The concussion from the blast should have knocked him out completely, so it surprised him to discover he was still standing – if only barely. Ludwig, however, was not so lucky.
The north wall of the building they hunkered in had been blown out, sending Gilbert flying backwards and covering his brother in stone and debris. Gilbert could just make out his brother's limbs, arranged at odd angles like some bizarre sculpture. Germany had fallen.
Gilbert made his way over on unsteady legs. Each step punctured by a sharp ringing in his ears as his hearing fought to return.
Another blast and the building trembled. Gilbert hurried to free Ludwig from the rubble. His eyes did not miss the cracks that were forming. One more
well-placed shell and the whole thing would collapse. Gilbert snatched up his brother by the collar and hoisted the blonde nation over his shoulder. Christ he didn't remember the German ever being so heavy.
As he made his way to the Bebelplatz1, Gilbert was only conscious of one thing: finding someplace die verdammten Russen2had not leveled. The dome of St Hedwig's3 loomed into view. The distance across the square seemed to stretch infinitely on. There was no way he could make it. Not with a dead weight over his shoulder and no cover. Stupid, Gilbert thought. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. And crazy. His legs broke into a run, carrying him towards the burned out cathedral.
Gilbert collapsed under the dome – or rather under the gaping hole where the dome should have been. He knew they couldn't stay there but just to rest for a few minutes would be heaven! Gilbert dragged Ludwig over to the western wall. The neighboring Dresdner Bank had cast this side of the cathedral in shadow and it felt somehow safer.
Gilbert sank down beside his brother and fished for a cigarette. A mix of red and black covered the right side of Ludwig's head; but it was the blossom of crimson staining his brother's usually crisp uniform that worried Gilbert the most. It was right over Ludwig's heart. Over Berlin.
Gilbert finally managed to extract a bent cigarette. He fumbled with the lighter, failing several times to coerce a flame. Gilbert cursed the cheap flint before realizing his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He clenched his fists and took a deep, steadying breath. It worked. The lighter flicked to life and Gilbert inhaled the white smoke. Leaning over Ludwig's prone form, Gilbert placed a hand on his brother's neck, feeling for a pulse. Still there. Faint and slow but still beating. Gilbert took another drag from his cigarette and rested his head against the cold stone.
Goddammit West, if you weren't out cold I'd beat you 'til you were. You brought this on yourself – you and the boss o' yours. I shoulda knocked you over the head all those years ago when you asked for my help in this clusterfuck you call world domination. You're too young – much too young – to understand and see the signs. But I'd seen guys like him and I shoulda warned you – but the look on your face, the pride and happiness in your eyes – Gott, I hadn't seen you smile in so long. 'Germany will be strong again,' you said. 'The borders will be restored and we'll command the respect we once had.'
He wasn't sure when he had picked Ludwig up and cradled him. All he was aware of were these thoughts that chased themselves around and around his head. Hot tears slid down the Prussian's thin cheeks as he buried his face in his brother's hair.
"I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry, West!" he yelled over and over, but whatever sounds escaped his mouth were lost for the screaming of shells and thunder of tanks.
"Ah. What do we have here?" came an unpleasantly cold, sing-song voice.
Gilbert's eyes shot open at the sound. Cold metal connected with the back of his head. That sonuvabitch.
"On your feet, Prussia."
Gilbert slowly stood and turned to face the only man he ever failed to defeat – the only man, Gilbert was sure, that could actually kill him.
Russia repositioned the barrel of his Tokarev SVT-40 directly in front of Gilbert's heart.
"You really think that's going to work? Have you forgotten Königsberg4 that fast?" Gilbert sneered.
Russia simply smiled. "Königsberg? Ha! You left boys and old men to defend your capital."
"Yeah, but I'm still standing."
"I wouldn't count on it." A manic glint shone from violet eyes sending a shudder down Gilbert's back. "Put your hands behind your head and come quietly."
"What're you – oof!"
Russia rammed the butt of the rifle into Gilbert's abdomen with surprising speed, doubling him over.
"I said 'quietly.'"
"Verpiss dich! Ohrfeigengesicht!"5
The butt of the rifle cracked across the left side of Gilbert's face. The world exploded in black spots as his body twisted around and his head smacked against the stone window ledge. Prussia crumpled to the floor beside his brother, out cold.
When he came to, he found himself in a blindingly white room. The smell of camphor and metal and something not quite sterile reached his nose. Gilbert discovered he could only open his right eye. An itchy gauze bandage obscured the other. He felt tightness around his chest and realized that, too, was wrapped in gauze.
So, he had been brought to a hospital. At least his captors had the decency to see he was properly patched before executing his punishment. Gilbert smiled bitterly and pushed himself up in bed. He winced as small stabs of pain shot through his arms and torso. I don't remember being in this bad a shape, Gilbert thought as he leaned back against the pillows. A sudden movement off to his right made him jump slightly.
"Jesus, West! You tryin' to give me a heart attack?"
A small smile flickered across Ludwig's face. "I'm glad you're finally awake."
"Yeah, I am too." Gilbert hitched his usual cocky sneer across his face as he took in his brother's form. Ludwig's right arm rested in a sling and his face had some minor cuts and bruising. Black stitches ran along his brother's hairline, contrasting greatly with the blonde hair.
