A bright orange sun shined as it's rays lighted the strikingly beautiful landscape of the Dutch countryside. Fall had set in and the trees, grass and scrubs had all turned color. Birds flew low between the branches, disturbed as they were by the grinding of high-power engines pulling armoured vehicles, transport trucks and the accompanying jeeps.

From where he was sitting, Ludwig could see full well the small dirt road that lead to the village behind him and he watched as the convoy of raw recruits rolled past the dreamy scenery. His back against his jeep stopped on a small hill, he sighed. Duty was calling.

So he got up on his feet, brushed the dirt off his otherwise pristine uniform and turned to overlook the village. The trucks had entered the town square and the soldiers, young and old, were calmly getting out.

"Enjoying the scenery, brüder?"

Ludwig tensed up and did not turn to meet the voice that was speaking to him.

"I was, actually. It's a shame Feliciano isn't here...I'd ask him to paint me a portrait." He smiled.

The Albino nation continued to walk towards Ludwig until he was standing right next to him.

"Truthfully, I still don't understand what you see in those Italians. They've never had the teeth to fulfill their ambitions." Scoffed Gilbert, he never had any real regards for the peninsular nation before and after it's unification.

Ludwig sighed again "It's quite simple actually, Gilbert. He reminds me to smile. He's a dreamer and I'm a doer, the world needs both to keep turning."

"Fair enough" struggled Gilbert.

"So, I gather that these are the auxiliaries that were to be re-affected?" Ludwig turned around on his heels and began heading over as he asked the question to which he could already guess the answer as Gilbert followed him still.

"Yes," he said as he and Ludwig walked up the road to where the soldiers where disembarking, "every sailor, Lufftwaffe field unit, Normandy survivor and draftee that we could muster."

Both stopped a few meters away from the trucks, glancing quickly at the soldiers and all they saw where tired and weary looks, dirty mismatched or torn uniforms, men that were getting too old for soldiering or who would normally be too young, with their fingers running along their rifles as if they had never held or fired one.

"Will it be enough though…?"

The words left Gilbert's lips like a silent whisper carried by the wind, but it landed in the other's hear like a bomb.

"Will it be enough though..." Ludwig's brain echoed incecently for what seamed hours. No, it wasn't enough, but it had to be. There was simply too much at stake.

He would make it enough.

Breaking out of his thoughts with a slight shake of his head, he cleared his throat. "Brüder, organize these men immediately and start training them as soon as possible."

"Not even a please?!"

Ludwig didn't even need to see the expression on Gilbert's face right now, he could feel all too well that arrogant smile accentuated by that look of his.

"Now's not the time of place for that, you jack- wait, do you feel that?"

The air around them had suddenly filled with distant vibrations, the kind he would feel when a large group of tanks would roll by... Or when the sky was full of big engine airplanes.

"Is that what I fear it is?" asked Gilbert

Ludwig nodded sharply just as his lips spoke the words everyone dreaded most since Normandy: "Fallshirmjaegers."

It wasn't long before they began appearing far off in the heavens above, gliding with the grace of a hundred black eagles, unleashing their cargo of trained men and their gear.

Gazing at this spectacle, both beautiful and more frightening then a great many things, Ludwig muttered a curse directed at fate along with a single word.

"Already?"

Sub-machine gun in hand, Gilbert clasped the other's shoulder as soldiers where running for their AA guns, screaming orders or unloading the last of their supplies in a most hasty manner.

"War is a cruel mistress. Beautiful, but harsh beyond measure. I've heard the thunder of a thousand guns, seen a million men charge across an open plain, the proud look of men as they parade trough the Streets. Don't forget what you're fighting for, Ludwig! It's time to go, the men need you!"

With a fiery passion in his eyes, Ludwig nodded, grabbed his own weapon and prepared for the coming bitter struggle.

Life was slowly going back to normal for those who called the Belgian city of Antwerp their home. Small groups of people were beginning to walk the streets again. There were discussions, smiles and even laughter in some parts if one listened carefully enough.

And has the young avatar of the Canadian province of Quebec named Philippe Williams walked along the 45 kilometres of docks that were the city's livelihood and pride, he couldn't help but smile himself. There was no denying that the world was still at war, but at least it was a start.

