August 25, 1944: 00:30
Oppressive summer air blew thick and hot through the ink black of Paris: it smelled like the Seine and a touch of scorched earth. Germany closed his eyes as the fetid breath of the city lapped at the sweat on his brow: the humid air did nothing to cool him.
From the balcony of Hotel Meurice, one could make out the darker-black shapes of city buildings lurking against the dimness of the sky: the Louvre, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower; farther in the darkness stood the Arc de Triomphe.
The wind blew again, sending the pale lace curtains of the open double-doors to sweep like a woman's petticoat against polished floors. It was strange, the relative calm. It was strange, to look upon a visage that would be mere history tomorrow.
After another moment, he pressed the paper tube of a cigarette between his lips and absently tongued the end of it before striking a match, holding it lit, protecting it with a cupped hand. The fire danced, blotting out the tall shadow the Eiffel Tower cut against the black sky.
One inhale later and the fire died, given to a cloud of cigarette smoke and brushed away by the hot wind as easily as the curtains danced against the floors.
That was how it went; Germany knew this well. First, fire taking anything recognizable. Second, impenetrable clouds of smoke, thicker than death itself, the scent of bitter almond and sulfur. Finally, the destroyed remnants of buildings standing battered as broken teeth: destroyed personal artifacts next to scorched bodies and curtains waving mournfully from blasted windows, like handkerchiefs to lost loved ones or flags of surrender.
Germany knew. He knew very well.
Tomorrow, he would pass the lesson on once more.
Another pull on the cigarette and a careless flick sent the half-burned match out the open window, when a voice behind him nearly startled him into following it.
"She is beautiful, is she not?"
Germany turned his head with a frown to see France himself lounging in one of the lacquered chairs. Clearly, this wasn't Vichy - the look on his face was far less walled-off than that particular version of France - rather, the other was draped over the chair as easily as an arm coat and as casual. He fixed Germany with a languid smile, legs crossed, absently swinging his right foot in a teasing manner.
No, this was definitely France as the Resistance. Who had somehow managed to sneak into Germany's office.
After a blink's worth of time to keep his face straight, Germany removed the cigarette from his mouth. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked in low, easy French. The syllables of France's language were too slippery: they fell from his mouth like Italy's oils.
France laughed, dark blue eyes wells of mirth. "You are not even going to ask how I managed to get past all of the guards? How very disappointing!"
"If you have killed them all I will find out quite shortly and you will have the honor of joining them," Germany said, putting the cigarette back in his mouth and inhaling slowly, letting the nicotine rush through his body. "But by means of a much slower passage."
France snorted. "I would not be so inelegant," he said. "Had I been so obvious all these years, I would not still be alive. Considering how understaffed I've been in comparison to your great Reich, Herr. Besides." Here, France looked away and over Germany's shoulder, presumably at the city. "I have seen your regiment. They are but boys, and they are scared. It would be the act of a coward to murder them so senselessly when I have other means at my disposal."
This was all true. Germany looked at France through a haze of cigarette smoke, banished by a wind from the open balcony doors. "Indeed. I am admittedly surprised at your sudden boldness in seeking an audience," Germany replied, raising an eyebrow. "And if you haven't murdered my men-"-most of them were indeed under the age of 20, but there was no need to insult them with the title 'boy'-"-pray tell, what are these 'other means'?"
France fixed Germany with a singularly unimpressed look, and then pointed behind him. Germany's gaze followed the finger: where there had been a bookshelf before, there was now a gaping hole leading to blackness.
"This is Paris," France said after a moment. "Every hotel in this city with a history has its secrets… most having to do with courtesans, concubines, and other illicit trysts. Secret passages to rooms are most helpful for such. You have chosen one of the finest hotel rooms for your office: one meant for lords, ladies, royalty, visiting dignitaries... of course it would have one. Next time, if you want a secret passage-free room, I suggest you select one aimed toward those too poor to be recognized."
Germany's face twisted into a snarl. "Guards!" he barked, switching back into German.
The order caused the robin's egg-painted door to burst open, admitting two uniformed young men. Upon noticing France, both raised pistols. France, bemused, raised his hands in surrender, and Germany raised his own in a 'halt' position.
"Nevermind him," Germany said to the youths, motioning over to the dark opening that had appeared between the bookshelves. "Scout that."
Both men stared at the strange sudden opening before carefully approaching it, and peering inside: one removed a flashlight from his belt and slowly made his way down the stairs with pistol drawn, the second one behind as backup.