"They did a helluva job on you, Bruder. You're almost as good as new."
Gilbert's smile faltered as his eyes came to rest on Ludwig's chest, and he remembered when his own capital had burned then was sieged…. Gilbert's skin prickled at the thought.
"You wouldn't happen to have smoke, would ya?"
Ludwig's eyes flicked to the bedside table and Gilbert noticed the tobacco and matches sitting there.
"Gil, I – "
"Ja, ja, I know what you're going to say…" Gilbert began, reaching for the pack. A piercing pain tore through his shoulder blade and threatened to burst through his chest. It felt like a bullet. Then he remembered. It had been, in fact, several bullets tearing through his chest and back and shoulders as he hastened his brother away from the collapsing building. He hadn't noticed at the time. The adrenaline coursing through him numbed the pain.
Gilbert let his arm fall and eased himself back against the pillows. He wondered if West knew, really knew, what happened in Berlin.
Ludwig fixed his brother with a slightly pitying look before sticking a cigarette in Gilbert's mouth and lighting it for him.
"Bruder, you need to rest. The Allies have called a meeting6. It's going to be in Potsdam in July. They're going to decide what to do with us."
Gilbert snorted. What's the worst they could do? More war reparations? Giving back conquered territory? Awesome.
As he was shown into the conference room, Gilbert wondered briefly if Ludwig had been handcuffed. He hadn't been allowed to see his brother since their arrival. They were kept in separate rooms and had to be escorted everywhere.
Gilbert glanced around the conference table at the nations sitting there. England, with his thick brows creased in a scowl. America, wearing a brash smile and one arm draped over the back of his chair. Russia, hands clasped behind his head, leaning back in his chair, and humming an off-key song. France, head down, refusing to look at anyone. From the snatches of conversation he'd picked up in the corridors, Gilbert knew France had not had much say in the meetings and had been excluded completely from the agreement. They had been allies once - a scant two hundred years prior when an unentitled successor laid claim to the Habsburg throne and treaties could be reversed.7 Gilbert smiled grimly to himself. Ah West, I guess I really did teach you well.
"Well this is getting to be a familiar sight," Gilbert drawled.
"Yes. And we're here to make sure it doesn't happen again!" England said.
Gilbert extracted a cigarette and lighter from his shirt pocket.
"Yeah, last time we had this little meeting, you took away many of my territories, my king abdicated, and I got slapped with the title of 'The Free State of Prussia.' Do you know how fucking stupid that sounds?"
The cigarette dangled precariously between Gilbert's lips as he tried to light it. Stupid handcuffs.
"So, what's the plan chief? When do I get to see West?" Gilbert asked, finally lighting the tobacco and blowing a dismissive puff of smoke at the ceiling.
England huffed and shuffled through a stack of papers.
"You'll get to see your brother after this meeting's concluded. Now, this is what we've decided…."
Gilbert listened as the nations outlined the new borders of Germany, which industries were to remain and which ones had to be dismantled, the demilitarization of Germany, and blah blah blah. This kind of thing was West's forte. He should really be here. Details and bureaucrats were two things Gilbert couldn't stand. They made his head go all fuzzy trying to sift through an excess of words just to get some relevant information.
A deafening silence, punctuated by low off-key humming, brought Gilbert out of his reverie.
"Prussia, did you understand me?" England asked.
"Which part?"
England looked slightly taken aback. France had finally lifted his head up and the look etched across it truly scared Gilbert. It wasn't one of dark hatred or anger, which Gilbert quite frankly would have preferred. He was used to those looks. No, France's face pale face twisted in a guise of fear. Thin lips pressed firmly together and drawn down and white nostrils flaring. America, on the other hand, remained uncharacteristically silent. Once or twice Gilbert saw his eyes flick towards Russia then dart back to Gilbert's, the smug smile getting wider each time.
England glanced around the room and shifted forward in his seat in an effort to recompose himself.
"Th-the part about the division and occupation of Germany."
"The what?"
England cleared his throat. "We're dividing Germany between the Four Powers. The west will be controlled by myself, America, and France while the
east –"
"Oh stop mincing words, l'Angleterre!8 Tell him the true meaning," France spat.
England cast him a sidelong glance before picking up where he left off. "The east will go to Russia."
"Mon Dieu! Une petite honnêteté, s'il vous plait!9They want to dissolve you!"
1Site of the infamous book burnings in Berlin. Part of Unter den Linden, near the Reichstag
2 German: the damned Russians
3 The first Catholic church in Prussia built by the permission of Old Fritz. It burned out completely during the air raids on Berlin in 1943.
4 The capital of Prussia. It was bombed by the RAF in 1944 then sieged by the Soviets starting in January 1945. Motivated by the Red Army's brutality towards civilians in East Prussia (plus Nazi propaganda), German soldiers continued fighting even though they believed the war to be lost.
5 German: Piss off. Your face begs to be punched.
6 Referring to the Potsdam Conference and the Allied Control Council (I took a lot of liberty here, people. Hey it's called fiction for a reason.)
7 Refers to the war of Austrian Succession. Gilbert's comparing it to Hitler's rise to power.
8 French: England
9 French: My God! A little honesty please!
