"Damn Commie."
Germany squinted at a telegram he had just received when he woke up at four thirty in the morning. His sharp blue eyes were staring daggers at the paper as if it was the telegram's fault for the bad news. Meanwhile, Prussia furrowed his eyebrows at the map laid out on the mahogany desk before him. The paper was riddled with dark red ink circling and crossing out certain cities. Bright red arrows dragged the German army through different parts of the continent.
"What's wrong?" Prussia mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
"He's advancing towards us," Germany said, putting on his military cap. "We'll be able to fight him, though. It just irks me that he's coming."
"You said that during Stalingrad, didn't you?" Prussia muttered under his breath.
"Did you say something?" Germany asked.
"Huh?" Prussia looked up confusedly, feigning innocence.
"Nothing," Germany said, turning to the window with his hands clasped behind his back. The sky was dark during the wee hours of morning. The streetlights were still glowing, tiny amber orbs lining the wide streets. Prussia returned his attention to the map.
"He's going to be pretty riled if he gets the chance to fight us," Germany noted.
"We'll give him a fight if he's asking for one," Prussia said boldly, rising from his chair. "It might do him good as well if we take over. Der Führer is a saint compared to Stalin."
"Of course," Germany agreed, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. Six forty-five in the morning. Time oozed by with sludge clinging on its heavy legs.
Prussia yawned and rubbed his eyes. He had been awake for who knew how long and it was starting to get the better of him. He needed a large mug of black coffee, though something inside told him that even a sea of coffee could not mend his weary soul. He was about to lift the map off of the desk but accidentally knocked down a large stack of papers that sat on the corner of the desk.
"Aren't I coordinated today?" Prussia sighed to himself as he set the map back down on the desk. Germany turned to see the papers fly off the desk and scatter onto the floor. His eyes widened at the sight of it and hurried to gather them. Prussia went around the desk to help Germany clean up the mess.
"No!" Germany said quickly, his gloved hands flying all over the place to pick up the documents. "It's okay, I can do it myself."
Prussia ignored Germany's request and bent down to retrieve several documents. Out of curiosity, he glanced through them to see what they were about.
22/10/44 07:00—
That was all Prussia was able to read before Germany snatched it out of his hands. Had Prussia not been wearing gloves, he would've definitely received a paper cut.
"Seriously, West, it's not like I'm going to blow my nose in them or anything," argued Prussia. "Share the knowledge, won't you?"
"You'll probably forget it anyways," Germany said lamely, straightening out the edges of the stack of papers before stowing them away in a cabinet. "Or if you get drunk again, you might spill everything."
"Look who's talking. I don't get drunk as easily as you do," Prussia laughed.
Germany did not crack a grin. He merely slammed the cabinet drawer shut, locked it with a key, and turned back to the window. Prussia glanced at the calendar hanging stiffly on the wall next to the clock. Today was October twenty-second, just like what the document had printed on it.
"Hey, West," Prussia said casually, joining his brother at the window. What was Germany staring at the whole time? He could barely see anything through the dark gauze of morning; it was so dark outside that he could only see his reflection and the ocher streetlights pinpointing the sidewalk. "What's going on today?"
Germany didn't take his eyes off of the window. "What do you mean?"
"Is there something planned for today?" Prussia asked.
Germany took a sidelong glance at the clock. Six fifty-three AM. "Why would you think that?"
"It was on one of the documents," Prussia admitted, straightening out his uniform. "It said something about October twenty-second at seven o'clock in the morning."
Germany stiffened but his face remained composed. Prussia still noticed the change in stance.
"It's nothing important," Germany said in a smooth voice. "I just have to give a call to der Führer then."
Prussia raised an eyebrow. "Why does he need to send you a letter ordering you to do that? If he needed to say something, he would've said it in the same letter."
Germany locked his eyes with his reflection on the glass window. "I do not know what goes on in the mind of der Führer. He shall do whatever he pleases."
Prussia took off his officer cap. "He definitely does."
"What do you mean by that?" Germany asked, turning to Prussia.
Prussia shrugged. "C'mon, West. Look at this. I mean, it's great to see you getting bigger and stronger because of what Hitler's doing, but…it's sickening to do all this."
