Goodbye, Home
Dunkirk, France
The sea was calm, although the young Frenchman had his back to it. He was currently sitting on an empty box that used to hold supplies. Francis sighed, running a shaky hand through his dirty, blonde hair. The men around him were discussing their fate, whether or not it was caused by a German bullet, failing an attempt to swim across the English channel. But Francis decided to tune it out, all it would do was worry him more. What the real question was, why did the Germans stop their attack? They had the French outnumbered and basically surrounded.
Francis leaned forward with a groan, bracing his elbows on his knees, and holding his chin up with his hands. He glanced down at the ground at his feet, where his saw his rifle resting, then he looked up at the stars above him. "I'm going to die here, aren't I?" He mumbled to himself. But no one seemed to notice his words. The young blonde closed his eyes and looked down again. "Fine, I'd rather die for my country then surrender." He whispered.
About an hour passed, and Francis grew impatient. What were the Germans waiting for? The sound of the waves behind him changed, but he paid no attention to it. It was just the waves, right? But everyone seemed to grow excited and went jogging to the sea. So, Francis stood and turned around. It wasn't just waves, but it was the British and their ships. Not only ships, but practically anything that could float. Francis knew exactly what was going to happen. The British would arrive, the French would run onto their ships, and Germany would annex France. Francis shook his head in disapproval. He wasn't going on any of those damn ships. He'd rather die for his country then run away like a coward.
The ships arrived with ease, but why the hell wasn't Germany attacking those ships? British troops came running off the ships, telling the French that they're here to rescue them like the French were some kind of damsel in distress. Francis saw a young blonde come jogging in his direction, so he crossed his arms in anger.
"I'm not going anywhere." Francis stated firmly.
The Brit stopped in front of him with a scowl. "Oh, you speak English?"
"Well, I just spoke it." Francis snapped.
The soldier looked up at him. "And you said you're not coming?"
Francis glared at the thick-eyebrowed Englishman. "No, this is my home and I will fall with it."
The Brit blinked at him, before straightening his posture and holding out his right hand. "Honorable. Well it was nice meeting you, Frenchman."
Francis raised an eyebrow at the blonde. He had expected to get into an argument with the teen, but instead he respected Francis' decision. "Nice meeting you too, Englishman." Francis outstretched his right hand and shook the teenagers.
The soldier pulled Francis towards him and bent down, putting Francis across his back, and grabbed him by the leg and began to carry him towards the ships. "I was told to save as many of the French soldiers as possible, and your stubbornness isn't going to stop me from doing my job!" The Brit exclaimed.
"What the-? Put me down!" Francis yelled. But it seemed the young blonde had ignored him until they were on the ship. Francis tried to dash off the ship, but the teen caught him by the shoulders.
"You said you wanted fall with France, correct?" The man asked quickly.
"Of course I do! France is my home!" Francis yelled.
The English soldier continued to hold onto his shoulders. "But why die in it's fall, when you can survive and help retake it?"
Francis stared down at the young blonde's green eyes for a moment, before relaxing and taking a few steps to the right. He leaned against the railing of the ship and stared at his country that he just abandoned.
"I could imagine that leaving your home is hard." The teen said in a soothing tone.
"I feel guilty." Francis mumbled.
The Brit stood next to him, and stared at the now fallen country of France. "Don't, because someday, we'll retake France."
"What if I don't live that long?" Francis asked, looking over at the British soldier.
He shrugged. "You never know. But if you don't, then all of the fighting that you did will be leading up to that cause."
Francis looked at the short haired blonde. How was he in the army? He looked no older than fourteen. "How old are you?"
"Sixteen." The green eyed teen stated.
"Sixteen?" Francis exclaimed, "I thought the you had to be at least seventeen."
The Englishman narrowed his eyes at something in the distance. "The army is desperate. Also my birthday isn't too far from now. How old are you?"
"Nineteen." Francis replied.
"That's not too much older."
Francis raised his eyebrows. "Well at least I'm a legal adult."
"At seventeen I wouldn't be a legal adult." The Brit stated, crossing his arms.
"What rank are you?" Francis asked.
The sixteen year old scowled. "Oh, I'm a sixteen year old general." He said sarcastically.
"What's your name?"
The Briton gave Francis a suspicious glance before answering. "Private Arthur Kirkland."
"It's nice to meet you, Arthur," Francis stated, before placing his hand on his chest, "I am Private Francis Bonnefoy."
Arthur gave a nod, before turning his head and staring.
"What are you looking at?" Francis asked.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "The German troops. Why aren't they attacking?"
"Maybe they don't want to anger you." Francis joked, "No one wants to come face to face with an angry Brit on the battlefield."