France sighed and rested his head against his hand, looking bored. Shortly, the soldiers came back up and saluted.
"Nothing there, Sir," one said, raising his hand to his head in the traditional army salute.
Germany scowled over at France. "Where is the entrance?" he asked tightly.
"What does it matter?" France asked, rolling his eyes.
Not in the mood, Germany pounded a fist down onto the desk and switched back into sharp French. "It matters because I need to put a guard there - I can't leave it compromised now that I know about it. Not every Resistance member is going to want to drop by for a chat."
The two young soldiers were looking at Germany with something like wonder at the rapidity of his French. Germany wished they wouldn't.
France raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you truly afraid of assassination?" he asked, incredulity slipping across his face.
Germany fixed him with a long look. "No," he said, though his eyes slid over to the young soldiers.
France sighed. "Large metal door on Rue de Castiglione," he said with a shrug. "Though, again, if I wanted to lead an army through it to murder your boys, I wouldn't have given you such a gracious amount of warning. They would already be dead."
Germany's mouth tightened, and he switched back to German to address the soldiers. "Find a large metal door on Rue de Castiglione," he instructed tersely. "That's where this leads; set a guard there."
Both soldiers saluted again, before following each other out of the room.
France's eyes followed them. "They are well-trained, despite their youth," France mused. "I have gotten used to the Western Allies; one of their soldiers would have asked you about my presence."
Germany, his cigarette now extinguished, dropped it in the desk's crystal ashtray and sat down. "They are German soldiers," he said, voice flat. "They obey orders."
"German soldiers, hm?" France asked, turning back to fix Germany with a curious look. "Do they? Follow orders?"
Germany raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
"Whose orders?"
"Get to your point," Germany suggested, a low dangerous note in his voice. "I don't have all night."
"A little birdie told me that ever since that attempt on your dear Fuehrer's life last month, German soldiers are no longer allowed to do the army salute. They have to salute Hitler." His head nodded toward the robin's egg-painted door the soldiers had left from. "Funny. I didn't hear Hitler's name exit their mouths once. Nor your mouth, for that matter."
Germany's expression stayed even. "The saluting rituals of my army are of no concern to you," he said. "And you are wasting my time."
France hummed, and suddenly rose to his feet in a graceful move - he was dressed in a loose white shirt and brown pants; simple loafers adorned his feet. Instead of approaching Germany, however, he instead walked over to where the remnants of Germany's dinner tray sat. "I am here to ask a favor," France said.
Germany watched with a bit of bemusement as France helped himself to leftover camembert and raspberry jam, smearing it on cracked crispbread. "A favor," Germany repeated. "What could you possibly expect me to do for you? Other than not have you dragged outside and pumped full of lead? An option I am still considering, by the way."
France took a bite out of his concoction and Germany could see his long eyelashes flicker in pleasure. Fine cheese was likely a rare thing for him to come across these days. He swallowed. "Not destroy Paris," France said evenly.
This was met with a flat look. "I have my orders," he said.
Germany did. The bridges had been rigged up with explosives. The Seine was set to flood the northern quadrant. The landmarks: the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Grand Palais, all of it, rigged up to be blown to smithereens. These were the orders. The Allies were coming, and Paris was to be destroyed.
This was inevitable.
France had taken another bite and chewed. Germany watched him swallow, watched him put down the half-eaten cracker. "You don't have to do this," he said, and this was clearly his reason for coming: suddenly France's expression had slid into seriousness, like a mask snapping into place - or, perhaps, coming off. "Do you know how many people live in Paris?"
"1.5 million," Germany said coolly. "I am very well-aware of the statistics."
A hot wind blew through the room, almost thicker than the silence.
"That bothers you not at all," France said after a long pause.
"It doesn't," Germany said, voice calm and even.
France studied him for a moment. "You would make a better psychopath if you weren't such a terrible liar," he said, quiet. "You have not sunk that far."
"This is total war," Germany reminded him. "I am not a psychopath. I am following my orders."
France crossed the room to stand in front of Germany's desk and help himself to one of the cigarettes in Germany's silver holder. The flick of a match later, and France exhaled a thick cloud. "So you've never felt an order to be unreasonable or misplaced?" he asked.
"No," Germany said flatly, beginning to get annoyed. "Because they are orders and thus not-"
"So then why aren't you saluting Hitler?" France interrupted, voice sharp as a scythe. He flicked his cigarette.
"Hitler has nothing to do with this," Germany nearly growled. "Stop trying to change the subject."
