the war could end soon, and the unofficial treaty between the soldiers of the warring countries would act as a movement of peace.
Epilogue
Poison gas was filling the British trenches. The thick green smoke swarmed and slithered its way through the ranks of men, fatally choking anyone that came into its path. England collapsed to the ground, coughing, trying to stand back up and call his men to retreat. His eyes held a mix of emotions. The Christmas Truce had let both nations see a more human side to each man, and England had sincerely wanted to end the war with an official peace treaty. However, the recent, but frequent, attacks with poison gas by the Germans was starting to make the British think the Germans had lost all memories of Christmas Eve.
As the Germans advanced, one soldier ran astray from the marching troops. The soldier who had shaken England's hand had not forgotten the peaceful night with the British and was shattered at seeing how his commanders had ordered the troops to attack mercilessly once again. He kept running, towards the British lines.
England's strength was rapidly declining. Normally, the poison gas would have killed a normal man in a few seconds, but he was a nation. However, no – one could permanently withstand the wrath of the poison. England's eyes were slowly closing. He tried to force them open, but he found no more strength. The Christmas Truce was for nothing, after all.
The last thing he saw before his eyes shut was the blurry image of a gas mask.
When England awoke, he found himself in a nearby forest.
I thought I was dead! He thought, running a hand through his hair has he stood shakily. He could see the trenches from where he stood. Not a single man was alive in the trenches. They had either fled, or were lying in the trenches, dead. England shook his head, blinking in confusion.
Poison gas. Falling. Then… a gas mask?
The only ranks to have this sort of protection against the weapon they used would have to be the Germans, since the British had still been developing protection against the attacks.
A German soldier saved me.
England smiled, and realized that lone tears were trailing slowly down his cheeks.
Thank you, soldier. I hope you had a good Christmas.
Thank you for reading