The young man, his skin tanned to near perfection from his time in Italy along with short blond hair and bright teal green eyes, walked with a light and excited step at the promise of his destination as he carried a small picnic basket in his hands. He was on his way to meet someone special: The avatar for the nation of Belgium, Ève Hasselman.

He and Ève had always had a special relationship, dating back to the great war of 1914 when, under attack from the German empire, Arthur Kirkland had pledged himself and his empire to the protection of the neutral nation. And as a dominion, he and his adoptive father, Matthew Williams of Canada, had been thrown into the fray.

And here he was again, 30 years later, in the low, beautiful fields of Flanders. The weapons had changed, the tactics had changed, but men from Germany, the British empire, France and America were still fighting and dying.

But none of it mattered right now, as he approached the door of the apartment Ève stayed in, a barely contained smile doted his face as he walked up the small concrete stairs and knocked.

Footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door as well as muttered words. "I'm coming!" Said the feminine voice in a French sounding accent. Philippe went down the steps again as the noise intensified.

After a second's wait, the door opened, revealing a woman dressed in clothes fit for autumn, and Philippe had to admit that she wore the outfit especially well. He wasn't slacking behind either, with his high-quality officer dress, high brown leather boots, matching gloves and great coat.

"Well, well," she began with a laugh in her voice as she examined Philippe from head to toe even as he posed so she could have a better look, " I believe I haven't seen anyone who looked so handsome for quite some time, Philippe."

"Many thanks, my lady." Replied Philippe, taking off his hat and offering her a bow. It was both for fun as it was for curtsey, their rank as nations warranting such respect. "And if I may, you look dashing yourself." He continued, raising his head just as he spoke with a smirk.

"And what would that be in your hands?"

"Oh, that?" Philippe raised the basket with his hand after regaining his composure, he then reached inside, "It's such a fine day, I thought we could enjoy a glass or two of genuine French champagne!" he said as he pulled the bottle out and showed it to her.

"That," Ève began walking down the small flight of stairs that separated her from him, eventually stopping directly in front of him, "... sounds like a great idea, Philippe."

And then, as a gentleman would, he offered his arm to her which she quickly took and both began walking into the streets with a slow, steady pace clearly enjoying the moment.

"So, where are we going exactly?"

"Well, in all honesty," he began, clearing his throat, "I don't know the city all that well so I was hoping that you would know someplace we could set up."

"Oh, anywhere along the harbour will be fine. I find the water quite soothing."

"The port it is, then!"

And after a few meters' walk, they decided upon a spot with a clear view of the canal and quickly spread a blanket on the ground as to be more comfortable on the brick layered street before sitting down and opening the bottle. Both simply sat there, enjoying their drink and a moment of peace in each other's company.

"You were right, I had forgotten how looking at water could be so soothing..."

Ève turned her head towards her companion as he watched the water being moved by the wind and tide.

"So you grew up around water a lot, hmm?" She asked.

"Did I?! I spent most of my time in either Quebec City or Montreal, both of which are very important ports. Also, me and P'pa have this tradition were we go skating on the Saint-Lawrence each winter so we can at least spend some quality father-son time each year." explained Philippe, a timid smile appearing every now and then at the recollection of a cherished memory.

"You obviously care a great deal about him, don't you? I can see that as well as I can see you ."

Philippe sighed deeply "I do, I really do. I've know him almost all my life, and spent all that time no farther than a corridor or horse ride away for most of the time. It's just…things have gotten so complicated with the wars, the economy and the overall craziness of provincial politics mingled with different linguistical and religious identities. For example, imagine if Flanders had it's own avatar and that you and it had to work towards a consensus over every single major issue!"

Ève listened carefully throughout. It was indeed true that she knew full well what Philippe was talking about as her people were divided between Wallonian and Flemish groups and that, what one group supported the other rejected with equal force which usually brought on accusations of all sorts down to the most sordid and racist.

Now then, what if both sides had an avatar and one side dominated the other in both population and economics?

As she thought, both remained silent until she decided to break the silence again. "Do you want to know what I think, Philippe?"