"You've been ordered to salute Hitler and you're not saluting him," France retorted. "Why? Because you don't feel like it? Ha. Hitler has nothing to do with this? Please. An order this brutal and unreasonable could only come from one source."
Germany's gaze was hard; he could feel tendrils of anger starting to seep into his voice. "It is an order," he repeated, trying to swallow down on it.
"A mad order," France said. "You already know this is over. The Allies are coming. If you destroy Paris, what do you gain? Another two weeks before the British come calling? Another week before the Americans rebuild the bridges and dam the Seine? Nothing. There's no tactical reason for this. The only thing you gain is dead bodies. This is not the order of a general. This is the order of a homicidal madman."
The anger rose, threatening to choke. Germany's hands clenched in his gloves.
France motioned to the window. "It's not just architecture out there, you know. It's people. Old men, women, children, babies…"
That was it. Rising from the chair, Germany calmly walked around the desk so he could grab France by the front of his shirt and slam him up against the wall next to the desk, gloved hands tight enough around France's thin shoulders to bruise, breaths close enough to mingle.
France, for his part, didn't resist - he stood laxly, the cigarette still held loosely between long, pianists fingers.
"People," Germany said, voice so low it rumbled through France's body, face lit with the pale white light of the moon. "It's funny, almost, when you mention them. What's most amusing is when they matter so much if they're from Paris, but aren't worth kindling if they're in Hamburg."
France was silent; the cigarette in his hands burned ignored.
"A fire cyclone a thousand feet high," Germany said, voice low, grip tightening on France in the sudden anger. "So powerful it sucked all the air out of a city and suffocated tens of thousands. Do not talk to me about the importance of people. The only ones important to you are yours."
France opened his mouth. "Germany," he said, very slow. "That was a crime. Anyone who says otherwise is insane or misinformed."
That got a raised eyebrow. "Is that what they're saying now?" he asked lightly.
France shook his head. "They aren't saying that now, because we are in the middle of a war," he said. Both had lowered their voices; it was almost like engaging in pillow talk. "Nobody is speaking sense, now. The wail of an air raid siren is mankind's banshee scream of insanity; it's been going on for years. It is senseless."
"So who is going to prosecute this, if it's a crime? And who is to be prosecuted? Hm?" the anger in Germany's voice was hard, solid, like a rock being thrown through a thin glass window. "Whose fault is it to be this time?" The question was clearly rhetorical.
France's mouth tightened. "Do you think you are going to win this war?" France asked quietly. "When you are honest with yourself, are you going to win?"
At this, Germany released France, heading over to the roll-top desk where the scotch was located. "What does it matter?" he asked stiffly, hunting for a thick-bottomed carved glass. Locating one, he poured the glass half-full of the amber liquid.
There was a long, pointed silence: Germany could smell that France had taken another drag of his cigarette. "There is mercy in the world still, you know," he said after a moment.
"Is there, now?" Germany asked, taking a sip from the glass - it was burning, pleasant.
"Yes. Or at least, I still believe there is," France said. "You don't have to destroy Paris. You can grant it. You have the power to do so."
Germany sighed, and rubbed the side of his head. "You are not going to guilt me out of my orders," he said, taking another drink.
France looked at him. "You are not going to win this war," he said. "It is impossible, unless you have figured out how to win a war with no oil, no food, and no munitions. This isn't just about guilt. It's about your future… our future."
Germany didn't reply.
"Do you think you will be easily forgiven for this?" France asked, voice delicate as lace in the night air. "Your people? If you destroy Paris in cold blood, for no reason at all… it will ruin our relations forever. You will lose the war. You and all your children will go around with swastikas on your foreheads, a brand of shame and derision, as surely as the Jews wear yellow stars today. But you don't have to. You can save Paris."
Germany didn't reply.
"I know you don't have a swastika on your heart," France continued, voice softening. "You don't even salute Hitler when you don't have to, do you?"
The phone rang.
Germany crossed the room and answered it, still ignoring France. "Hello. Beilschmidt."
"It's from Berlin," the dispatcher informed him. "I will put you through."
Germany was quiet, waiting - France stood in the shadows like a statue.
A quiet click indicated that the connection had been made.
At first the only sounds were what sounded like muffled shouting on the other end, which caused Germany to frown. "Hello? Beilschm-"
The only sentence that got through the line was a borderline-howled: "Is Paris burning?" before the electricity flickered and the line cut out.
Germany was left holding the dead receiver.
There was silence.
"Was that-" France started, before Germany cut him off.
