Author's Note- Hey everyone. Welcome to my newest story. This is my first time writing a fictional piece in the Hetalia universe. It also my first time writing with a set chapter limit. This piece will be exactly 14 chapters with a prologue and a postscript because it mirrors one of the two books that the characters will be reading. If you are interested in reading along that I would suggest tracking down a copy, Arctic Manual by Vihjalmur Stefansson and Casino Royale by Ian Fleming. Also, I am only planning on posting chapters once a month for this piece. That way I will be able to catch up and finish some of my other stories.

Disclaimer- I don't own Hetalia, or the corrections my wonderful betas Doctor Person and TheNSIGirl have made…I do own any of the mistakes though.

Dedication- To the 31 American Korean War Pilots who are still MIA. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.

Into the Coldest Night

There was a time when the United States of America and Russia had been allies. Some might have even argued that the two nations could have been had been friends. In the past Russia had sold its only territory to America to keep it out of British hands, America had loaned and leased massive amounts equipment and ammunition to support the Soviet Union's fight against Nazi Germany. Unfortunately, at the end of the Second World War, the delicate relationship between the two superpowers had crumbled and that had plunged the world back into a global war.

The current war between the United States and the Soviet Union was significantly different from any that had preceded it. It was a war of ideology, of two very different government systems, and it was a war where both sides were able to wield enough nuclear weapons to wipe out every man, woman, and child on the planet. As a result, it was an unspoken rule that the two nations could never directly attack the other. Instead, America and Russia began to play a delicate game of chess using the weaker nations of the world as pieces.

Russia had made the opening gambit, stating that the Soviet Union should be allowed to occupy the Northern half of Japan and to also extract compensation from Austria. The United States had blocked that move, arguing that most of the work to defeat the Japanese had been done by the Americas, Chinese, and the citizens of the British Commonwealth nations in the Pacific. The allies as a whole argued that Austria was a victim of WWII and thus it could only be occupied to get the country back on its feet. The Soviet Union was given a few of the most northerly rocky Japanese island and North Korea instead of the heavily populated major Japanese islands. Little did the allies know that the decision would lead to the first major military conflict between the United States of America and the Soviet Union.

Prologue

February 19th, 1953

MIG Alley, North Korea

As far as the 319th Fighter Intercept Squadron was concerned, First Lt. Alfred F. Jones was the baby brother of the entire unit. He had grown up in a tiny town in Kansas and signed up for ROTC in high school. He was granted a two-year scholarship by the Air Force ROTC at Texas A&M which allowed him to complete two years of engineering before attending flight school. He graduated the best in his flight class and as a result got first pick of aircraft that he would learn to fly in combat. Like many of the top pilots in flight school, he chose fighters.

Initially, Alfred was supposed to go back to Texas A&M to finish up his degree after training with his aircraft, but the Korean War changed that. After completing his flight training, he was assigned to the 319th FIS, which many considered to be one of the best flying outfits in the U.S. Air Force. It was a group of pilots made up mostly of men in their late twenties and thirties who had been successful military pilots during WWII. In contrast, Alfred had only turned twenty-one the previous Fourth of July and had limited flight time and no combat experience.

Still the young pilot had earned the respect of his fellows by being able to push his Lockheed F-94A Starfire, the Lady Liberty, harder and faster than any other pilot in the unit. Alfred ability to make his plane dance across the sky was the primary reason why he was pulled from the duty patrolling and protecting the air base to join a team of eight Starfires to escort a wing of B-29 Superfortresses on a nighttime raid to bomb a series of warehoused deep in enemy territory.

"Jones, we've got bogies on our six." In the seat behind the pilot, Lt. Thomas 'Tommy' Richardson to radar officer spoke up. The kid was only a year and a half older than Jones, but like the pilot he was very good at what he was doing.

"Roger that, can you identify?"

"Looks like either a Type 19 or Type 29." The RO said trying to focus on the fast moving planes. "In this light I can't tell the difference unless they get a whole lot closer."

Jones had to do his best not to swear. Even thought the F-94 was considered to be one of the most advanced aircraft that the United States Air Force had at its disposal, the Soviet MiGs were worthy opponents. The plane could climb high and faster than any American fighter jet, and in most dogfights the upper ground was a big advantage.

Luckily the F-94 had several things going in its favor. The first was the planes greater maneuverability. All of America's new fighter jets were designed to be flown using a G-suit. These suits allowed the American pilot to pull one additional G then their Russian counterpart. While it seemed like a small advantage, it could make a huge difference in the tight turn of a dogfight. The other advantage was the fact the F-94 could drop like a rock in a dive. Unfortunately, that diving capability was worthless in this type of an air battle. If the fighter dived to avoid the MiGs, the B-29 would be defenseless.