"Bien sûr que oui, ma chère." He replied flirtingly.

"I think it speaks volume about your character, that you'd be willing to still try and make it work despite everything that's happening... I know I stopped trying more then ounce. And while I don't regret my decisions, I know not everyone would make them."

"So" Philippe hesitantly began "what do you think I should do?"

"That is for you to decide and no one else. In matters like these, you should follow your own heart." She said with a quiet passion underlying her tone.

"Follow my heart" quietly mumbled Philippe as he repeated it to himself before continuing, " I like that, actually." He smiled.

"Well, then I'm glad I could help you, Philippe." She smiled back.

Ever since they had sat down the air had been slowly getting cooler and cooler and now, as time passed on, that cold air was starting to go trough the pair's clothes. It wasn't long until Ève found herself having small shivers every now and then, something that Philippe didn't fail to notice.

"Good grace, you're freezing!" he exclaimed as he began to remove his great coat, quickly but gently wrapping the Belgian nation in it once done, "There, that should do the trick." He smiled.

"My god!" Heartedly laughed Eve, "I can tell Arthur raised you, such a gentleman!"

And at that, Philippe took another bow, hat off and all, before speaking in a more then correct English accent, "Perish the thought, madam! I simply couldn't bear to see you cold as such, it just wouldn't be decent."

"Stop it, you! You're getting more adorable by the minute! And if I may, where did you learn to speak like that?"

Philippe cleared his throat before answering, cracking a smile as he did "That's something I'd be willing to talk over a cup of warm coffee back at your apartment."

"D'accord, but what about the champagne?" She nodded.

Philippe glanced nervously back at the basket it's content before looking back at Ève, "Yes, about that, I might need your help sneaking it back into Francis's private stash from which I stole it..."

"YOU WHAT!?" She exclaimed, more shocked rather then angry at the fact that Philippe had stolen the bottle.

"What!?" He protested, raising his hands in defense ," I have peculiar tastes!"

To which Ève replied by giving Philippe a gentle shove, "that's not the point, dummy."

Philippe, smirking, then grabbed hold of the basket and gently placed his free hand around Ève's shoulders and brought her closer to him as they both walked. Still smiling, he looked into her eyes, "Let's just go."

Matthieu sat at his desk in the room he and Philippe had taken for themselves in the Church the Canadian army had turned into a temporary head-quarters. As he read trough the many documents piling on his desk, many thoughts were occupying the dominion's mind; what to do with the degrading supply line, defense plans in case of a full-scale German counter-attack and most of important of all: what of Alfred, Arthur and Field Marshall Montgomery's grand scheme?

The two great-powers that were his "brother" and master had been among the first paratroopers to drop over the occupied Netherlands, despite protest from Matthieu and Philippe that a clearing of the Scheldt would be a much better short term plan as well as reports from the Dutch underground that a large amount of armor and elite units were in the area, and now that operation "Market Garden" was turning into the disaster all had feared, there was no sign of them anywhere.

Enough to cause Matthieu's headache and impatience to grow by each tick of the antique wooden clock that hung on the wall behind him.

And just as he finally finished reading his file, he simply let it drop and with a yawn, removed his glasses, pressed his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes with his palms. As he did so, the door opened, revealing a man dressed in an officer's uniform with the general's insignia shown in plain sight. It was Guy Simonds, Commander of the First Canadian army.

"Any news at all?" he asked as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Matthieu immediately stopped and put his glasses back on before raising his head to look at the approaching General, "None at all, sir," he said, his voice still carrying his tiredness, "It's making me quite nervous, to be honest. We might have to push into the Netherlands by ourselves if things don't get better and if the reports I've been reading all day long are any indication...I fear we're simply overstretched."

"Which brings me to why I am here now. Parliament has just made an important decision and I thought I should be the one to tell you." Said the General. In his hands was another file but it was in a cover that was reserved for communications from the government.

"Here," He continued, handing the file to Matthieu who, intrigued and slightly bothered that he had to do yet more reading, wasted no time in opening it and give it a quick read…and did not like what was written one bit.