"Do all what?" Germany asked sharply.
Prussia jabbed his finger onto the map, mostly around the eastern European countries like Poland and Hungary. "Don't tell me you've forgotten, West. The concentration camps. The death camps. Are they really necessary for victory?"
"You're the one to talk," Germany said bitterly. "You once taught me that the ends justified the means."
"What end are you aiming for?" Prussia asked.
"Have we not gone over this already?" Germany snapped. "The Final Solution! We must wipe out all undesirables for a more perfect nation."
Prussia raised an eyebrow at Germany. "Who wrote that speech?"
"What speech?" Germany asked.
Prussia laughed coldly. "The one you were just reciting so perfectly. I know you, West. Those aren't your words. Do you really enjoy sending millions of Jews and Slavs and other people to their violent deaths?"
"Why do you choose now to question der Führer?" Germany said uncomfortably, looking away from Prussia so that he couldn't see his eyes.
"You know I've been saying this for a while," Prussia muttered. "And you've been thinking it also."
Germany refused to speak. Prussia frowned at his brother and returned his attentions to the map of Europe.
"Russia's army is advancing," Germany said quietly.
"I know," Prussia said coldly. He pressed his lips together with concern. His home—East Prussia—seemed so vulnerable. All his young and able men were drafted into Germany's army, leaving the children, women, and elderly behind to fend for themselves. What if Russia decided to make a pit stop at Prussia's home?
Germany glanced at the black clock. Six fifty-eight. He bit his lip and glimpsed at Prussia. His heart panged and he had to fight down every urge to call up the military leaders and stop the entire operation before it was too late. This was for the greater good.
"Bruder," Germany suddenly said before he could stop himself. He cursed inwardly when Prussia turned to face him curiously. What was Germany to say? 'Sorry, Prussia, but there was something I was meaning to tell you…'
"What?" Prussia said.
Germany swallowed, his mouth feeling very dry. What point was there to tell him? He let out a defeated sigh.
"You've been looking tired lately," Germany said lamely.
Prussia shrugged and stood up from his desk. "I'm not that sleepy. It's nothing different from before."
"Are you sick?" Germany asked.
"No," Prussia sighed. "I just want this all to stop. I'm tired of it—"
Prussia suddenly stopped in the middle of his sentence. His red eyes widened with horror when the clock struck seven in the morning. Germany braced himself, his conscience screaming in protest. This was for the Axis victory.
"Oh shit," Prussia whispered, trembling. Germany feigned confusion, raising an eyebrow at Prussia.
"What's wrong, Bruder?" His voice was sounded so sickeningly sugary in his ears that Germany had to fight down the urge to puke.
Prussia shook his head vigorously, grinding his teeth. He gripped the side of the desk, trying to steady himself as a bout of pain shot through his nerves.
"There's something wrong," Prussia coughed, clutching his head. He flinched when pain bit his heart, making it painful for it to beat.
"What are you talking about?" Germany said in a strained voice.
Prussia couldn't speak. His voice was lost when the throbbing in his head strengthened. This was no typical migraine—he knew it. Something was wrong back home.
To his horror, the throbbing in his head suddenly strengthened into full blows, as if someone was beating him with a shovel on the back of his head. His eyesight grew blurry; he could barely make out the names of countries printed on the map.
"Oh God," Prussia moaned. "I'm being attacked! My people are being attacked!"
Germany forced himself to rush to Prussia's side, his face contorted with worry. "What do you mean? Where? How?"
Prussia bit his lip until he nearly drew blood. The agony was spreading from his skull to all parts of his body. His heart was being torn in two. He felt like he was being torn limb by limb. A savage beast was tearing at his flesh, drinking his blood and gnawing his bones. An invisible fire was lit inside of him, scorching his insides and boiling his blood until it seared every inch of his body.
"Nemmersdorf," Prussia choked out. "Someone—something's attacking Nemmersdorf." He let out a yell of anger. "They're only women and children there! All my soldiers are gone! Why are they attacking?"
"Who is? Tell me, Bruder!" Germany demanded, even though there was no point. He felt guilt poison his blood as Prussia cringed from the bloodbath afflicted upon him. It wasn't fair; Germany never wanted any of this, but he could not disobey. He must carry out orders.
