28th June 1914

England sat in his conservatory, lit cigarette in-between his long fingers, enjoying the rare summer sunlight that shone through the glass. He finally managed to sit down and forget about all the trouble in Europe with a cup of Earl Grey tea and a relaxing cancer stick. Once he finished his cigarette, he planned to read an English classic; he hadn't decided whether it would be Shakespeare or Jane Austen yet, but either way he would take pleasure in being engrossed by the author's words and creativity...

He closed his eyes and took a drag of the tab as he sunk into the back of his comfortable green armchair. There were no brothers to annoy him. No America to yell about new aeroplane designs or his 'awful' cooking skills. No France to distract him from his relaxation. Nothing could possibly go wrong. He sorted out both Moroccan arguments between France and Germany, even if Germany did over react a little in 1911... Nothing could go wrong, both Russia and Austria wouldn't make a move for Serbia. Austria wouldn't fight against the 'Russian Steamroller' and Russia was well aware that France and England wouldn't support him if he started a fight... France wouldn't take 'his' land back off Germany until a 'more opportune time' arose. Nothing was going to go wrong...

"Mr Kirkland! Mr Kirkland, sir!" England frowned. With all the drama going in Europe and at home, he had been quite enjoying a little time to himself...

"Yes, Jonathon?" He sighed in reply to his worried citizen as he opened his emerald eyes, ringed with black bags from a lack of sleep due to catching up on paper work.

"There's trouble in Europe, sir!" Jonathon exclaimed.

Surprise, surprise; there's always trouble in Europe whenever I find the time to relax...

"When is there no trouble in Europe? I've been in an arms race with Germany since 1900... I'm surprised the counties helping with the ship building haven't started throwing their tools at me yet... The tension between European powers is unbelievable; I preferred it before I started taking sides in 1905. If only Germany hadn't called that meeting over Morocco, I would never have done the surprising thing and sided with Frogface..." England began to ramble.

"Yes sir, but please listen!" England turned to look at the panicked Englishman, expelling second hand smoke through his nostrils. "Archduke Franz Ferdinand Hapsburg and his wife, Sophie, were assassinated this morning!"

England merely stared blankly at the short man in the centre of the room. Jonathon had thick eye brows like the country himself, but baby blue eyes like America's, and Scotland's fiery red hair. Jonathon had recently replaced Alan, his old messenger. England couldn't help but feel as if he hadn't quite caught onto the fact that messages were suppose to be delivered quietly. There were some things the public shouldn't know, or find out, about.

"Franz Ferdinand? As in Franz Ferdinand, next in line to become the Austro-Hungarian Emperor?" England couldn't believe his ears as he stubbed out the finished cigarette in the nearby ashtray.

"He was next in line, sir... He was shot on a visit Sarajevo. We suspect it was a group of Serbs as several arrests were made by the Austrians." Jonathon said, lowering his volume slightly.

"Shit!" England smacked his fist off the table, causing the tea tray to wobble when he did so. "That's a perfect excuse for Austria to invade Serbia... If Austria dares make a move for Serbia, Russia will want to get involved..."

"Should we send troops, sir?" Jonathon asked.

"No, I don't want to go to war because of what's happening in the Balkans..."

"Are you sure sir?"

"Yes, even ask my boss!" He waved his hand, hinting for Jonathon to leave the room.
Jonathon did so, feeling as if he may have interrupted Mr Kirkland in the middle of a nap. He closed the door quietly behind him. It's only my second week being his messenger... Maybe he just hasn't warmed to me yet... Jonathon reassured himself on the other side on the door.

England returned to staring out the window, seeing the interesting shadows that were cast by the sunlight being blocked by his various plants. He caught a glimmer of mint green out of the corner of his eye. England turned and began stroking the air.

"You know, flying mint bunny, I believe that I may need to beg for Alan to return as my messenger..." He paused "That Jonathon is far too loud... And he hugged me when I forgave him for ruining my new rug after he spilt my Earl Grey tea all over it..."

6th July 1914

England stood by the window, revealing the city of Paris in all its glory, whilst his emerald eyes gazed over a telegram. France sat in a tacky red loveseat that somehow matched the rest of his brightly coloured (but tasteful) furnishings a few feet away from him. His sapphire eyes scanned a letter he received from his boss a few minutes ago, when England also received the telegram.

England put the telegram down on the drawers to his left, impatiently waiting for France to finish reading. He had a feeling France was reading this slowly deliberately to annoy him. He took out a cigarette and his hand returned back into the pocket in search of something to light the tab with. He didn't realise how deep his pockets actually were until now.