"What in the..." he began, quietly pronouncing each word separately. "They're proposing, no, ordering, that conscription be extended to overseas service! And they didn't even ask me for my opinion at that! What the hell are they thinking over there!?" At that, Matthieu violently threw the damn document on his desk, making some of the other pieces of paper scatter and fly off.

"Well, Matthew, you've said it yourself…we're simply getting overstretched. With low recruitment at home and the casualties we're taking we'll have to take certain measures sooner rather then later."

Matthieu sighed wearily, "Yes, I understand that you and the government have responsibilities but I also have my own, more long term and crucial ones and right now they're colliding so tell them to sit on it until I give the okay."

Then, the general stepped closer to Matthieu, "Sir, if it's Philippe you're worried about, it might be a good idea to break it to him now rather then wait so he at least can get used to the facts, because it's going to have to happen, whether he likes it or not."

"I'll deal with my son the way I want, but your advice is well noted and it's precisely the reason why I don't want conscription to be enacted right now. I know for a fact that he'll understand if we really have no choice and it'll go much easier with the people at home. I think we can all agree that the last thing we need are conscription riots like we had during the last war."

It was then that the two noticed the noise going on outside. At first, both hadn't taken any attention to it, but all the while they were talking the commotion outside had grown steadily, bringing with it the sounds of truck engines and many hundreds of walking feet and the clinging of the gear that those walking had on their backs.

As the sound got closer and closer, Matthieu grabbed his coat from his chair and walked out of his "office" at a quick pace, closely followed by Simonds. As they both emerged from the church's front door, they found themselves in a tangle of Anglo-American soldiers, paratroopers by the looks of their gear and insignias, moving towards the HQ, some wounded or torn, all exhausted from the doomed endeavour they had been thrown in.

Standing out amongst the silent mass where soldiers: an American who had a crude bandage below the knee that was in dire need of changing, and a shorter Brit whom was busy helping his companion to walk. And as both of them walked straight for Matthieu, he couldn't help but smile.

Arthur and Alfred had made it out.

Matthieu quickly spun on his heels and faced the general, "Sir, get every ambulance and every crate of medical supplies you can find, steal them from someone else if need be and get help for these guys…they've been trough enough. And if you can, send someone to look for Philippe and bring him back here, I'll need to talk to him."

Simonds answered with a nod and went on his way just as Matthieu was walking towards the duo stumbling slowly and helped Arthur carry Alfred to Matthieu's office. As Matthieu lifted Alfred's arm to wrap it over his shoulders, Alfred gave him a gentle tug and a slight smile, "It's good to see you again, bro."

"Yeah, I know Al. It's great to see you too, both of you…I was worried sick. What the hell happened?" asked the Canadian.

"Get me inside and with a cup of coffee and I promise I'll explain everything." smiled Alfred.

And after a gentle pat on the back, Matthieu smiled back "Done deal."

"OOOOWWWW!"

The long, wailing complaint came screeching out of the American avatar's mouth like thunder scorching the sky. Laying on his back on one of Matthieu's office tables, Alfred couldn't really see as she worked… but to his great dismay, he certainly could feel the surgical instruments she was wielding digging into his knee, probing for shrapnel.

They soon found one, and denied of anesthetics as he was, it wasn't long for the American to make himself heard.

"You know…this would be a lot easier if you'd stop twitching." the Belgian nation spoke with a weary sigh.

"Yeah!? Well it'd be easier to stop if it weren't that painful!" Alfred practically screamed.

"Painful!? Try digging a crossbow bolt out of your thigh with a knife, that's painful!" she replied, annoyed.

"Ève, you're wasting your time. I had to go trough the same thing each time I had to give him a haircut." interjected Arthur, who soon returned to his conversation with the two Canadians who where sitting in front of him. "But I'm telling you, they've learned. They took what you two did in Ortona and what the Russians did in Stalingrad and they applied it on us. The cities were real death traps, with each building connected to the sewers so that each time we cleared a building and left they just took it right back. We never stood a chance, especially with those two up there." spoke the Englishman, describing what had happened in a steady tone to the two calmly receptive avatars, exchanging glances from time to time and a long one at the mention that not only Ludwig was there, but Gilbert also.