"I went to see my boss at the beginning of August, before I was sent here," Germany started, and France shut up. "He…" Germany sighed. "He was likely the greatest speaker that I've ever known… Prussia told me that he was one of the most talented that he ever knew, too." Germany didn't look up: he kept his gaze locked contemplatively on his telephone receiver. "Confidence-inspiring. Charismatic. Friendly."
Germany took a breath. "He… since the assassination attempt… shakes, now. Foams at the mouth. And his eyes…" Germany shook his head.
"He's a raving lunatic," France supplied. "A raving lunatic who just wants to destroy the rest of us before destroying himself… and you."
Germany looked up. "I have taken oaths," he said.
France sighed. "Germany, you have to listen to me," he said, voice again very slow. "You are not going to win this war. You are going to have to either stop fighting at some point or be completely destroyed. This time around, they will if they have to."
"It's not like you didn't try last time," Germany snarled, something like fire springing up in his eyes.
"Yes, well, I think everybody has learned by now that the Versailles Treaty was a hopeless failure," France said tightly, "considering we're here having this discussion. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the bombs. The big bombs. The heavy water bombs."
Germany looked off to the side.
"You were never able to get them off the ground, but America-"
"Inexperienced," Germany grumbled, but this seemed more like a knee-jerk response than anything.
"It has been a while since Kasserine Pass," France said. "And whatever the skill of his soldiers, the fact remains that he's got a lot more money and a lot less death going on in his country so he's got the time to develop massive bombs that are going to make what happened in Hamburg look like a children's Christmas pageant. And where do you think his first target is going to be?"
Germany didn't reply, looking away.
"You have to stop this," France said, voice tight. "You have to save Paris."
"Saving Paris isn't going to fix anything," Germany replied, voice low and strained. "Am I to believe that if I spare it, this will all come to an end?"
"No," France said. "I think things will get worse either way before they get better. The degree of worse, though, is going to depend on this."
Germany was quiet, and looked up as he slowly replaced the phone receiver in its cradle.
"I don't think this will make any difference either way," he said, slow. He shook his head.
"It will make a difference to a million Parisians who will still be alive this time tomorrow," France said, a half-lit statue in the dark. "And if you truly care nothing about a single one of them, it will make a difference to the 17,000 men you have stationed here."
Germany looked up, raising an eyebrow.
France stepped forward, reaching into his pocket to toss an envelope onto the table; Germany looked at it, but didn't pick it up.
"That is from General Leclerc," France said, nodding at the white square of paper. "It guarantees your men a humane captivity, if Paris is surrendered and not destroyed."
"It would be odd to surrender to an armored division that has lesser strength than the division I am currently commanding," Germany pointed out with a raised eyebrow.
France sighed, and put his hands in his pockets. "Yes, because General Leclerc is the only division within distance of Paris," France said, voice a bit dry. "America's 4th division is with him as well. America's 28th division behind that. You are greatly outnumbered here."
Germany's eyes darted up from the envelope. "You seem to be rather loose with your tongue tonight."
France chuckled. "I see no harm in telling you how outnumbered you really are," France said. "I am trying to make a point."
Germany leaned back in his chair for a moment, before reaching forward, picking up the envelope, and tearing it neatly in half, dropping the pieces into the crystal ashtray atop his last smoked cigarette.
There was silence for a moment, before France calmly dropped his own finished cigarette butt atop the bespoilt letter.
"You can take it back to him, if you wish," Germany said, standing up from the desk.
"If it were me, I'd at least have read it," France said with a shrug. "Curiosity, if nothing else."
"I'm not curious," Germany said, voice hardening. After a moment, he crossed away from the desk and went to open the blue door. "Leave," Germany instructed. "You are fortunate that I do not have you shot for sport." Obviously, France would just come right back again, but there would be a small amount of satisfaction in it.
France paused, tipping his head as if in deep thought. When he didn't move, Germany switched back to German in order to issue curt directives to his door guards to kindly escort the French bastard out.
"No need, no need," France said in German, which clearly surprised his escorts. "I will go." Putting his hands in his pockets, he carefully sauntered toward the door. "Goodbye, then," France said, back in his native language as he passed by Germany's stiff posture. "It is a shame, though, about your brother."
There was a brief pause before Germany reached out and grabbed France by the back of his stupid long hair and hauled him back into the room, to the shock of the soldiers.
"Get out," Germany ordered to his men. The soldiers obeyed.
When Germany closed the door and released France, France hissed and rubbed the back of his head. "Your men have very poor reputations among the Parisian ladies and I'm beginning to understand why they remain impervious to German 'charm'."