France, however, had finished reading a while ago and debating whether to reread the letter again to irritate England a little more, or to assist the "gentlemen" with whatever he was struggling to find in his pocket. The thin and bony Brit suddenly turned to stare at the blonde, France then realised he had been caught gazing at England whilst he was searching for a lighter.

They both remained in silence for a short while. The Englishman looked like he was about to start yelling at the top of his voice. France waited for a lecture on being a pervert and how it was wrong...

"Well this is great!" England said sarcastically whilst lighting the cigarette. Apart from the cravings, they actually did reduce his stress levels slightly...

France frowned at the lack of a high volume rant, and then returned to quickly skim over the letter. He wasn't sure, but England didn't appear to be acting normally. He was puffing on more cigarettes then Scotland these days.

"I know Angleterre, Russie will certainly vant to fight Autriche-Hongrie if dey take action against Serbie..." France said, putting the letter on the side table next to him.

"That's not the point! Germany's in there encouraging Austria to act against Serbia! Germany's also agreeing to back him up if Russia gets involved!"

"It's like some sort of domino affect..." France was impressed with his creativity.

"I know that much! Austria will attack Serbia, Russia will attack Austria-Hungary, Germany will defend Austria-Hungary and then you and I will get dragged into it."

"Dat vould be amusing if dat actually happened..."

"Shut up Frogface!" England turned to the Frenchman.

"Non! You shut up! You English pig!" France immediately stood up to come face to face with him

"Don't think that just because we're in an Entente I won't rip that beard right off your Froggy-face!" England jabbed him in the chest.

"Froggy? I am zee most beautiful man on dis Earth!" France said, rubbing where he had been jabbed.

"You keep telling yourself that, you garlic eating frog!"

"Come here, big brother France will show you how to fight!" France gestured for England throw the first punch.

"Since when did a frog know anything about fighting?"

"Since je owed ton ass en 1066!"

England's fist then connected with France's jaw, as he reminded England of his last major failure to defend his land from outsiders.

"You eat frogs' legs: that makes you a cannibal Frogface!" He celebrated the successful hit while France checked to make sure his jaw still functioned correctly.

France then punched England in the gut. Fists started flying in all directions, connecting with various parts of the body. They hit each other wherever they could, neither wanting to be the loser of this pointless fight.

"Is 'frog' the only insult tu have for me?" France said, before being caught in the jaw again.

"I could call you Louis Napoleon! But it doesn't quite have the same ring to it!" England said before taking a hit to his groin.

"Vhy vould tu name moi after Napoleon III, a dead boss?" France asked, whilst England grabbed his crotch in pain.

"One...Err... Two..." He groaned as he counted to make sure he was just as manly as he was before. "Well because he was a coward and then a loser, like you! He couldn't even beat baby Germany in 1870!"

"Take zat back, right now!" France pouted, dramatically folding his arms.

"No way!" England replied.

France jumped on England's back as the 'gentleman' stood up, they both fell and started to roll around on the floor, squabbling.

24th July 1914

"That Austria is an absolute wanker! How dare he listen that German bastard!" England placed the cigarette back in his mouth to again breathe more carcinogenic smoke into his lungs.

He paced back and forth in his grand sitting room, trying not to lose his cool; he refused to be as violent as most of his brothers would be at a time like this. He wanted to be as calm as Wales is when he receives bad news; actually, he should probably ask how he managed to be so calm most of the time. America sat on the navy blue sofa, watching his ex-carer stressfully pace.

"Chill out dude. It's not like war's gonna break out all over Europe because of it..." America attempted to calm him down and failed.

England paused, looking at the ground, irritation and sleep deprivation written all over his face. He didn't know whether to strangle or hit him...

He removed the cigarette yet again, expelling the smoke from his mouth. "Have you even bothered to look at the European climate, America?" He glared sideways at the taller blonde.

"Not really Iggy... Why?" America stared at the older nation blankly.

"You're an idiot, you know that? And stop calling me Iggy!" England sighed, he couldn't even be bothered enough to use sarcasm or wit on the younger nation as it would all just be ignored.

"Whatever..." America dismissed the insult, and then stopped to try and remember what he should have been paying attention to over the past few days. "What has Austria even done?" He thought aloud.

"The Austro-Hungarian Empire has blamed the Serbian government for Franz Ferdinand's assassination and issued them with a 10 point ultimatum yesterday. An ultimatum which clearly states all the humiliating points must be met or troops will be sent to Serbia..." England resumed his restless pacing.

