The rifles were kept raised even after she stopped dead in her tracks.

Her fugue daze wavered and the gravity of her world finally registered. Her cities ground to the dust, her people scattered, her neutrality…ruthlessly violated. Belgium, tattered, drenched, and dirty, stared blankly at the line of German infantry blocking the road.

The soldiers eyed each other nervously. Then their state on horseback waved his hand. They lowered their weapons and eased their knees out of the mud. It had been hours since it started raining, painting the desecrated landscape an even darker shade of grey. The lieutenant looked up at his liege; Germany had already dismounted and was striding over to Belgium.

She eyed his approach. Her dry, baggy eyes tiredly analyzed the concerned face looking shamefully at hers. Blonde hair, blue apologetic eyes…

"Belgium, I—"

She slapped him hard. The infantrymen flinched when Germany's head jerked suddenly to the side. But they made no move to restrain her. With sheepish awe, they watched her break apart.

Belgium pounded his chest, beating against the flak jacket, as she cracked and wailed.

"Belgium! Belgium, please!" But Germany's pleas were ignored. She wrestled fruitlessly against his arms, mourning all the more for how her land and her people were brutalized. She writhed and thrashed until she lay on the ground, deep in a muddy puddle.

Germany released his grip, letting her weep. Guilty, ashamed, and torn.

The lieutenant reluctantly stiffened. He eyed his men. "Vorwarts!"

The soldiers readjusted themselves despite being wet beyond comprehension and began their march. It did not take long for them to pass the two nation-states, throwing looks of disdain and confusion.

Germany ignored them. Belgium still sobbed under him, preferring to embrace the muck than to listen to anything he would say. Then again, saying it would be taken as just another hollow promise—a big lie that would fall through and sting instead of heal.

He knew he had committed a great betrayal. But his loyalty was demanded of him. And loyalty he willingly gave.

"I am sorry, Belgium," he mouthed, soft enough for only his own ears to hear.


NOTE: This story popped up in my mind while I was taking a dump. So I wrote down as soon as I was done and typed it up after a little bit of some historical research.