APPARENTLY, the Royal Italian army was too incompetent to train its own troops, and had sent a multitude of them into Germany's bases, where they might be trained to the specification of the Modern German army. Masses of them arrived in huddles, their bodies soaked from the rain, and their minds already wheeling from the terror of their training to come. The hard eyes and massive scowls upon each German face made the Italian men wary of what was to come. Barked and unknown German commands sent tanned hands to ears, trying to block out everything they didn't know.

The days dragged on to weeks, with the Italians seeming no better at anything that had to do with war. The more orders were shouted, the more distant they would become, eventually not even bothering to show up for the training. At the crack of dawn, they were still in their bunks. The timed showers were no longer timed, and the Italians spent much longer than they were supposed to freshen up. The German troops, brought in to be trained with their Italian allies, were getting increasingly frustrated. The common phrase around the camp was, "Ich bin enttäuscht!" and Ludwig had his sympathies. The Italians were disobedient, lazy, and constantly complaining. They jumped into shape after a round of shouting, but eased back into their slacking once the Germans had pulled back. The Deutsche superiors found that without them looming over their shoulders, the Italians quickly reverted back into their niches. Eventually, they agreed that it would be best for both parties to be fully assimilated into the same barracks. The constant watch of their German counterparts would be good for them, they hoped.

It was on a clear night that Ludwig lost his mind. The Italians had been wandering around the barracks for what seemed like hours now, whining and complaining, searching for their clearly labeled bunks and yet never finding them. They chatted noisily, begging for the pasta they had never received. Ludwig had had enough. Standing from his bunk, he stood over the smaller Italian that had popped up next to him. Clenching his fists, his back squared, the German opened his mouth: "Schweige!"

The room stilled. Every single pair of eyes was on him. Unwavering, Ludwig sat back down on his bed; put a hand on his pillow to fluff it slightly, before falling onto his back. He closed his eyes, heaving out a heavy breath. Feeling himself being watched, Ludwig frowned and opened his blue eyes, meeting red ones staring right back at him.

"Vhat?" he stared up at the white haired man that hung from the railing of the top bunk. A wide grin came onto the other's face.

"Did somezing piss you off, Bruder?" came the snide remark. Ignoring it, Ludwig wrapped his blanket around his broad shoulders, rolling over, his back now facing his brother. He was now staring straight ahead of him, right into the terrified golden eyes of an Italian. A gasp came from his lips, his eyes seeming to open wider.

A sudden scream came from his mouth. "He'a looked at'a me! Don'ta hurt'a me! Please, I'ma just a poor'a Italian man, I don'ta have any'a money! Please, I'a just ate!"

Ludwig stared back, his own eyes widened considerably. He realized that the Italians were skittish creatures, but in truth, he had yet to deal with one directly. They were alarmingly loud, and much more intolerable than he'd previously imagined. The Italian continued, alerting members of its clutch, and the riot began again. His mouth hanging open, the German could hear the laughter of his older brother, his grinning voice resounding, before it was drowned out by Italian cries. It was hopeless to try to stop them again, and Ludwig knew he would not be getting any rest tonight.

He turned over again, arms hooking under the cool fabric of his pillow, and jammed the cushion over his ears. His eyes squeezed shut; he tried to focus on something, anything else but the uproar thundering around him. He was grasping in the dark; the silence eluding him.

His eyes cracked open. Bolting up in bed, he grabbed his head suddenly, jerking away from the bed overhead. "You are finally avake," a voice spoke from his left. His head moved, allowing access to the voice's owner.

"Vhat? Gilbert? Vhat time is it?" he threw the covers off of his legs, standing up next to his brother.

Looking over to his brother, Gilbert tucked his uniformed shirt into his pants. "7:55," he commented. "I vas trying to vake you up, but you vould not budge," Ludwig's eyes widened slightly. "Zink you can get ready in five minutes?"

In a mad rush, Ludwig started to fix his things. Sheets went flying into place, edges tucked under the mattress and out of sight. Clothes were pulled onto his toned body, buttons quickly being worked into place with one hand as the other worked on fixing his blond locks. His hands moved to the leather boots that laid by the bedside, jerking them over pristine white socks, before his hands worked deftly through the laces. Standing up, he reached for the jacket his brother held out, grabbing it and working it over his chest. Buttoning it up, he turned to look over his bed, inspecting it for any imperfections.

"I am impressed," Gilbert spoke up, standing beside him now. "You really did that fast," moving to stand to the left of the bed he shared with his brother, he straightened his back slightly as the door to the barracks swung open.

"Everyvon, at attention!" Men shuffled into place, standing straight. The only ones left squirming were the Italians, who were either struggling to keep still or not moving at all, still lying in their beds. The night's Italian himself was beside his bed, standing just next to Ludwig, wavering, hardly awake. Ludwig looked at him, and then his hand stuck out, snatching at the boy's shoulder. He straightened him up, just as their commanding officer stepped by. Boots crunched on faint traces of gravel, making cracks on the floor that made some Italians quiver.

The man would stop in front of the Italians. He would sneer down at them, hiss at them in German until their bodies were trembling. When they didn't respond to German, he shouted at them in broken English. He only left them alone when they did what he wanted: stood up straight, fixed their bed and their clothes so they would be neat and unwrinkled. Walking back down the aisle, towards the door, Ludwig watched him out of the corner of his eye. Silently, he begged him not to stop, but was disappointed by the sound of two boots clapping together.

