This was another English Assignment I had to do.
For those interested, the Assignment was to write a "Frame Story"; a Story that starts in the present tense, recounts events of the past, then comes back to the future once more at the end.

I apologize if anyone seems out of character, or if there's something about the writing that wasn't proper. I will try to the best of my ability to fix any of my errors.

(And as to answer this possible question, yes, I do write Hetalia Stories outside of my school setting. I'm working on a longer one actually, but I'm waiting to post it because I don't want to abruptly leave it hanging for whatever reason)

Here's the story!

Worth Fighting For

It's getting dark out, so I want to wrap this up and get some sleep before morning comes, but I think that I should write down this one; it's too important not to mention.

Hours ago, I remember…

Screaming as I climbed from the wreckage of my bomber jet.
I really didn't know why I was screaming at the time.
At first, I thought it was because I was scared, but there was nothing to be afraid of; the crash was over, there was no more fire or explosions. There were no enemy troops to fear.
I know why now.
I was screaming because I could; so I could know I was alive.

I still wailed even when a Jet with the red-white-and-blue roundel circled and found a place to land beside my own battered plane. Arthur leapt out of the plane and stormed over, before shaking me by the shoulders and demanding that I stop being a "Howl-monger". Francis followed him slowly, helmet under his arm and his fingers running through his well-kept hair.

"Calm down, Alfred; we wouldn't want to wake any Germans, ouí?" Francis' accent drizzled into his poised voice. He bent his knee and tapped the toe of his boot gently to the ground.
He was far too dainty to be a soldier.

"Oh, don't make him fret, Francis; no German's stupid enough to set up camp in this swampy mess." Arthur rolled his eyes, stamping into the ground for effect.
Arthur was right; the ground was muddy and soupy, yet hunks of ice and snow littered the area, still un-melted.

I stood up, trying to compose myself, then burning a little with rage.
"Freakin' Nazis; they shot down my plane."

"Alfred, if they were trying to shoot you down, we'd have seen them; believe me. It was probably an engine failure."

"My plane doesn't just break down!" I protested.

"It doesn't matter, stop fighting, you two."

"Oh, don't you join in, frog!" Arthur turned his attention towards Francis. The two of them began to argue, and Arthur wound up punching Francis in the mouth.
That lead to rolling around on the ground, shoving mud up each other's shirts and more hitting.
Not really what you want to be doing when the Axis was literally anywhere, and one give away could destroy everyone in a Unit.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Look, we're stranded in enemy territory; there may not be any Germans around right now, but oh boy, they will hear you if you guys keep it up. Just keep quiet if you're going to kill each other."

No stopping those two when they were fighting.

So while they bickered, I set up "camp". I was able to scrape away enough mud from the solid earth to build a fire, and I found shelter under the wing of my plane. Before settling under it, I shuffled around inside my plain to find some canned food and blankets.

From a distance I could see Francis and Arthur beating each other up. This wasn't odd; they did this all the time. Eventually Francis came over and huddled under the plane with alongside me.

"Don't try anything naughty, Frenchy." I warned.

"I'm in no mood to." He wiped mud from his cheek and fixed his hair, a sour look on his face.
"Arthur's a jerk." He huffed.

Arthur stood up and brushed mud from his clothes, though it wasn't much of a help, as it mostly only smeared it further. He could care less what anyone thought of him, especially Francis. He casually got back into the working jet, leaning up against the door.

"…Yeah, he is."

Rain began to pour, turning the mud into creamy brown water, sparkling with metals and minerals. Francis huddled close to me, brushing the now-dry earth from his clothes, and rubbing his arms.

"Spam?" I stabbed a can with my pocket knife and cut off the lid.

"Sure." He nodded, fishing a piece out with his fingers and popping it in his mouth.
Rain dribbled off the wing of the plane before us, looking like a waterfall.

"I'll work on my plane tomorrow, and then we can leave." I hummed, wrapping a blanket around myself, then offering one to Francis.

"Sounds like a plan to me." Francis shrugged.

Arthur looked out at the rain from a distance, detached. He hugged his knee, and he'd occasionally glance at us.
He knew his shelter was better, but debated coming over to us, or inviting us to join him.

"Do you two hate each other that much?"

"Non. It's a love-hate relationship, I guess. We get mad at each other a lot, but we're both fighting for a greater cause." Francis mumbled.

The sky just burst with water, and the raindrops grew big and fat before they bombarded the foggy ground.

"Should we invite him?" I finally sighed.

"Yes." Francis nodded, relaxed, and seemingly putting the fact that Arthur dirtied his clothes and hair behind him.

"Hey Artie!" I hollered. "If you don't kill each other, you can join Francis and me!"

"No! I'm fine!" Arthur called back.

"Suit yourself!" I raised my shoulders.

Arthur could have actually gone inside the plane, but he lingered near the door; sometimes standing, sometimes sitting down, other times laying out of the floor of the plane, letting his arms dangle off the sides. He didn't look at us much more, and only continued to stare out at the rain.

That rainy night made me think of those at home, where my girl and I'd dance away the night in my apartment.
Oh Amelia, where ever you are, I love you, and I hope you're doing okay.

"I miss New York." I sighed.

"I miss Paris."

"This stupid war should end."

"I agree."

Then, I don't know whether it was a case of homesickness, boredom, or patriotism…I just started to sing. I sang "My country 'Tis of thee", staring out at the foggy darkness, and imagining city lights, or rolling plains.

Francis remained silent until my song was finished, before clapping, and singing the French National Anthem.

And so it was that we'd take turns singing different songs, and the night passed along much easier. Arthur continued to look at us with longing eyes, and eventually, he hopped down, closed the door to the plane, and approached us.

"I was wondering if I might join you…" He murmured.

"As long as there's no fighting," I moved over, offering him room. "Be our guest."
And Arthur let loose with "God Save the Queen."

I laughed at first, but he was so devoted, and passion filled his eyes.

This continued until we grew tired, and Arthur and Francis gradually fell asleep.

I had to get that down. I had to write this story down somewhere so that no one would forget. This night was an important lesson.
Francis and Arthur fight like a cat and a dog. Really, they do. But I think the one good thing about this war, is that it brings us together, so we know what's really important, and who is the real enemy and friend. I think that if we can all learn that much…this war is totally worth it.

Proud to be an American Soldier,

Alfred F. Jones

Did you like it? Did you think that there was something that could use some adjustment? Be nice, but don't sugarcoat; let me know what you thought in a review!

Thank you for your time!