"What do you know about Prussia," Germany said flatly. More importantly, how.
France raised an eyebrow. "I am nothing if not a massive network of spies," France said, answering the unspoken question. "When a, ah, 'person of importance' gets arrested, I'd be among the first to know."
Germany was silent, staring France down, not sure what to say.
"It's a shame he wasn't successful, your brother," France said, crossing his arms. "No doubt this would be over far faster if your boss were dead."
"He's not," Germany said, voice wooden.
"Curious, though, the whole thing," France said, voice deceptively pleasant, a beam of moonlight illuminating one stripe of his face. "Of those implicated in the assassination attempt on Dear Monsieur Hitler, I hear that most were… very quickly liquidated… hung by piano wire, weren't the majority of them? But… while I have evidence of a Gilbert Beilschmidt's arrest… I have no evidence of an execution."
"He is a nation," Germany said flatly. "Executing him wouldn't work."
"No, it wouldn't," France said, tapping the bottom of his chin with a long finger. "But there are fates worse than death out there, are there not? Russia… you know, our dear friend Russia… he found a place last month that called itself Majdanek. A prison camp. Unimaginable conditions…" France's face tipped down and his eyes found Germany's. "Majdanek isn't the only one, is it?"
Germany was silent.
"But there would be evidence of that, were said Gilbert Beilschmidt shipped to one," France continued. "And both Beilschmidts are of high interest to me… I keep tabs on them. I know what hotel room they are commanding from, for instance." He offered Germany a smile. "But my dear Gilbert does not seem to have left Berlin, despite his treachery. Despite the fact that for his deeds, even though he cannot be killed, he could literally be sent to hell on earth for as long as Hitler… or perhaps even the Nazi Party… is in power."
Germany was silent.
"It is also very curious that right after that incident, you appear in Paris with orders to destroy the city despite that there is no logical or military reason to do so. And how you are so desperately committed to the task, despite the fact that your actual loyalty to Hitler seems to have gone out the window." France's eyes were serious, bright in the moonlight.
"You know nothing about my loyalties," Germany said lowly.
"Au contraire," France replied. "I think I know more about where they actually lie than most people do. Additionally, I was around during the middle ages, you know. I still have the memories." He reached up and tapped the side of his head. "It wasn't unusual to take the family of a lord into the castle's keep for 'protection.' With a side benefit of ensuring absolute obedience from the lord."
There was a long silence, before Germany straightened up and clicked his heels together.
"So you have figured it out," Germany said with a shrug. "Very well."
"You admit that your boss is mad, then," France said, voice a little flat. "At the very least. He is imprisoning your brother and sending you out on the dirtiest tasks possible because he knows you would go through hell and back for him. Because if the choice is Gilbert or Paris, you choose loyalty over all."
"And what would you do, in my shoes?" Germany asked icily. "Would you choose one of my cities over…" Here he hesitated, since France had no other nation who shared his land, his blood, his very soul.
France held up a hand. "I would not desire to be in your shoes," he said after a moment. "I am merely here to try and work out a solution that is convenient to both of us. Do you have a realistic assessment of your actual military situation, though?"
Germany looked at him. "If I believe a word that's coming out of your mouth, I am massively outnumbered in the immediate sense," he said. "I am not sure if I do believe you, though, considering you have great interest in me risking Prussia's neck for the sake of Paris."
France sighed. "Listen to me. Two hours ago, I walked up through a secret passage that you knew nothing about and ended up in your room, unknown to you. There would be more than one way to foil your plot. I could have brought a legion of Resistance fighters through the secret passage. I could have captured you, killed your garrison and guard, retrieved the maps of the detonation plans, and put a stop to the whole thing myself. I did not."
"And here I was, thinking you were a fool," Germany said, voice even and dry.
This made France chuckle and turn around, heading for the roll-top desk where Germany's forgotten glass of whisky sat half-full. He picked it up and tilted the carved glass with interest, before tipping it back and swallowing the rest of the contents in a single gulp. "Hardly," France said. "I have a solution. One that benefits you, and keeps Paris intact. All I had to grab was your ear."
Germany raised his eyebrow, a silent indicator to continue.
"I am not lying about the size of the troop collection outside of Paris," France said, putting the now-empty whisky glass back on the desk. "If you destroy the city and then choose to stay and fight, you will not be able to hold them off for long with what you currently have. Your men will die or be captured. My men will not be in a merciful mood, if Paris is needlessly destroyed."