"So, what do you think, sir?" Philippe said after a long silence.

"I think that these two being there means that this war isn't over, not by a long shot. If they're there, then they're planning something…something big."

"That's what I think too, Matthieu, which is why we need Antwerp open as soon as possible." replied Arthur.

"Oh, so now he wants to go ahead with it!" scoffed Philippe as he suddenly stood up.

Matthieu glared up harshly at his province, something the young avatar didn't fail to notice, "Not now, Philippe!"

And at that, Philippe, irritated, walked towards the wall behind them and leaned against it in a thump loud enough for the two others near him to hear. The two carried on their conversation nevertheless.

"So, when can you leave?" asked the empire.

"I'd say tomorrow would be a good time, I can send out the orders now and have everything ready by morning." the dominion replied as he sank slowly in his seat.

"Splendid, then," replied Arthur as he got up on his feet, "I'm giving you command of some of the foreign units under my command: the Poles, the Dutch, and the Belgians." Arthur let his words trail off as he turned his head towards Ève, still dutifully tending to Alfred's knee, "This is an important responsibility, Matthieu, and I'm sure that you understand that I'm counting on you."

Matthieu, almost as if right on queue, got up from his seat and addressed Arthur a salute, "You can count on us, sir. We won't let you down."

Answering with a sharp nod, Arthur turned and walked out of the office, leaving the rest of the group behind. And as he walked, Matthieu couldn't help but feel Philippe's eyes on him and it wasn't long until the young, soft, French accented voice made itself heard.

"Still the good little soldier, huh?"

Matthieu turned towards Philippe and looked into his eyes as his own expression became more thoughtful by each spoken word, "It's just for show, Philippe. You saw him too, how he was not his usual self. How he didn't speak with the same authority that comes with being an empire. He just saw a lot of his men fight and die in a vicious situation. I think it's fair to say that he needs all the support he can get, and if little things like that help him get better then why not."

And as a small, compassionate smile appeared on Philippe's face, Matthieu knew his words had hit the mark, "Yeah, I guess you're right on that. Désoler for that outburst, too, I was out of place."

"Don't make a big deal out of it, bro." Philippe leaned slightly to his side to see, prompting Matthieu to turn around. There was Alfred, now sitting on the table with his knee visibly freshly bandaged up.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're right. That estuary should have been cleared weeks ago, instead I had to cave in to that crazy plan." Alfred marked a pause before continuing, "Don't worry about Arthur, I'll take care of him. You lot just focus on what you have to do and get back here safely, I'd rather not have to mount a rescue with this leg!" He chuckled as he rolled down his pant's sleeve before slowly and carefully getting back on his feet, helped by Ève in doing so.

"Forget about us and just take care of yourself," smiled Eve as she continued, "if it starts to bleed again, come and see me."

Alfred answered with a loud scoff that sounded more like a laugh, "I'd rather get the blacksmith!" Then, as he walked to the door and opened it, Alfred turned around one last time, "I'm going to see Arthur, and Math? Remember what I said: be safe out there." He didn't wait for a reply, simply walked through and closed the door behind him.

"Well, I guess that leaves us then," smiled Matthieu, " look, it's been a long day already so why don't the two of you use the rest of it for some together time."

Philippe then looked at Matthieu with a surprised expression, "Huh? What are you talking about, P'pa?"

"Philippe, I might need glasses but that doesn't mean that I'm blind, I can see how you look at each other. So I'm telling you, go have some fun. I can manage things up here." Then, as Philippe's expression turned to a full smile, Matthieu continued, "Well? What are you waiting for? Allez!" Gesturing his arms as if to shoo away the two remaining nations from his office, although his warm and friendly smile countered the effect.

Nevertheless, the duo soon took off themselves, leaving Matthieu to sink back into his comfortable seat. As soon as he did so, he took a sheet of paper and began to write on it his orders for mobilization. Soon after, he thought, he'd give it to a runner who would take it to the general's quarter's and leave to him all the trouble while he took a well deserved rest with a warm meal. Maybe he'd even take a tour of the city before going to sleep.

Because he damn well knew that if the reports from the Scheldt were accurate, he'd need all the rest, sleep and tranquility he could get.

