America and England watched France through their binoculars from behind a bush a safe distance away. He marched in front of his troops and seemed to be handing out assignments. Behind him, another army was marching toward his camp. It looked as if it was being led by Spain.

"We can start fighting tomorrow," England told his companion. "It looks as if they'll be ready and it'll give me enough time to break up my units properly. Are your armies ready?"

"Was I supposed to prepare more that one unit, man?" America asked him.

England suddenly became the perfect example of the old saying, "If looks could kill." His glare was so harsh that America flinched backwards, nearly falling flat on his back.

"Chill, dude," he laughed nervously. "I was only kidding. I'm all prepared! Attacking from the East and all that..."

"Good," England nodded, before turning back to spy on France. "I don't think we'll be able to surround them in that amount of time, but we might be able to cover at two of the sides. Three may be pushing it but I think we'd be able to do it if we separated tonight and set up camp on those sides."

"Mr. America?" a young American soldier crawled up behind America and England on his stomach. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but you've gotten a letter."

"A letter?" England whirled around angrily. "No one is supposed to know our position!"

"Shh, England! You'll give us away! Tony knows where we are so he can forward important mail. He has all this cool technology that can teleport things around; he probably dropped it right on the lap of one of my soldiers." America took the letter from his soldier and waved him away.

"And what exactly makes a letter important?" England spat.

"How about the Presidential Seal?" America asked, showing the letter to England. "Is that important enough for you?"

England turned away. "Not bloody important to me. Not my bleeding president," he muttered to himself.

"It's probably nothing, man. My boss is probably just checking in to see how things are going. He doesn't really like it when I leave the country," America said, opening the letter. "To: Alfred F. Jones," he read.

England cocked an eyebrow. "Alfred F. Jones?"

"It's easier to explain to people," America told him, causing England to wonder why his boss wouldn't call America by his real name. It's not like they were strangers. "Greetings: You are hereby ordered for induction into the Armed Forces of the United States, and to report at Dulac Hill on April 16 at 3:00 PM for forwarding to an Armed Forces Induction Station. Joel Howards."

If America thought England's glare from before was scary, it was nothing compared to the one that was being cast his way when he looked up.

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" England hissed.

America quickly reread the letter. "Looks like I'm getting drafted," he answered.

"Drafted?" England scoffed. "Why the hell are you being drafted into your own army?"

"In my country you are required to sign up for the draft when you turn eighteen," America explained.

"I know that, you git. What do that have to do with you?"

"I'm supposed to be nineteen! I'm not above the law, England!"

England closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "America," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "You are over a hundreds years old. WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING? Blooming barmy is what you are!"

America clapped a hand over England's mouth and pulled him onto the ground. "You're going to give us away, Senor Loudness. It won't be that bad."

"It won't be that bad? Now there is no one to command your armies tomorrow because you have to leave for the draft! Call your boss and get out of it! Now!"

The younger nation gasped dramatically. "England! I can't dodge the draft! That is totally lame and unpatriotic! I am The United States of America! How will it look if I dodge my own country's draft? That's setting a horrible example for my citizens!"

"Most of your citizens don't even know who you are!" he yelled quietly. "Call your boss and tell him that there must have been a mix up!"

"Dude! No! I've always wanted to go to boot camp!" America stood up and dusted himself off.

"What do you think you're doing? Are you trying to give us away?"

"You'll have to command my troops. I'm going to boot camp!"

"Isn't having another country commanding your troops unpatriotic?"

America dropped to his knees. "You're right... You'll have to be Honorary America until the war is over. I'll be Alfred Jones. Here," he took off his glasses. "Take Texas. I'll call you to check in when I can!" he called, running away.

England stared at America's glasses for a few seconds before putting them on his face. He shook his head. "Eight years it took him to finish his revolution and gain independence and now he's practically begging me to take over again."

A/N

The soldier called America by his name because I think America's soldiers should know who is his and what he represents. I doubt they would take orders from someone who looked like a teenager if it hadn't been explained to them.

Thanks for reading this one-shot and I hope you all enjoyed it.

DFTBA, everyone and please review.