Prussia squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn't supposed to happen—Germany had positioned a strong defensive position near Nemmersdorf. Who could possibly attack the small village?
"Is it Russia?" Germany asked. His voice sounded far away and muffled to Prussia—he could barely understand Germany. "Is Russia attacking you?"
Prussia didn't know. He had absolutely no idea but the idea of Russia slaughtering his people sounded conceivable. His sight turned red with anger at the possibility. He wanted to kill Russia, grab a hold of his skull and tear his body apart with his bare hands. But before Prussia could even imagine it, pain stabbed every inch of his body. Unseen bullets pierced his skin and tore through his ribs, stomach, and muscles.
"I've got to go to Nemmersdorf!" Prussia insisted wildly. He made his way to the door, but he swayed and stumbled, crashing into the wall. He regained his balance on trembling, aching legs. "I've got to help my people and kill whoever is responsible!"
"Bruder, you're hurt!" Germany pleaded.
"I don't give a damn!" Prussia choked out. "Someone's attacking my village. They're innocent! They did nothing and they're attacking them!"
"They're monsters," Germany forced himself to say. His mouth tasted sour—the flavor of lies. "Who could be heartless enough to do that?"
"I'm going to get my hands on that monster," Prussia groaned. "I-I'll kill him! I'll rip him to shreds!"
Germany put his hands on Prussia's shoulders. "Bruder, listen to me—"
Before Germany could say another word, Prussia screamed in agony. The bones in his hands and feet were shattering as if stalagmites were shoved into them. All of a sudden, he couldn't breathe. He gasped for air as horrible pain wracked his body. He could hear his blood rushing frantically through his veins, striving to sustain life. He fell onto all fours, struggling to breathe and maintain consciousness.
"I've got to fight," Prussia whispered. "I've got to do something—anything—"
Germany could only stare down at Prussia as his older brother trembled in unbearable pain and gasped for air. Germany's hands were balled into shaking fists as every hiss of pain was like a dagger tickling the inside of his ear. He could do nothing to stop Prussia's pain—he was ordered to do nothing.
He must follow orders.
He had no other purpose.
Germany knocked lightly on the door. He heard a muffled stream of incoherent German, which was his cue to enter. Germany quietly opened the door and stepped inside.
"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.
Prussia shrugged noncommittally. There were bandages wrapped around his hands and his chest. They had begun to bleed profusely after his attack. He was sitting in his office, unable to walk as of now because of the thick bandages around his bleeding feet.
"Do you need anything?" Germany asked.
"A goddamn rifle and beer," Prussia muttered, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He turned to Germany with weary eyes. "Well? You went to Nemmersdorf, didn't you?"
"Yes," Germany lied. In actuality, he had stayed in his office just as he was instructed to. "Our military has driven the Red Army out of Nemmersdorf. It is safe now."
"How are my people?" Prussia asked.
Germany licked his lips. "Many villagers are dead or gravely injured. Perhaps seventy-two or more are dead," he recited.
"What did the devils do to them?" Prussia said in a low voice.
"Do you really want to know?" Germany said desperately. "It isn't—you won't like to hear it."
"I felt like I was Julius Caesar being assassinated over and over again—I know it was bad," Prussia said coldly. "But I'm going to find out so I can do the exact same things to whoever's army had the gall to do that."
Germany took in a deep breath. "People have been shot at or had their skulls bashed in," Germany admitted. "Almost all women of every age have been raped before they were killed."
Prussia cursed, cradling his head in his arms. Germany couldn't bring himself to look at Prussia.
"There are also," Germany said slowly, "victims that have been nailed to barn doors, as if crucified."
Prussia slammed his fist onto the desk, making Germany's heart skip a beat. Prussia stood up abruptly, wincing when the wounds on his feet smarted.
"Who the hell did this?" Prussia hissed.
Germany took in a deep breath. "The Soviet Union," he said, his voice laced with contempt.
Prussia's face contorted with animosity. His sharp nails were digging into the wood of the desk. The eyes that used to spark with mischief and slyness was now burning with crimson fire.