France crossed the room and looked out the windows at the dark, silent city outside before continuing. "More to the point, if you stay and fight, you will be captured. What will happen to Prussia when you become the property of the Allies so soon?"
"I am interested in your solution," Germany said evenly. "As for now, the way you paint it, it benefits me more to destroy Paris, for even if I am captured, if I execute the standing order there is more of a chance he will be spared than if I do not."
France turned around, his silhouette illuminated by the moon. "Ah, but what if you were unable to execute the order and instead made a dramatic escape?"
"This is war, not a romance novel," Germany said, voice going dry again. "A dramatic escape?"
France held up his hands. "Hear me out," he said. "There is a secret passageway in this room, no? So far, the only people who know about I are myself, you, and the two guards that saw it. Yes?"
Germany nodded, crossing his arms.
"What if… instead of not giving the order to destroy Paris, you were ambushed by a dashing Resistance spy-"-France shook his hair out dramatically, making Germany sigh-"-in the room with the secret passage that everybody was unaware of until the fateful last minute. Said dashing spy gives you a thwhack on your ugly potato head, you get knocked out, and the spy makes off with the detonation maps."
Germany's face went flat. "That just makes me sound like an idiot."
"But it is true. You did not know about the secret passage, and I very well could have bopped you on your potato head and made off with the maps. Yes?"
Sighing, Germany rubbed his face. "Go on."
France cleared his throat. "With this information, the Resistance most heroically goes and sabotages the explosives, saving Paris. You are out like a light, and wake up to the sound of your hotel being seized by the glorious Free French forces. Knowing that you would be captured and understanding that you must escape back to your moronic, addle-headed boss-"
"Enough with the adjectives," Germany ordered.
"…you exit out the secret passage that the gallant Resistance member used to sneak into your room, and you manage to escape Paris through the sewers," France finished, bringing his hands together in a dramatic flourish.
Germany was staring at France with an incredulous look. "That is perhaps the most unbelievable story I've ever heard," he said.
"It does sound a little bit like something America would come up with and England would yell at him for," France agreed with a shrug. "But the idea is that you wouldn't have to tell it."
Germany raised an eyebrow.
France's lip ticked. "If you agree to give me the plans and detonation maps, I will agree to lead you out of the city and give you underground passage back into Germany, through an unguarded part of the border," he said slowly. "I assume that if Paris falls, it will cause great confusion back in Berlin. Hitler's first concern will not be your brother. You will have some time."
"So you are suggesting I abandon my men, allow the Resistance to smuggle me back to my house, and…?" Germany raised an eyebrow.
"…and fetch your brother," France finished. "You will be unaccounted for at that point and have complete freedom of movement for the first time in years. You wish to save your brother from hell? This is your chance."
"That is the most…" Germany rubbed his temples, shaking his head. "I can't abandon my men and leave them without leadership. That I won't-"
"Far fewer of them will die this way," France interrupted. "Far fewer will die than if you attempt to fight off the Free French and the Americans while retreating from a ruined city. Some will die, but fewer. I imagine that without top leadership, your second-in-commands would surrender quickly… or be too disorganized to move."
"But I will have abandoned them," Germany said from between clenched teeth. "They are my people-"
"They will be alive," France retorted. "You are their nation, not only their commander. Yes it's ridiculous, but look at what you gain! More of your soldiers live. You don't have the blood of over a million Parisians on your hands. You save a city. You escape, you save your brother, and…"
"And then what?" Germany interrupted. "We spend the rest of the war living in the Black Forest? I'd say we'd end up with prices on our heads if I go through with this."
France's lip ticked. "And then, were I you, I'd find the nearest group of non-Soviet non-Nazi forces and surrender yourselves to them," he advised.
Germany was dead silent. "This plan is not going to work," he said.
"Neither is blowing up Paris and returning back to your boss only to get sent out on another fool's errand that you can't refuse until you get blown off the face of the planet yourself," France said. "At least here, you've got a snowball's chance in hell."
Germany turned away, heading back to the desk for another cigarette, which he lit. "I need a guarantee," he said, after the pause had extended.
"Of what sort?" France asked, arms crossed.
"If I agree - and that, right now, is not entirely likely - I don't want you to drop me off in my country and then leave," Germany said. "While escaping Paris and returning to my country seems like it would have a high chance of success, the part where I rescue Prussia is unlikely if I am on my own with zero backup."
He exhaled a plume of smoke into the silence that followed.
"So you want me to come with you to retrieve Prussia," France said. "Is that it?"