"So... Austria's pissed and wants Serbia to do a load of stuff because a group of Serbians called the Black Hand killed an important dude?" England again stopped pacing, not looking up from the floor.

"Yes America..." He sighed. "This is all because an important 'dude' got killed..." He took another drab on the cancer stick.

"That sort of sucks in Serbia's case..." He paused. "You got any chocolate?" America looked at England with his eyes full of hope.

"Why are you even here, anyway? Don't you have to go annoy Mexico or something?" England turned to the yank.

"Whoa! The stress getting to you dude?" America raised an eye brow.

"No America..." The Brit spat. "I'm always like this..." Sarcasm was something England was truly fluent in.

28th July 1914

England stood in front of his boss's desk at 10 Downing Street. The room had large windows and a strong smell of stale tobacco smoke. It smelt almost as if Scotland has previously been in a meeting with the Prime Minister. However, the redhead would have stuck around waiting for his little brother to fill him in on the information his boss refused to tell him.

"I must say that Roderich and Elizaveta really do keep their word..." England's boss looked at the telegram in surprise.

"The Serbs rejected one point on that ultimatum." England said, believing their behaviour was out of order. "I'm with Serbia. I wouldn't give up my independence over one man's assassination either... Especially seeing as I didn't plan it." The flaxen-haired country folded his arms.

"The Austrian's have even managed to attack the Serbian capital... It's hard to believe they sent troops to the Serbian border just three days ago..."

"What are we going to do about it sir?"

"Nothing Arthur..." the Prime Minister grunted. "We're not getting involved in a war over the Balkans."

"Is that a good idea sir?" England's eyes widened as he stared at his boss.

"Yes... We are not directly involved, why should we become so?" His boss reasoned with the country.

"I guess you're right..." The country's eyes rolled.

"You and your brothers better be ready for battle though... If anything happens between Ludwig and Francis, it puts the Belgians at risk… I was thinking the Expeditionary Force would come in handy..."

After another half hour of being briefed of the situation he was already fully aware of, England was allowed to leave the room. Before he was fully able to close the office door behind him, he was greeted with a cloud of second hand smoke. Regardless of being a smoker himself, the fair-haired man wafted the smoke away from his face. He turned to stare at the person, already knowing who the taller gentleman was...

"Hello to you too, Scotland" He shot daggers at his older sibling.

"Aye whutever..." The red-head's bright green eyes moved to observe a painting of a former boss. "Whut hasn't teh bassa told meh now?"

"He's not a 'bassa' he's our boss." England jumped to defend the man sitting behind the wooden doors.

"Some boss if he donnae even tell meh whut's happenin'. I've been dependin' on yer and France for information. If he was a real boss he'd tell meh and the rest of yer brothers himself. Teh fuckin' counties ken more than I doo!"

"Come on." England turned his back on his brother. "I'll tell you when once we're at my house." He walked off.

"Yer sure? That Jonathon lad is loud." The redhead teased as he straightened up.

"Yes, I've given him the week off..." He turned back to his sibling. "Now, do want to know or not?"
The taller man began to follow his brother out of 10 Downing Street.

30th July 1914

The Triple Entente sat around a table in France's grand dining room. There was no food being served yet, just a meeting between the three taking place before dinner. The warm sunshine made it slightly too hot for England to cope with, so his collar had been loosened slightly; enough to allow to be a little cooler for him, but not enough for France to notice and mock the 'gentleman' for it. All three sat analysing paperwork and updates of current events.

"What do you mean 'you're mobilising your army'?" England looked up at Russia, his thick eyebrows furrowed. For once he didn't have a cigarette, mainly because Scotland stole his last box and he didn't have time to buy a new box.

"I must protect Serbii, da?" Russia smiled as if proud of what he was doing.

"Aren't tu a little late?" France asked, rubbing his beard. He, however, did possess a cigarette as he was becoming particularly stressed with all the European tension.

"Nyet! My boss just decided to give the word to protect Serbii. You can't protect a country if it's not in danger." Russia gained a spooky aura "It will be nice to crush the Avstro-Vengriya for hurting my little Serbii."

"Serbie... He's not even part of Russie!" France began to become a little unnerved, taking a drag of the cigarette to try and regain its calming effects

"He will be, da, he will be." A smile grew on his face, making his aura even creepier.

"Russia stop it, you're beginning to freak even me out a little..." England commanded.