"Fucking Commie," Prussia spat. "I'm going to kill him. We're going to torture him until he's begging for forgiveness. Why did he attack innocent villagers? I'm going to kill him!"
Germany barely winced at the fiery threats. They made his blood run cold.
"And I'm not going to stop," Prussia continued, pushing himself away from the desk, "until that Communist pig is cowering at the feet of the German throne."
Germany suppressed a shudder. This was for the greater good. To drive passion into his people. To urge his army to strive for victory. To seek a fake vengeance.
"We will, Bruder," Germany promised. "I promise you, we will."
Prussia gave Germany a crooked smile. "Thank God," he said ardently. "I'm going to make that monster pay."
"Of course," Germany agreed. His skin felt filthy. His tongue felt filthy. His conscience was covered head-to-toe in sludge.
When Germany left Prussia, he went straight to the newspaper editors. They wanted a story to print, and he was forced to give one.
For der Führer.
For victory.
For the greater good.
"West."
Germany glanced up from his newspaper. Prussia stood before him, still donning his overlarge T-shirt and boxers he usually wore to bed even though it was noon. The shirt was so large and Prussia was so thin after all those years behind the wall. It made Germany shiver at the sight of it.
"What is it?" Germany asked, putting the newspaper onto the coffee table. "Do you feel sick?"
"Not today," Prussia said. He sat down on the couch next to Germany. "I want to ask you something."
"All right," Germany said, mildly surprised. Prussia was rarely ever this formal. His heart twanged at Prussia's seriousness. What exactly had gone on behind that wall?
"You remember the Nemmersdorf massacre back in nineteen forty-four, don't you?" Prussia said hollowly.
Germany winced at the memory. He had almost forgotten all about that day. "Yes."
Prussia took in a deep breath. "Did you do it?"
Germany remained quiet for a moment. "Why do you think that?"
"I had enough time to interrogate Russia about it," Prussia said shortly. "Fifty years is a long time to get the truth out."
"You asked him about it?" Germany asked mildly.
"I yelled at him about it," Prussia corrected sourly. "And he kept denying it even when I blamed him for lying. But that's not the big one." Prussia crossed his arms, his eyes boring a hole into Germany's skull. "That cabinet full of papers you always kept in your old office when der Führer was in power. You never threw it out."
Germany closed his eyes. When World War II ended and Prussia was taken away, Germany had taken all the papers in the cabinet and stowed them away behind a bookshelf. Most of them were secret documents, most likely declassified by now.
"Why did it have to happen?" Prussia demanded forcefully.
"I wish it didn't," Germany whispered. "Ever since from the beginning, I wished it didn't have to happen."
"But why did it?" Prussia asked, his voice strengthening.
"Propaganda," Germany admitted shamefully. "If my people thought that the Russians had attacked East Prussia in such a—a savage way, they would become more driven to fight back."
Prussia's eyes widened at the revelation. "So—so my people's lives were the price to pay to convince others to try to win?"
"I'm so sorry, Bruder," Germany said earnestly. "I tried to talk my leader out of it but—"
"Don't be stupid," Prussia interrupted, shaking his head. "I'm not blaming you, West. I never can. You didn't have a choice in this."
Germany still felt sickening guilt plague him after all these years. What made it worse was that in the end the Third Reich never won the victory it aimed for even after the Nemmersdorf massacre, after every one of their efforts.
"But why?" Prussia said. "Why couldn't they just have a—a pep rally of some sort? Why does blood make people passionate?" Prussia leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to organize his thoughts. "If it was during any other situation—during peacetime or tension—that would be the worst thing anyone can ever do. So why is it that during wartime it's necessary?"
"Because it's war," Germany said simply. "Your enemies are no longer human to you anymore."
"But I wasn't your enemy," Prussia contradicted. "I was your ally."
Germany hesitated. It was somewhat understandable if his army had attacked one of the Allies' villages, but Prussia had a point. East Prussia was not Germany's enemy at all.
"Because we're so desperate to win that anything is acceptable," Germany offered sadly. "In the end, perhaps our leaders don't care about their allies. So long as their own country rises at the end, they'll do anything."