The Russian MiGs swopped into the formation from above, their guns leaving glowing trails through the sky as they strafed the bombers. The flight leader commanded the one of the two groups of four to pursue and distract the enemy so that the B-29 could complete their mission and fly to safety. The Lady Liberty peeled away from the group following his lead plane the Anita.

At first, it seemed like all the Russian wanted to do was tease the Americans. Once the group of four was on their tail, the group of five MiGs ran back towards the Chinese border. That retreat turned out to be a ruse. Soon out of the night an additional five planes came screaming from above. The Russian flight team had assessing planes and had figured out that the Lady Liberty was the junior member of the group. Like wolves, the MiGs systematically herded Lt. Jones away from the rest of his unit.

Forced to run from an overwhelming odds Lt. Alfred Jones pushed his plane to its physical limits. He threw it into spirals and turns so sharp that his vision grayed on the edges and his RO in the back seat blacked out due to the G-forces. Despite the fancy flying whenever he pulled out of a maneuver a MiG was waiting for him. He was trapped.

"Jones we have lost visual contact. Where are you?" The voice of the flight leader crackled over the planes radio.

"I have no clue. I haven't had time to check the map yet due to the fact that I have Ruskies on my tail forcing me to dance."

"Stay strong kid, we have half the unit looking for you." The flight leader said over the radio to try to calm the young, lost pilot. "What is your fuel status?"

"Nowhere near Bingo. I estimate that I have maybe four hours of flight time left, longer if I can get these bogies of my tail."

Combat air radius was one of the only aspects of the F-94A actually was superior to the F-94B. The planes lower speed and the fact that the engine lacked an afterburner meant that Alfred could fly the Lady Liberty one hundred miles more than the Anita.

"Try your best to disengage and fly south. If you see any landmarks that can help us determine your current position let me know. I want us all to make it back to base."

"Roger that."

"Good Luck." And when his flight leader sighed off, Jones added the unspoken goodbye…after all the whole flight group had heard about these types of attacks. When the Russians managed to separated a single aircraft from a large formation it was usually just a matter of time before that plane was shot down. The chances of the Lady Liberty returning to the airbase were slim to none.

It was pretty clear that the Russians didn't want them dead. If they had, the Lady Liberty would have been shot down several times by now. Instead the communist were probably trying to capture the plane so that they could reverse engineer it. The two men figured that this was their motive because the MiGs only shot at them when they tried to fly due south. They had let them turn slightly towards the east and Alfred knew that with enough time they could get over the ocean. Sadly he didn't think that the Starfire would make it that far. It was already running on fumes and he knew that when the engines finally went out going out the plane would have the glide ratio of a rock. The Russians had won. The Lady Liberty was going down hundreds of miles behind enemy lines, but perhaps they could prevent them from claiming their prize.

"What if we flew into that cloud bank?" Tommy Richardson said quietly, as he stared at a menacing pile of clouds forming on their southeast.

"Flying in those conditions would be suicide, even with our radar." Alfred replied numbly.

"They wouldn't follow us and at least Ruskies won't find our bodies…" Or the plane, Alfred added mentally as RO spoke. "And who knows, maybe we could take a few more of them out with us."

"Yeah, if we can convince two of them to follow us then we will have five kills and we will be aces." Banking sharply and plunged into the clouds. For the first few minutes all he could do was fly by his instruments.

"Imagine that, the Lady could be the very first Starfire to get the title of ace." Tommy said wistfully. Then the two airmen let silence laps between them. They both knew that their time was limited. In the front, the pilot wrestled with the controls in the vain hope that they could ditch the plane over the ocean. In the back, the OR took the time to think of his family and try to make peace with his maker.

Less than fifteen minutes later, wing clipped a mountain ridge causing the plane to turn sideways. It cartwheeled, wingtip over wing tip, down the mountain. The ice, snow, and rock carved large chunks of the plane but somehow the jet managed not to explode.

The next thing Alfred knew was that the plane had slid to a stop and he was hanging upside down loosely held by the seat's safety straps. Slowly the lieutenant tried to blink the stars from his vision, but it only seemed to make his headache worse, so he tried to get his bearing instead. The windscreen of his aircraft was smashed. His dashboard was streaked with blood. The only light was the red glow of a fire reflecting off of fog and smoke.

Alfred tried to crane his head to see where the fire was, but the movement caused his world to explode into pain. His instincts screamed for him to escape, but he soon discovered that his hands were too shaky to detach his harness. He tried reaching for the fire extinguisher instead, but only managed to bump an open facture. As his vision grayed to black, the only thing that the pilot could think about was the possibility of burning alive in his plane.

February 20th, 1953

Mountains of Amur Oblast, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic (RSFSF)

When Lt. Jones woke, the first sensation he could feel was that of incredibly cold…the second was the sensation of hanging upside down. Slowly he tried to open his eyes. His left cracked open, but his right refused to budge. Gingerly, Alfred lifted his right hand to his face. His fingers probed his eye, and slowly he recognized that a combination of swelling and some type of ice had sealed the lids shut. Seeking the source of the ice he allowed his hand to feel across the rest of his face. Part way on their transit across his cheek, his fingers discovered a ragging hole torn across the skin. Probing it further he realized he could feel teeth and gum through the hole…the hole when all the way through his cheek.