Russia's aura faded slowly and was replaced by chanting. "Kol kol kol..."

"Vat's dat? Angleterre is beginning to lose his nerve?" France mocked.

"No! I never lose my nerve! Unlike a certain Frog I have a pair!"

"Ohonon! Vould tu like to prove it?" France laughed.

"I shouldn't have to! I thought me beating your arse at Waterloo would be enough to prove it!" England really could have done with his box of cigarettes right then...

It was almost like France was only smoking then and there to anger or irritate him. Somehow, the box France had looked oddly like the box Scotland stole from him, before he left for France.

1st August 1914

"Well this is great, isn't it London?" England turned to stare at his daughter. "Now Germany's gone and declared war on Russia."

London was a sweet and pretty girl with skin as pale as snow. Her emerald eyes were the same as her father's but were hidden behind thick glasses lenses. The strain of reading documents and various other important pieces of information eventually took its toll and her prefect green eyes had been in need of glasses since the 1800s, ironically around the same time America started wearing glasses. Luckily, she suited them. Her face looked reasonably mature for someone of her age; however, her hair was tied up into childish pigtails at the back of her head. She would often do it more formally for meetings, but this was just a visit from her father.

Her father stood glaring out the window, whilst she sat in the seat next to him, smoking her own cigarette, before looking up at him, deciding how to tackle the situation.

"On the bright side France hasn't went to go defend Russia..." She gave a weak smile as a lock of straight blonde hair fell in front of her left eye.

"But how long will it be until Frogface gets involved? We all know he's wanted Alsace-Lorraine back off the wurst eating twat since he lost it in 1871."

"You must admit for a newly united country, Germany was quite successful in his first year as a country." She said, pinning the lock back in place.

"That's only because Prussia was by his little brother's side, and Germany wasn't unified until the end of the war." England took another drag on his cigarette and went back to glaring out onto the busy London streets.

"Still... For being a country for only a short period of time he's having a pretty successful run. Even managing to compete with our navy, Italy certainly can't do that." London placed the cigarette between her lips, inhaling the tar-filled smoke.

"That's because both of the Italy brothers are cowards..." England frowned; he turned to look at portraits of their past bosses.

"Still, the better naval force in the Triple alliance should belong to Italy or at least be based there. Germany's nearly completely landlocked..." London stared at her father.

"Why are even talking about Italy and Germany?" He turned to look at her, confusion written all over his face.

"Because they're causing a load of shit in Europe..." She gave a straight forward answer.

"Watch your fucking mouth, young lady!"

"I will when you do." She glared at him.

3rd August 1914

"Why the Schlieffen Plan? Now France is involved!" England kicked a set of draws in frustration.

He slumped back into a tatty, pink armchair and struggled to light a cigarette, shaky due to frustration. He didn't want to go to war; he was too busy dealing with female psychopaths who burn down Scottish castles and tie up your boss beating him with horse whips.

"What about Belgium dad? We agreed to defend her as a neutral country in 1839." She took the match off him and lit his cigarette for him.

"I know that! I have to talk with Germany now!" He sat and drew in cancerous fumes for a long period of time, thinking about how his situation could get any worse.

The two remained in complete silence, London waiting for her dad to say something. He didn't, he just stood up and marched out the room.

London stood waiting for him to come back with an idea of what they should do. Instead, she heard a stream of muffled and violent swearing escaping under her father short and angry breathes. He usually didn't think straight when he was as stressed and sleep deprived as he was now. She scurried over to the door to find out exactly what her dad was doing.

"Where are you going?" She peered round the door into the hallway to see England chasing the brown sleeve of his coat that wasn't already on his arm.

"Belgium." He struggled to say with the cigarette in his mouth whilst trying, and failing, to put on a coat.

London just watched as he tried putting on the twisted coat. His short temper got the best off him, and he ripped it off his arms and threw it on the floor. He barged over to the front door, opened it and then slammed it behind him.

She stood there briefly, wondering whether to chase after him or not.

She decided against it. He was in no mood to be stopped.

4th August 1914

After a little help from some friendly locals, England and his soldiers managed to find Germany and his troops. He was busy fighting Belgium with a small amount of her people resisting the German forces that were attempting to pass through her home.

"Bravo Belgium." One of the English troops quietly encouraged; his statement was ignored by everyone there.

"Hey! Potato eater! Over here!" England yelled, waving his arms at Germany from on top of a large rock.
"Vat do you vant? I've had enough of you as my naval rival; vat you harassing me about now?" His strong German accent replied, whilst he stopped fighting Belgium to look up at England.