Prussia's eyes turned steely. "What do they know?" Prussia said gravelly.
"War is like a race to win to them, Bruder," Germany said softly. "Survival of the fittest. Even when we are around, they will see other countries as just pieces of land that is not their concern. Don't think harsh of them, Bruder," Germany added when he saw the bitterness in Prussia's face. "They aren't like us and you know that. We've seen thousands of lifetimes' worth of wars and hate. They can't come close to imagining it."
"Should just put us in power, shouldn't they?" Prussia muttered, smiling wryly. "Maybe then we won't have so much shit going on because we actually knowthe rest of the world. We don't just know their statistics and numbers, we actually know them."
"I don't know about that," Germany said lightly. "I remember that you love fighting."
"Not this kind of fighting," Prussia said earnestly. "Sure, I like the one-on-one combat where it's a test of strength and valor, but not full-blown war. Genocide isn't courage. Propaganda doesn't make you stronger."
Prussia rested his face in his hands. He let out a heavy sigh, slipping into silence for a moment.
"It just doesn't seem fair, though," Prussia said in a shaking voice. "They didn't do anything wrong. They didn't kill or fight or do anything wrong to anyone else. They were just there. And they had to—to go through all that shit just so they could be printed on the newspaper—" Prussia choked on his own words as he struggled to breathe. He kept his face stubbornly hidden in his hands as he bowed his head. "Damn, that's how it was for everyone in every single war, isn't it, West? Someone's going to get hurt just because of where and who they are…doesn't matter if they're the Good Samaritan."
Germany wrapped his arms around Prussia's thin shoulders. He buried his face into Prussia's neck as he squeezed his brother tight. Prussia's body was shaking, not unlike how he quaked all those years ago on October twenty-second, but this time he was plagued with a different kind of pain. Heartache.
"Ich entschuldige mich," Germany murmured into Prussia's hair.
Prussia let out a quivering chuckle. "What did I tell you about apologizing, West?" he said. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't have a choice. We never have a choice in any of the things our leaders decide. People think we're so special and powerful, being nations…but really, we never were. We're just servants to whoever's boss. What we believe in, what we want to do, what we don't want, it doesn't matter. We're just nations, not God-given monarchs or rulers chosen by fate."
"I want to make it up to you, though," Germany said weakly, even though there was no deed on Earth that could erase a crime like that.
Prussia took his hands away from his face. He leaned his forehead on Germany's shoulder, holding his hand.
"Remember them with me," Prussia said. "Humans probably won't remember—history flakes away from their existence bit by bit. Someone has to remember that they lived and suffered." Prussia closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. "That's how it is for everyone in history, isn't it? People suffer, but no one will remember. Any year since the earth's existence, it's the same."
"War is merciless," Germany and Prussia said in unison. Germany kissed Prussia's white hair. Their broken hearts beat in harmony.
"I don't want them to just disappear from existence and pretend they never existed and that they never went through hell," Prussia said. "Just remember them with me. All of them. As many as you can."
Germany gripped tighter on Prussia's hand. He knew that Prussia wasn't talking about just Nemmersdorf anymore. History was a long, bloodstained road pockmarked with unmarked graves.
"I promise," Germany said.
Because that was all they could do for them.
Remember.
On October 22, 1944, the Red Army supposedly invaded a village named Nemmersdorf in East Prussia. Many villagers were shot, beaten, raped, clubbed, and allegedly nailed to barn doors in the same manner as a crucifixion. The Nemmersdorf Massacre also led to the evacuation of East Prussia.
However, there is some controversy about this event. It's possible that the entire massacre was planned and carried out by the Nazis in order to gain propaganda to unite the Germans against the Soviet Union. That is the path I took. If indeed the Nazis had planned this for propaganda, then it worked pretty well because there was a surge of volunteers back home in Germany. However, the people in East Prussia became worried and started evacuating in a fit of fear.
I figured that Prussia would've been allies with Germany because that's what my history book said –is shot'd- Though I'm not too sure how Prussia would've reacted about the whole Holocaust and concentration camps; a good amount of his people were victims of those.
By the way, to those who read 'Táncol?' this is NOT the sequel I was talking about. This was a plot bunny.