I do not own Hetalia
Thank you to cardcaptor ryoko for betaing this story
The American Civil War (1861-1865)
Battle of Columbus (1865)
The war had been going on for four years now; four years of tears and bloodshed. Alfred F. Jones, or America as he was referred to by other nations, was standing next to General Wilson of the Union army. They had stopped to camp for the night before heading towards Columbus, Georgia and they wanted everybody to be well rested. General Wilson was going over the last few details to the higher ranking officers, including him.
". . . And we will crush the Confederacy with this final blow," He finished as everybody nodded their heads in agreement.
"Now, head to bed, we need sharp minds for tomorrow."
Everybody saluted and headed out the tent, Alfred being last.
He stepped out of the tent and was immediately meet with fresh, cold air. America looked out at the camp they had stopped at, it was surrounded by trees and far from the road so they were obscured and could talk without being heard. He walked around camp encouraging the men, as he did before every battle. All the soldiers were grateful, especially the newer ones who would sometimes become homesick; but he was there to get there spirit backup to fight the Confederacy.
America decided to sit outside his tent before going in. 'The battle to end this war,' he thought, 'finally.' He rubbed his arms, for he knew there were scars under the blue uniform, scars from past battles across his own country. 'Battles that he most likely led alongside his generals,' America clenched his arms and shivered, that was not from the cold. 'And he will most likely be at this battle.' It wasn't a happy thought, to be fighting . . . yourself really. America shook his head. It wouldn't do good to dwell on these thoughts. He looked to the sky and sighed, 'A battle to finally end this war.' He went inside his tent and fell into a restless sleep.
It was April 16, 1865; America was in the clash at the bridge to Columbus. He was covered in blood and sported a limp, his leg had been shot but he kept going. His bayonet sliced through another Confederate, no, another man. Everywhere he looked, he saw bodies and heard cries of pain. 'These are my people,' he thought bitterly 'and I can't stop their pain.' He kept limping into the battle, he just wanted to end the fighting. He looked up and suddenly, there he was; the same eyes, same hair, his twin even; except he was wearing a grey uniform, not blue.
"Anderson Lee Jones," America spoke in hatred and sorrow.
"Alfred F. Jones," The South spoke in hatred.
They stood there, with the battle still going on and cries of pain in the background not even paying any attention to it, staring in each other eyes, America's filled with sadness while Anderson looked on in hatred.
"You're going to lose." It was true; the Union was pushing the Confederacy back. "Just surrender already, you don't have to lose any more people,"
America pleaded, not wanting to have to shoot him.
Anderson seemed to falter, but then his resolve hardened and he raised his gun to America's chest, "We are going to win this war, Alfred!"
A gunshot then rang out and time seemed to stand still. America, with a look of horror, looked down at his gun to see smoke coming from the end of it. He slowly raised his head to see Anderson drop his bayonet to the ground as blood started seeping from the wound in his chest. America dropped his gun and ran to catch him before he hit the ground.
"Hey, Anderson! Come on, you can survive this!" America shouted as blood was slowly spreading across Andersons' chest and turning his gray uniform a dark color.
The personification the Confederacy looked up at America and with a strain in his voice said, "Looks like . . . you won . . . America." He then went limp in America's arms as tears started streaming down his face.
Cheers reached his ears that soldiers were shouting down farther down the bridge, "We've won! The Union has won the war!"
"No! Come back, get back up! I didn't mean to shoot you! Please, get back up!" He shook the man that was in his arms and shouted over and over again at the limp body. Tears continued streaming down his face until his voice went hoarse and as the cheering continued of the victory that occurred.
The Union had won the Civil War, but America had lost someone dear.
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