Germany put the cigarette back into his mouth. "I am going to need help," he said simply. "He is being held in Berlin… not in a prison, but in an air shelter on the outskirts. That was part of the agreement. I have no idea what the guard duty there is like. I have not seen him since he was captured and accused of the assassination attempt. Attempting to rescue him alone would be folly." Another breath. "I would also wish to know what the surrender conditions are for my men."
"Fortunately for you, I never go anywhere without copies of documents people are likely to tear up," France said dryly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a second envelope, holding it between his first and middle fingers. He offered it to Germany.
Germany snorted, and took the envelope; opening it with a sigh, he scanned the contents. "This is a true offer?" Germany asked.
"All things considered, the armies would rather not fight if they don't have to," France said, tipping his mouth up. "And they don't want Paris to be destroyed. Offering safe haven for soldiers who aren't fighting and refrained from needless destruction is very small in comparison."
Germany looked between the piece of paper and France again, extinguishing his cigarette.
France held his gaze. "If all you require is assistance in retrieving Prussia, I will offer it," he said. "Under the condition that you and he both surrender afterward and are not involved with the duration of the war."
Germany held the silence for a few long moments. "I am still unsure why you did not simply use your knowledge of the passage to knock me out and steal the maps," he said.
France snorted. "Easier said than done," France said. "The sound of a struggle in here would no doubt alert your guards, and then I might have ended up with a bit of a blood bath on my hands. If I had failed, you definitely would have blown up Paris in a rage of your own, not just because your boss has you by the balls. With the information I had, I figured I would have a very good chance at talking you out of it. This method is mostly bloodless." He nodded at the note Germany held. "If you surrender, it may be almost-entirely so."
"How do I surrender and leave this building without alerting my men?" Germany asked.
France put his hands on his hips. "You tell your guards to escort me out and inform them you will not be disturbed for the rest of the night. Once I am escorted outside, I go to the door on Rue de Castiglione and take care of your guard - bloodlessly, of course; I'll knock him out. Meanwhile, you write a note and leave it on the desk for your soldiers to find explaining that you did indeed surrender. We escape together out the secret passage. Once out, we make a phone call to General Leclerc and send him an official written notice of your surrender, under condition that he does not send an envoy into the city until mid-morning tomorrow. No doubt that once the messenger sends notice of your surrender, your soldiers will burst down your door, where they will find the note confirming it. At this point, we will both be long gone from Paris and on the way to Berlin, with the help of the Resistance."
Germany folded the note from Leclerc in half, his eyes traveling to the door. "My men will think that I am a coward," he said with a sigh, closing his eyes. "Abandoning them that way."
Germany could hear France's footsteps cross the polished floors, but he didn't open his eyes until a warm hand with long fingers rested against his jaw. "This is not an act of cowardice," France said slowly, a small smile spreading across his face. "This is brave. This is… very brave, Germany."
"Or very stupid," Germany murmured, eyes fluttering shut once more.
A moment later and Germany's eyes snapped open as France's arms moved slowly to wrap around him, squeezing him in a warm and entirely-unexpected embrace.
"Say you'll do it," France murmured into his ear, close, the feel of warm flesh pressed against his so fraternally strange. "Say you'll free Paris. If you do, I'll free you."
Germany felt his throat work in a slow swallow, and after a long pause his hands went out to wrap around France's back. His fingers shook.
"I wonder what it is like," Germany said after a moment, voice low and pained against France's ear, "not to live in fear."
"I'm not entirely sure myself," France admitted, just as quiet. "Maybe after all of this is over, we can give it a try."
Germany nodded. "Maybe," he said, and he released France, stepping away. France stood still by the desk while Germany went to the door and opened it.
"I'd like you to escort my guest out of the hotel," Germany instructed the guards, voice in a perfectly pitched order, like nothing unusual had happened. "Once he is gone, I would prefer not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening."
Two guards filtered into the room immediately, and France nodded, face straight, saying nothing as he walked out of the room, the guards following him. Germany shut the door.
The silence was strange. Resting his back against the door, Germany looked out at the open balcony, where the storied buildings and palaces and landmarks still stood tall, tall against the brightening sky.
For a long moment he stood there, barely able to make out the flag flapping at the top of the Eiffel Tower - he couldn't see the symbol there, but it was strange to think only the flag would be gone tomorrow - before crossing back over to his desk, pulling out pen and paper.
By the time he was done with the note, France was standing at the top of the secret passage.
"That was quick," Germany said, voice a little dry.
