Nations didn't die.
At least, they didn't die as easily as humans did. Killing the personification of a nation required the destruction of its country, and that was not exactly a simple task.
Of course, the only thing this meant was that they didn't die. There was nothing at all that stopped them from hurting, from wanting to die in pain.
Francis was screaming. Matthew could hear him, even over the screams of all the soldiers present. He had grown up with the man – it was unthinkable that he wouldn't be able to recognise his voice.
For all that had happened during Francis' control over his country, Matthew knew that the other nation truly cared for and loved him. That had been one fact that Matthew had never doubted, no matter what had happened.
And as much as Francis loved him, Matthew returned that love tenfold. The older nation was like a brother to him, and hearing him in pain was torture for Matthew.
This wasn't his war. Not really. He was only here because Arthur was. If it were up to him, he would back home, safe and neutrality like Alfred. Being in the middle of a warzone, forced to watch his people die for a war that didn't concern him, wasn't something he had ever wanted.
But he was here, and Francis was screaming, and his people were dying.
He had not wanted this war, but the war had come to him all the same. And it had brought screams with it, the constant screams of his soldiers and the less common, but all the more haunting, screams of his friends. Arthur, Francis, even Bella. All of them, each and every one – their screams echoed in his ears whenever he tried to sleep.
And it was Germany's fault. It was Ludwig who had started this, this stupid, useless war and this damned gas.
Matthew could have done without knowing that this gas ever existed.
All of them thought that he was nothing more than a weak little nation, dragged into the war because Arthur was part of it. And that may have been the reason why he was here, but none of that meant that he was weak.
He may still have been under Arthur's rule, but that didn't make him useless. He was strong, stronger that anyone could see.
And here, in the middle of Ypres, he was the only one left to fight.
"Sir?"
Matthew broke out of his thoughts to look at the man standing in front of him. Somehow, among all the chaos of their surrounds, he was still as smartly dressed as a soldier getting ready to be deployed.
But then, Matthew supposed he had good reason to be.
"Do as you wish, Brigadier-General Currie," he said with a coldness that would have shocked any other nation had they been listening, "Just make sure that the Germans are defeated."
Historical!Note: The Battle of Ypres was the first time that a former colonial force (the 1st Canadian Division) defeated a major European power (the German Empire) on European soil, in the Battle of St. Julien-Kitcheners' Wood. The Battle of Ypres was also the first time that poison gas was used in battle, and during the Battle of St. Julien-Kitcheners' Wood, French forces were were decimated by the gas - 6000 troops died within 10 minutes.
Arthur Currie was the leader of Canadian forces during the battle. I haven't been able to find a source that confirms his rank at the time, so if anyone wants to correct me on the Brigadier-General part, feel free too :)
Author's Note: This is my first Hetalia fic, and i'd love it if you guys dropped a review on this on your way out - I'd love to know what you thought :)