"Withdraw your troops from Belgium's home right now!" England demanded- he was in no mood to be messed with.

Belgium suddenly took advantage of the situation and punched Germany in the gut. However, apart from being slightly winded, he wasn't really affected by her mighty hit.

"Nein!" He gasped grabbing his stomach "I must invade France before Russia finishes mobilising his army!"

She then continued to punch his left arm over and over again; he just tensed his arm and ignored her.

"Fine, you leave me with no choice but to send the British Expeditionary Force after you!"

"Oh nein! Der British Expeditionary Force!" He tried being sarcastic, it really didn't suit him as much as it did England. "You veally dink 150,000 troops are going to stop me?" He went back to his usual serious expression.

It sometimes baffled England as to how someone as serious as Germany could be related to someone as irresponsible and as easily distracted as Prussia. But then again, they both showed common qualities and traits...

"I'm going to slow you down! Then France can join me in kicking your sorry arse back to Berlin and taking your land!" England laughed.

"Is that a declaration of var?" Germany asked, straightening up, already knowing the answer.

"It certainly is!" England smirked. This kid doesn't stand a chance against me.

19th August 1914

"Ludwig! Herr Ludwig!" Germany looked up from his crate of medical supplies to see one of his messengers returning from Berlin "The Russians finished mobilising their army! We're fighting on two fronts now!"

"Vat? That's exactly vat I didn't vant!" He straightened up. "Vait, it took less den six veeks?"

"Dat's not important, Herr Ludwig! Vat should ve do?"

Germany looked down at the ground for a brief moment, in a world of his own. Obviously the decision was a difficult one, either way he was going to lose men.

He looked back up to the messenger "Vitdraw some troops! Ve need more men to fight the Russians and support Austria-Hungary!"

Sometime after the battle of Marne...

"Dig some trenches! I don't want to get pushed back any furt-her by dem two!" Germany stood, ordering his troops

"But Herr Ludwig, you said yourself the Schlieffen Plan failed!" A trooper complained.

"I know dat! But Kaiser refuses to believe me and ignored my message saying ve failed! So ve shall stay here and fight like he commands!" Germany walked away to join some soldiers already working on the trench.

Meanwhile...

"This is just so easy! With the way we're pushing him back, this whole war will be over by Christmas!" England laughed.

"Oh, je ne suis pas, Angleterre..." France replied, unsure with what was happening on the enemy side of the battlefield.

"What's he doing Frogface?" England nudged France to see what was going on.

"Digging trenches... Je dink..." France mumbled.
"That's to stop him getting pushed back! We should do the same so we're not at a disadvantage to him!" England jumped to his feet.

"I'll tell my troops to start digging..." France jumped up and ran off to his superiors,

England followed him. "Not if I tell mine first Frogface!"

"Stop calling moi dat!"

Later, after the 'race to sea'...

"Je ne sais pas about tu but je find these trenches most un-beautiful Angleterre!" France pouted.

"Whatever, by us both having trenches at the coastline, I'm not at risk of a German invasion!" England glared at him.

England ended up in the same trench as France. Luckily they both thought the battle would be over by Christmas and would be in and out of the trenches because of decisions having to be made by their bosses anyway, so it would be very rare that they had to share the "pleasure" of being in each other's company.

"Don't you dink dis is all a little out of hand?" England stared blankly at the Frenchman. "Dese trenches travel all the way from the coast de Belgique to Suisse!" He gestured dramatically, as if to make the distance seem even further than what it actually was.

"Vash won't mind! Besides we're in a stalemate with Germany... It will be jolly good once we figure out how to break the stalemate first!" England scoffed.

"Je preferred the old way of fighting, so much more organised when it came to battles... And more importantly the uniforms were more colourful..."

"Are girly uniforms the only thing you think about?"

"Non. Je think about other beautiful things as well... Besides, you used to wear zee "girly uniforms" too!" France reminded him.

"Shut up Frogface! What are the German forces doing now?" He glared at France and clenched his fist.
France dared to look over the top of the trench. "Firing at us..." He quickly ducked down as the sounds of artillery fire started.

"Brilliant, they're going to attack soon, and then we can mow them down with our machine guns!" England smiled. He wouldn't admit it, but he loved the sense of adventure, it's why he was a pirate in past years.

"C'est sad how much tu are enjoying this..." France frowned.

"It's just so easy to stop an attack!" He smirked and folded his arms. "It also makes a nice change from beating your arse all the time!"

