Author's Note: Hello, Everyone! This will be a muti-chaptered story of 4 related one-shots about the Hetalia characters fighting on the Eastern Front during WW2. Warnings for character death(s) and blood. Constructive criticism and reviews are appreciated, I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers. Please enjoy!
Blood in the Street
The bodies lay on the street, as combat raged over them.
The Russian soldiers were fast in hand-to-hand combat. Gilbert was faster.
Ludwig laughed at him for using what the younger German called a "primitive" weapon to fight. In truth, he preferred the sword to the guns and genades of the era. It had been with him since his youth, enduring countless clashes with Prussia's enemies, usually having to fend off a frying pan.
That was something Gilbert prided himself on: he was the best swordsman among the nations. Here, among the war-torn streets, it was very useful.
Leading his troops, he ducked and weaved among the fighting, wielding his broadsword with ease as the Waffen-SS clashed with the Red Army in Stalingrad.
Again.
For 7 months now, this had been the main battleground of the eastern front. A German army, and a Russian Army. Locked into a city and left to fight until only one would be left.
It had been street-to-street, house-to-house, room-to-room combat. The thundering from above as the Luffwaffe pounded the city day and night was broken only by the chatter of machine guns and whine of sniper bullets.
Needless to say, Prussia was feeling less than Awesome today.
Still, Ludwig's beloved Reich would prevail here, it was just a matter of willpower to fight. Ivan could send all the soldiers he wanted; the German brothers would still bleed his country dry.
Speaking of Russia, Gilbert had not yet seen him. He was probably cowering up in Moscow, like the Soviet bastard he was.
These thoughts distracted Gilbert enough that a mangy soldier clipped him with a pistol. Kicking the gun out of the man's hand, Gilbert spun and sent the Russian's head flying into space.
The city should have been easy to occupy and possess, yet Ivan was putting up a tremedous fight. Verdammnt, why couldn't he just give in and make things easier for everyone?
Gilbert had seen thousands of troops die by his side, but this war was different. The pain, and the carnage, it made him feel.
With a final yell, the Germans charged, scattering among the retreating Russian soldiers. Another street in German hands.
Wiping the blood off of his sword, Prussia gazed around. Darkness was beginning to fall. The light of fires burning in buildings revealed the countless dead, the once-pristine snow now a rust, a blight on the land.
A squad of SS walked up the avenue, executing any wounded Russians they found. No quarter in this war.
As the yellow speck dove and landed on his shoulder, Gilbert felt hollow as he watched the death and destruction. Was this worth it?
Of course, to kill the Russian. Kill the Russian. Kill the Russian.
Yes.
It would all be worth it then, when Russia was dead and he could have peace, which would be soon.
Gazing at the bodies, a grin spread over Prussia's face, even as tears began to roll down his cheeks. He looked again to the burning houses, to the blood, to the men fallen in the snow.
They would win. Of course.
Laughing, the awesome nation marched off as it began to snow.