"While your soldiers are well-trained, they haven't had a few thousand years of experience," France said, rolling his eyes.
"Hmph," Germany said, standing, the note left behind on the desk, looking over his shoulder at the city once more.
"It is a beautiful city at daybreak, but I suggest that we leave it as it is and make haste," France said with a smile. "We will always be able to come back and enjoy it at a later date, it seems."
"Yes," Germany replied, and as he stepped into the secret passage, France toggled the button to close the hidden door.
# # #
HISTORICAL NOTES:
DIPLOMACY: So, uh, I finally got around to watching this movie tonight and basically decided that I had to write this. It's a 2014 Franco-German historical drama about Dietrich von Choltitz's decision to not destroy Paris in 1944. The movie itself is excellent if you like snappy dialogue and character development without a whole lot of plot. I was quite tickled. Though, one of my roommates saw me watching it and came back an hour later only to comment, "Ugh, are those two dudes still subtitling in a room?" So, basically, if you like movies about two dudes talking in a room in French and German, you'll like it.
Dietrich von Choltitz: German military officer who served in WWI and WWII. He is easily most famous for disobeying Hitler's order to destroy Paris in August of 1944. He did not escape the city after surrendering: he ended up in POW camps in England and the US before being released in 1947.
DESTROYING PARIS: In August of 1944, Paris was in a precarious position. The Western Allies, having had made their successful D-Day landing in June, were encroaching, but there was debate about the actual liberation of the city. Eisenhower did not consider the liberation of Paris to be of the utmost importance: his main objective was to reach Berlin as soon as possible in order to put an end to the war in Europe so American resources could be directed toward the Pacific Front. Plus, Eisenhower wanted to avoid a long and drawn-out city siege (like the ones in Stalingrad and Leningrad).
Unsurprisingly, the Free French forces did not agree with this tactic and General Leclerc disobeyed a direct order from General Gerow (Major General of the US army and Leclerc's superior) and sent a missive to the German garrison in Paris that his entire division would be in Paris the next day.
Skirmishes had been erupting inside the city itself, mostly egged on by the Resistance. The local population was aware that the Western Allies were encroaching upon Paris and had been since June. Once word got out that the Free French forces were quite literally knocking on the doorstep, battles started breaking out between Parisian citizens and the German garrison. A ceasefire was negotiated by the Swedes (who were neutral) because the Resistance needed more ammunition and the Germans needed more men brought in from the front to bolster their ability to hold the city. The Germans held most of the monuments and other areas of strategic interest in Paris, while the Resistance controlled the majority of the city.
von Choltitz was under direct orders from Hitler to destroy Paris by blowing up its monuments and destroying the bridges so that there would be nothing left for the Allies to take. The Seine flooding would also slow the Allied advance.
However, ultimately, destroying Paris would have been an act of military futility - most of Germany's top military brass, including von Choltitz, were of the opinion that the war was lost the moment the Western Allies gained a foothold on the beaches of Normandy and were able to load men and endless supplies from the West. This put Nazi Germany in the position of being crushed like a vice from the West and the East. Destroying Paris would have changed nothing in the long-term course of the war.
Ultimately, von Choltitz surrendered the city and did not destroy it.
"Is Paris burning?": Supposedly, Hitler called von Choltitz in a rage and screamed this over the phone at him.
20 JULY PLOT: The whole thing about Prussia refers to the "20 July Plot" to murder Hitler. It was obvious as early as mid-1943 that Germany was likely to end up losing the war. Many in the army (and civilians) wanted to get rid of Hitler and form a government that would be acceptable to the Western Allies, so that a Soviet invasion of Germany could be avoided. However, this task was easier said than done, since as the war progressed Hitler spent more and more time in secluded areas, only surrounded by those he trusted. Hitler was suspicious of his army officers.
As the war progressed and worsened, more people were drawn into the plot. Eventually, a bomb was placed under a table (hidden in a suitcase) at a meeting where Hitler was present. The bomb went off, killing 4 members of the room - but one of them was not Hitler. The only real injury Hitler suffered was a perforated eardrum.
After the attempt, almost 7,000 people were arrested and nearly 5,000 executed under suspicion of having been involved in the plot. In the case of this story, Prussia was implicated.
MAJDANEK: The first concentration camp discovered by the Allies. Soviet troops liberated it on July 23, 1944.
I may or may not continue this. I basically just wanted to write a film noir scene where France and Germany waxed philosophical about destroying Paris. The whole "escape from Nazism and save Prussia" thing kinda wasn't the original point. Oh well.