"Beilschmidt," Ludwig stood even straighter at the sound of his name. "You look tired today," mentally wincing, Ludwig said nothing to his superior officer.

The man's eyes strayed down to his bed, inspecting it as usual, but finding hardly anything wrong with it. His eyes slid up to Gilbert's bed, and then snapped to look at the man. "Vhat is this mess?" he questioned, his body stiff. "Vhat are you, a child? No breakfast," he said simply, before moving along back down the row. The door to the barracks opened, then closed, and the tension in the air evaporated as their superior officer left. Ludwig turned to his brother when Gilbert groaned, frowning at him.

"I do not understand, Vest," Gilbert rubbed at his face. "You voke up only five minutes before, und you vere still able to get everyzing in place."

"You just do not try hard enough," the German responded.

"Oi!" a voice spoke up, loudly, behind him. Turning, Ludwig stared down at the Italian that he had helped before. There was something different about him this time, though. His gaze was fierce, and the green eyes were narrowed into a glare as they looked up at him. "Bastardo, don'ta you taint'a my fratello with'a your stupido German ways'a," he crossed his arms over his chest.

Ludwig stared down at the shorter man, an eyebrow moving up on his forehead. "Excuse me?" he replied, already turning away. As he did, he met the golden eyes from before. Ludwig jumped. "This is-"

"Come'a on, Feli," the other Italian shoved his way past Ludwig, moving towards the door. The other Italian kept looking at Ludwig for a few more seconds, before he scampered after his fellow Italian. Staring after them for a few seconds, the German man shook his head, before walking to his brother.

"I vill see you in training, Bruder," he commented, before walking out of the barracks, towards the lunchroom.

Breakfast at the camp was given sparingly, and of low quality. Brötchen was supposed to be hard, but this was stale and tasteless. It crumbled in one's mouth, leaving the tongue with a grainy texture until it was washed out with watery coffee. It probably wasn't even coffee, but the frugality of war called for it. Ludwig set his cup down and stared at the table. At least tomorrow it would be Sunday. Somehow, there was always good food at home, as if the pantry had access to the officer's stock.

Ludwig left the lunchroom still working the bread out of his mouth, stepping out for roll call and finding himself at his brother's side. This always happened. Ludwig stuck a hand by Gilbert's pocket, dropping some bread in there and getting a grin in return.

He looked to his side, expecting his usual comrade, but found the two Italians from earlier instead. He looked from one to the other. The darker one was the spitfire; the lighter one was the one who'd screamed. Odd how they looked so alike. Ludwig turned to face ahead again, abiding to the morning's usual procedures until they were marched down to another field. Gilbert, ahead of him, kept looking back with a grin, and Ludwig had half a mind to kick him into place. He'd end up stuck in the fields for another hour again if he didn't behave. Then he'd miss lunch, again.

The Italians were expected to train alongside the Germans, and do as they did, but as the Germans dropped to the ground, ducking from supposed bomb fire, the Italians looked around with that familiar distant and confused look. Apparently they had been shipped right from their beds to Germany, untrained for war. If they couldn't even duck during a simple training exercise, how were they supposed to keep their heads on their shoulders in the field?

During training, Ludwig found hands clutching for him. It was the golden eyed Italian from earlier, trying to hitch a ride on a more capable soldier. Ludwig peeled him off and replaced him by the other Italian, getting down to crawl under barbed wire and through mud. The Italian hung on for dear life, head ducked away from spines and in Ludwig's leg. Instead of grunts from his fellow soldiers, he heard cries in Italian and felt nails in skin.

"Stop!" he shouted back at the Italian, shaking his leg to wiggle the boy off. The Italian begged back in his own tongue, crying, "Fratello, fratello!" from time to time, as well.

Once out from under the wire, Ludwig took a pause in the drill to shake off his leg again. The rest of the soldiers had no intention of waiting for him, however, and bombarded him with guns into his sides. Masses of people continued ahead of him, including his brother, never guessing Ludwig to be one to be left behind.

There was angrier Italian coming from his leg now, so Ludwig gave his leg another hard shake and hurried after his brother. He dropped into a trench and heard a very Italian yelp, and when he lifted his leg, he found the same Italian from earlier. This time, the darker one was holding onto the boy strapped to his leg. "Get off!" Ludwig shouted, and looked up in time to see the drill sergeant shouting down at him. He climbed out of the trench and into the open field, feeling lighter than before.

By the end of training, Ludwig had carried the Italians through almost all of the drills. When he found his brother's side again, he was panting. "Vhat ze hell happened to you?" Gilbert asked, breathing out each word himself.

"Italians," Ludwig replied, turning around and finding two more panting soldiers. It was as if they had been the ones carrying Ludwig.

"You made friends?" Gilbert grinned again, looking at the two boys. Ludwig shook his head.

"Parasites," Ludwig answered, "I do not even know zeir names."

"F-Feliciano!" the lighter haired one piped up. Ludwig looked over at him, finally catching his breath and straightening his back.

"Was?" he stared at them with hard eyes.

"My'a name," the Italian whined, hands on his knees as he continued to try to catch his breath. "It'sa Feliciano," he looked up to meet the German's eyes, his face lighting up with a warm smile.

Glossary

German

Ich bin enttäuscht – I am frustrated

Deutsche - German

Schweige – Shut up

Bruder – Brother

Brötchen – A type of hard bread

Was – What

Italian

Fratello – Brother