Alfred felt the panic rising within him. The vision in his one good eye grayed and he had to suck in lung fulls of the frigid air to keep himself from throwing up. Once he was once again in control, Alfred began a systematic search of what was wrong with his body. It was pretty clear that his left arm was broken; an elbow couldn't bend that way naturally. He also suspected that his right and possibly left ankles had been shattered, but he wouldn't be able to tell until he found a way to move the chunk of bulkhead that was currently pinning them to the former floor of the cockpit. In addition to the broken bones, there was a number of oozing cuts scattered across his body and the skin on his left forearm had been chard black.

"Tommy, you still back there?" Alfred rasped, but there was no answer in return. Slowly, painfully, he was able to turn his head just enough to see the back of the cockpit with the corner of his eye. What he saw almost made him puke again. There was absolutely no way that Tommy was still alive. The corpse in the back seat was barely recognizable as human.

If Lt. Jones had been human, he would have probably done everything in his power to destroy his F-94 Starfire, then lay down in the snow and let the elements claim him. The act wouldn't have been suicidal. It would have just been acceptance that this far into enemy territory there was no hope of rescue, that with his shattered bones and burns there was no way that he could safely make it to South Korea on foot, and the knowledge that being captured by the enemy would mean a fate worse than death. Unfortunately, for Lt. Alfred F. Jones he wasn't human. He was the personification of the United States of America and nations couldn't die in the same ways that humans did.

Resolute, America forced his shaking hand to undo the straps holding him upside down in his seat. He dropped suddenly to the roof of the plane. He then started to rip apart the cockpit console to free his limbs from the broken machine. He wasn't sure how long it took him to untangle himself from aircraft. His watch had been smashed in the crash and concussion kept his mind foggy, but eventually he found himself lying outside on the snow. He desperately wanted to lay still. To sleep in the snow until all his wounds healed and the ache in his bones faded away. Unfortunately, he didn't have the time. There was too much to do.

He pulled his fellow flight officer from the twisted wreckage and crawling he dragged his friend to a hollow in the rocks a few feet away. Winded he sat down next to the corpse for a few minutes to regain his breath, then he tried to rearrange the man into a more dignified position. He failed; the body had already frozen solid in the mountain air.

Unable to do anything else, America used his pocket knife to cut a long strip of fabric from the man's flight suit and used it to wrap the RO face. After remove on set of Tommy's dog tags and taking a few mementoes for his family, he began the long and unenviable task of entombing the body in a grave of broken rock and snow. When the cairn was finished, the nation mumbled a few verses for the bible and said a prayer for his fallen comrade then turned to his plane.

The Lady Liberty was a shattered shell of her former glory. There was no possible way that she would ever fly again. Three-fourths of the right wing had been torn off; there was nothing left of the left. The tail of the plane was also missing, and the nose was smashed beyond recognition. Large swaths of the engine exposed. On closer inspection, America could tell that the fuel tank had also been shredded. The damage to the fuel system was so severe that he hypothesized that the only thing that had probably prevented the plane to from exploding on impact was the fact that it had been flying on fumes.

America pulled the survival gear from the base of each ejection seat. There were a few emergency rations, some water purification tablets, some maps, a gold coin, but unfortunately, there was a lack of warm weather clothing and tents in the kit. He slowly limped, hopped, and crawled around the wreckage of the plane trying to find any other salvable equipment. He noticed that it was getting harder and harder to see. At first, he assumed that the reductions his dimming vision must be caused by a storm rolling in or possibly by his injuries. Then his concussed mind realized that night was fast approaching and there was no place for him to take shelter from the elements.

For the first time, America eyes truly scanned the barren landscape around him. He prayed for to see a tree, a shrub, anything organic that he could use to create a fire to ward of the frigid temperatures. Unfortunately, the mountain slopes were bleak, empty, and windswept. It rapidly became clear that the only burnable things were the contents of the Lady Liberty, contents which had already mostly been reduced to ash. America's was going to be forced to experience an Arctic winter's night completely exposed to the elements.

Drowsily, America crawled towards one of the larger boulders. As he crept across the talus slopes, he promised himself that he would destroy any of the sensitive technology the following morning and then begin the task of burying his beloved plane. America hoped that by hiding his aircraft the Soviets would never find this place. But for now he curled into the fetal position under the shelter of a boulder and watched as the Lady Liberty as the last of the electronic equipment smoldered. As the last sparks died in the wind, all America could do was stew over the problem of getting back to the United States before the nations of the Soviet Union discovered that he was missing.

End Note- If you enjoyed this prologue, please drop me a line. Reviews help me know how I can improve the story.