Arthur chuckled, but continued staring.
"Relax, if they didn't shoot at you earlier, they won't now." Francis said, giving Arthur a small playful shove toward the railing of the ship.
Arthur inhaled quickly, gripping the edge of the ship tightly, and stared at the water below in fear.
"What? What's wrong?" Francis exclaimed.
Arthur sat up and took a step away from the railing. "Nothing, you just took me off guard. I wasn't paying attention, that's all." He said quickly.
Francis narrowed his eyes suspiciously and raised his right eyebrow. "You're lying."
"Just drop it." Arthur ordered, still staring at the dark water in horror.
Francis shrugged. "So, you have any family?"
"W-What?" Arthur stuttered.
"Any family?"
"Three older brothers, and a younger brother." Arthur said awkwardly.
Francis nodded. "Any of them fighting?"
"My oldest."
"What's his name, just in case I run into him?" Francis asked.
"Run into who?" Another British soldier asked, walking up.
"You." Arthur snapped at the red haired soldier.
"So you were talking about me?" The man said, an unlit cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. "Bragging about how amazing your oldest brother is?"
Arthur scoffed. "No, I was just about to tell him how much of a git you are."
"So this is your brother?" Francis asked.
Arthur rolled his eyes at his ginning brother. "Yes."
"Officer Alistair Kirkland." The redhead informed, still smirking. "What's your name, Frog?"
Francis frowned at that last part, but still answered. "Francis Bonnefoy, and was the 'frog' remark necessary?"
"This is the British Army, Frog, I say you'd better get used to it." Alistair replied.
Francis nodded awkwardly.
"So, Arthur, you alright? The sea's not scaring you too much?" Alistair asked.
Arthur scowled. "Of course it isn't!" He snapped in hatred. "Don't you have something better to do than bother me?"
"Actually, I do. So I guess I'll see you later, Art." Alistair walked off, maneuvering through the crowd of British and French soldiers with ease.
"So," Arthur began after a few awkward moments of silence, "that was my brother."
Francis nodded again before looking back to his country. He could barely see it, it seemed so small. He sighed before turning around and resting his back against the railing. He glanced to the private beside him, who was once again looking at the country they were leaving. It seemed like he had calmed down, and actually looked at peace. Francis had to give the teen credit, he was kind of attractive. Maybe he's… Francis shook his head, no, what are the chances I meet another bisexual?
"What's one of your biggest secrets?" Francis mentally kicked himself. Why the hell would he ask that? He just begged that Arthur didn't hear it.
Arthur gave him a strange look. A mixture of emotions built up in his emerald eyes. Anger, confusion, peace, fear. "Why?" He questioned.
"I don't know." Francis shrugged, "You don't have to answer."
Arthur held his gaze, his emotions changing until they were unreadable. He glanced down at the water that looked black in the darkness of the night. "You won't tell anyone, right?"
"I promise I won't." Francis replied quickly, some hope rising in his chest.
Arthur leaned forward and spoke in only a whisper. "I can't swim."
For some reason, Francis didn't believe that that was Arthur's biggest secret, but he played along. "So that's why you freaked out when I pushed you."
Arthur nodded. "What about you?"
Francis froze. It's not like he could tell him that he was a bisexual. So he went with something else. "I've never had a first kiss."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "That's it? You're nineteen, not every guy gets a girl in highschool."
"Have you had a first kiss?" Francis asked.
Arthur shook his head. "No."
"Wait a minute," Francis began, lowering his voice so only Arthur could hear, "if you can't swim, why are you a part of the navy?"
"I'm not, I'm a part of the army. It wasn't only the navy that came here." Arthur replied, cautiously resting his arms on the railing of the ship, and stared off at where the German troops would be if you could still see them.
"So," Francis said, breaking a silence that existed between the two for a few moments, "that's England?" He finished, pointing.
Arthur looked over at his shoulder to the country that was appearing in sight. "Yes." He turned back to France.
"Why don't you look at your home?" Francis asked.
Arthur didn't look away from the horizon he was staring at. "I'm paranoid. I'm making sure the Germans aren't attacking us from behind."
"I think you should calm down. They aren't attacking us. If they were planning on it, they would've back by France where they weren't as close to English reinforcements."
Arthur shrugged, but didn't change the direction he was facing. Francis sighed before turning back to the country that was quickly growing larger on the horizon. He smiled. Yes, he wasn't in France, but maybe this wouldn't be too bad... Francis had always wanted to go to England.
Alistair is Scotland, just in case you didn't know.
Here's the beginning of my newest story, I hope you will like it. Also, please leave reviews, your feedback is appreciated and much needed.