"Shut up and take ton rifle!" France rushed England's rifle into his hands before he had time to react to the command.

Sometime later...

England was happy to be out of the trenches, and glad that some worthy fighters were going in. With both Tyne and Durham City going in to fight in his place, he was confident that his absence would go unnoticed by the troops. Durham City, regardless of being female, was an excellent fighter and had been looking for another war to get involved in for years. With her short hair and lack of bust, she easily fitted in with the male soldiers. Her ability to cope with the French perverts made her the perfect candidate to replace him in the trenches. Tyne, however, was selected for completely different reasons. His war record wasn't as impressive; due to the fact Northumberland had been fighting for him most of his life, as he wasn't yet a separate county. However, his likeable personality made up for that fact. He was liked by most of the humans he came into contact with and made friends easily. Although a slight party animal, he would maintain the troops' moral until Christmas, when the war would be over.

Northumberland had no interest in fighting, with trains and boats to fuel she was far more interested in maintaining the British coal supply. The demand for coal would rise, and with winter coming and a war going on, the mines had to be at the top of their game.

England smiled at the male and female sitting opposite him. Durham had short, cropped, chestnut hair a similar shade to Italy's. Her eyes were a weird shade of green with a hint of blue. Her skin was pale and littered in white and purple scars from past battles. Her uniform matched the rest of the male soldiers; England had made it perfectly clear that she was to be treated like all of the other soldiers regardless of her gender. Tyne, however, had auburn hair; his darker, baby face had bags and a series of freckles below his eyes, which were a darker shade green, similar to England's own. His face was completely the opposite of his sister's. Whilst she hardly ever smiled, Tyne wore a cheesy grin that showed his crooked teeth all of the time. Neither of them had lived an easy life, they never let anything get them down for too long. Both of them were strong.

"So you both understand your duties." England looked at them both.

"Yes, father." Durham city replied bluntly.

Tyne didn't reply. He sat and chewed his bottom lip whilst staring out of small window just behind England's head.

"Tyne?" England snapped at him.

"Hmm?" Tyne replied absentmindedly.

"Tyne?" The county dared to make eye contact with England, facial expression unchanged. "Have you been paying attention at all during this meeting?"

"Ah ma iv..." His thick Geordie accent replied.

England raised a thick, badly trimmed eyebrow. Durham City just shook her head. She had helped with several battles already and tended to wear a dark expression on her face. Tyne's day dreaming was beginning to try her patience, she just wanted to go and fight. We won't be going anywhere fast if this idiot doesn't buck his ideas up!

"Wey aye, coorse ah wes! Gain sum land, git yeut iv a deadlock an' beat tha Germans! Piece iv cyek!" He smiled.

"Good." England paused, memorising their injured faces. "Well... I guess that's the end of the meeting. You're going into the trenches in the morning."

"Bye, dad." Durham City stood up

"Ah can't wait, tara da." He smiled, got up and opened the door before turning to Durham."Tara hinney, ahm ganin tuh cot!"

[A/N: Any thing in italics is a character's thoughts.

I don't know whether American counties are the same but the UK counties are sub-national divisions used for the purposes of administrative, geographical and political demarcation. The counties in this are the ceremonial counties and there are 48 of them today. However at this time the county borders are different so Tyne was part of Northumberland and is now part of Tyne and Wear etc.

French-English translations:
Angleterre - England
Russie- Russia
Autriche-Hongrie– Austria-Hungary
Serbie– Serbia
Je ne sais pas –I don't know
Tu- You
Je-I
Suisse-Switzerland
de Belgique – of Belgique
Très- Very
C'est – It's

Russian-English translations:
Serbia - Serbia
Da- Yes
Nyet-No
Avstro-Vengriya– Austria Hungary

German-English Translations:
Nien- No
Der- the

Geordie translations:
Ah can't wait, tara da! – I can't wait. Bye dad!
Wey aye, ah wes da, coorse ah wes! Gain sum land, git yeut iv a deadlock an' beat tha Germans! Piece iv cyek! - Yes, I was dad, course I was! Gain some land, get out of a deadlock and beat the Germans! Piece of cake!
Tha- The
Tara hinney, ahm ganin tuh cot! – Bye, I'm off to bed!
Ah ma iv...-I may of...

Scottish- English translations:
Whut/Whit- what
Donnae- don't
Yer- you
Teh- the
Meh- me
Bassa - Bastard

Credit for Scotland goes to Kopanda! Thanks for reading please review!]