Ève sat on her bed, a rifle in her hands as she inspected the weapon for any signs of dirt or broken pieces. A British uniform, complete with ammo belts and a helmet, laid at her side as she diligently worked on her weapon.

The turning of the door knob behind her was almost hidden by the repeated quick loading and firing of her empty Lee-Enfield. It wasn't long until Philippe's curious face appeared in the small crack.

A rapid survey of the room was enough to see that military gear was everywhere: a semi-automatic handgun on the drawers, stripper clips on the bed table and so on. As he looked, Philippe couldn't resist the urge to ask the obvious "Ève, what are you doing?" he asked at length.

"What does it look like?" she answered, not turning towards Philippe but instead going to grab her handgun before continuing, "You heard what Arthur said, if the Belgian army is going with you, then I'm coming, too."

As if all his shyness had at once disappeared, Philippe practically bounced inside the room, "Ève, that's insane! You barely got out of German custody and you're going to throw yourself back out there!?" He then began to walk to the edge of the bed before sitting down, his back nearly touching hers.

"Philippe," she began, with her voice rising steadily to a firm tone, "My Brother is still out there. I HAVE to help him!"

Philippe sighed. "Look, I understand that, but think about it: we're clearing the Scheldt, after that it's only a matter of months before we're in Amsterdam. I think you're of better use here, making things like they used to be again."

"What if it was Matthieu out there?"

"What? Leave P'pa out of this!"

"Why?" she asked, undisturbed by the defensive protest. She marked a pause before continuing. "Ask yourself what you would do if Matthieu was trapped out there. What did you do?"

Philippe tensed up, he knew what she was referring to all too well. The sensations came back to him as easily as the images: bodies littered about the trench, the stench from the urine soaked rag tied over his nose and mouth to ward off the gas that filled the air around him. As he remembered, he leaned backwards, eventually pressing his back against Ève's in such a manner that his head rested on her's as well.

Gently caressing her hand, he cleared his throat. "If it were P'pa out there, I'd make sure to pack enough bullets to fight my way into hell and back."

Ève was now caressing his hand in a soothing manner, not speaking a word as she felt the effects it had on him. His muscles became more relaxed and he even began rubbing his head against her's slightly and she was sure he had a timid smile as he did so.

Both stayed as such for a small moment, and she was the one who moved the first. She turned her body around completely so that her knees were now resting where she had sit, and, quickly as she did so, she wrapped her arms around Philippe's neck so that his head came resting on her chest. "Philippe, I know you love me and that's making you insecure," she spoke, her tone almost down to a hush, "But all you need to know is that I love you and that I can take care of myself." At that point, she tightened her hold on him, hugging him whilst looking down just as he raised hid head to look at her. "Trust me."

Philippe raised a hand to tenderly grab hold of one of hers, all the while smiling. "Okay, but I have three conditions." He replied, rubbing the top of her hand with his thumb. "First of all, I need you to follow orders." He continued.

"That would be a given, non?" She retorted.

"Secondly: if we decide to send you home, you go home."

"I…I understand." she replied after a badly contained sigh. "So, what's the last one?" she asked.

At that moment, Philippe pushed himself up and kissed her, running a hand through her hair while the other went to her back as she did the same. The kiss lasted but a moment, and as Philippe pulled back, he smiled. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist."

"Oh, I didn't mind." she replied, giving Philippe a gentle shove with her shoulder.

Philippe smiled back, but it soon died when he took a look at the clock. "It's late," he wearily said, "I guess it's time for us to sleep, huh?" He continued before getting off the bed and towards the door he had come from, slowly opening it wide and stopping there, holding the door with his hand as he turned around to give Ève one last look. As he did, he blew her a kiss. "Ciao, Bella."

"Ciao, Bello." she replied, blowing him a kiss of her own.

The sun hadn't completely risen yet but the trucks and armored troop carriers were lined up perfectly, their headlights piercing trough the low-hanging morning mist as the soldiers silently waited to climb aboard in good order.

Matthieu watched has he laid against the lead truck. Before long, Ève and Philippe walked up to him, all geared up for combat.

"Are you both ready?" he asked, to which both nodded sharply.

Matthieu then walked to the driver's side and opened the door, turning to his men behind. "Mount up!" he shouted and the order was carried by the various NCO's in the army as it complied. Ève and Philippe did too, taking place in the front and back. Once everything was in order, Matthieu peaked his head out of the window to look back at the convoy, his thoughts going to the men in it, for he was bound to lose many of them. With a sigh, he sat back down.

"Let's go, then."

Author's notes.

Hello everyone! First of all, this story connects a lot to my previous collab Alea iacta est, so in case you haven't read it, here's a link to the first part [link]

Now, before we begin on the historical notes and translations, I have this to say. This was to be the secound collaboration between myself and Kitaklaw (A fellow writer whom deactivated her account), but, as life would have it... Well. So, has agreed to try and take up the duties of the secound part. However, due to reasons which are her own, she might not be able to do so, or at least not emmidiatly.

Also, if you're getting GerIta feels at the start... It's because I was reading Auf Wiedersehen Sweatheart by George Duvalier at the time I started writting...

Now, without further dragging on, I give yee... The notes!

After the success of the Italian campaign in 1943, the allies landed in Normandy and eventually drove off the Germans in the area. However, with the advance going as fast as it was combined with the fact that the germans had either destroyed, desabled, or fortified every port big enough to service the supply fleets (for exemple, Dunkirk, the port famous for being the site of operation Dynamo, the british evacuation of France in 1940, would remain in German hands until their surrender), the supply problems threatened the war effort itself. Due to this, the British/Canadian forces began a mad drive along the eastern coast, destroying and capturing many of the coastal batteries the Germans had built for their atlantic wall, the main goal was the capture of Antwerp... The biggest port of all europe. By a twist of fate, even in allied hands, Antwerp was useless. The Scheldt estuary was mined and guarded by heavy guns in Breskens and on Walcheren island. Soon enough, plans were made to push into those regions and open the port to traffic.

However, as this was happening, Montgomery drafted a plan to end the war by a drasticly short timetable: Market Garden. The operation called for an airborn assault to secure bridges and positions along the rhine in the Netherlands to allow an assault by the british 30th corps. If successfull, the operation would open a direct door to Berlin and bypass the formidable siegfried line. Even if moderatly successfull, it would net the allies the ports or Rotterdamn and Amsterdam, two of the largest in europe. Making a Scheldt offensive useless.

At the same time, the Germans were marshalling a new army in the area, made up of marines, sailors, lufftwaffen ground troops and young conscripts... As well as Dutch and Belgian mechanized SS divisions backed up by an armored SS division.

Despite repeated reports by the dutch underground resitance of this, as well as Patton's own distrust of the plan (he advocated that HIS advance trough the border forts was a better idea and more worthy of supplies...), high command went along with it, with the results we know. 10.000 paratroopers were killed or captured and 30th corp never made it far enough.

This left the allies in a desparate situation, with all available supplies having being put into Market garden, opening Antwerp was now the absolute priority. The task fell on the 1st Canadian army, under temporary command of polish, Dutch and Belgian forces, as well as (eventually) an american division and Royal marines.

This was just my small summary of what happened up to this point, if you want a detailed account, here's the source I used for this story... You will find it most descriptive: [link]

Matthieu's fears over conscription come from what it did to the contry, and what it keeps on doing, in WW1. It tore a rift between Anglo and French Canadians as well as provoke an actuall riot in Quebec city which was put down in blood by the army. It's also the source of much of the bitterness towards Matthieu and Arthur Philippe feels.

Also, Gilbert's remarcks at the start about Italy comes from Otto Von Bismarck.

Now, on to the translations! (if you have any questions or need more information, ask in a comment and I shall answer.)

Brüder: Brother.

Fallshirmjägers: Paratroopers.

Bien sûr, ma chère: Of course, my dear.

Ciao, Bello/Ciao Bella: Essentially, Ciao is goodbye, with the Bella/Bello being feminine and masculine forms of the same word: Beautifull.

Weer Vrij: Dutch for "free again"

I don't own Hetalia, but I own all OC's