Despite being fortified between both the Pacific and the Atlantic oceans, the sea had never particularly been America's thing. That had always been England's cup of tea, so to speak. Sure, the U.S.A. had a navy, proud and growing, but it was with his ground troops and fly boys that Alfred Jones, America himself, felt most at home. The sure and steady footing of the earth beneath one's boots, or the freedom of the skies, that was the way to go. All of this wobbling back and forth on the water until you were ready to puke shit, that was for the birds. Or fish, in this case, he guessed.
Al's mild sea sickness was soon forgotten, though, as the familiar sounds of explosions filled the air.
Accepting that his naval officers probably knew more about what to do on a water front battle then he, himself personally, did, America swallowed his pride and allowed them to shout out the orders as he made himself helpful anyway he could.
The battle itself was a swift victory, (because the U.S.A. rocked,) and the teenage nation was on his way to the captain for farther orders when they came across the first group of rescued survivors. After the third or fourth group was pulled aboard with no sign of the English avatar himself, America grew concerned enough to start asking questions, and he was not happy with the answers he received.
By the time he knew what was going on, and was able to get to the sinking ship with farther rescue crews, the boat was already on it's way down to the ocean floor, leaving the American sailors little time to evacuate anyone left alive.
When one of the sailors they found over there shook his head at Alfred's rushed questioning, saying that Captain Kirkland was lost down below, out of reach, he was shoved aside by the young nation who was determined to prove the man wrong.
Minutes later, the heavy metal doors below deck were forced open, one by one, by the super power.
The water rushed pass Alfred's feet as he searched, nearly throwing him off balance, and making it difficult to move through the water logged rooms, but the sandy blond persisted, gripping the door frames and walls as needed, and forcing himself to stay up right as he continued forward, calling out for his comrade as he went, until he came upon a heavily damaged area.
The American's spirits sunk as he looked around and saw the mangled metal walls, knowing that if England wasn't in this room, then there was no possible way for him to go any farther in to save him, not with this kind of destruction blocking his path. "Hey! Anyone in here?" Al yelled above the sound of quickly flowing water, just as he had the the previous rooms, with no luck, and waddled his way in deeper, hoping for the best.
Farther in, the water that sprayed into Arthur's eyes burned, and it choked him when it got into his mouth, but the British nation continued to struggle against the large sheet of metal pinning him in place as the sea water climbed around him. A clawing sense of panic began to grow in his gut but he growled, refusing to succumb to that feeling as long as he could help it.
It grew more difficult to do so with every second that passed, making him feel like a caged animal as the water reached his waist, his chest, and eventually his shoulders...
The water just kept climbing and climbing.
The sense of dread that he felt overwhelmed any sense of pain, and it gave him a surge of adrenaline. Arthur then managed to shift the metal just enough to be able to pull himself a bit further out of the water, but after that, he made no more progress... and the water just kept on climbing, the torrent rushing in and drowning out his thoughts.
For a moment, England thought that he was going crazy. He could have sworn that he heard something... and when a voice called out, a familiar voice at that, Arthur saw a ray of hope even as the water reached his neck. "Yes!" He answered as loud as he could, his voice barely restraining the sense of fear that had finally taken over, "I'm over here!"
The water was now Arthur's his chin, but he tried his best to reach up and wave his free hand so that he would be seen.
Alfred was surprised at the relief he felt when he heard the familiar voice of his former 'guardian' over the sound of water, and pushed the feeling away as normal concern that anyone would feel for an ally in need.
"Keep yelling, would ya!?" The younger nation commanded a few seconds later, grunting and huffing as he tried to shove a piece of broken haul out of the way, heading toward where he thought he heard England shouting from.
"Easier said than done," England had mumbled, trying to keep up his string of shouts to let the American hone in on his position. The lack of leverage, as well as the wet, slippery, smooth surfaces, had made it take much longer then America had liked, before he had finally manage to spot the familiar, uniform clad form in front of him, sputtering. Thankfully, he had made it to him just as he was beginning to really have issues keeping his head above the water.
"You all right?' Al asked out of reflex as he dropped to his knees beside the older nation, leaning down to try and study England's trapped leg. "It's fucked up, man. Your leg, I mean. I don't think you'll lose it or nothin', but..." Alfred muttered, answering his own question. Reaching up to take his glasses off, the American solider pocketed them so that they wouldn't get lost, and wiped the water from his eyes.
England breathed out under his breath, "Oh, just peachy."
Arthur was already pale by that point, but with the news of his leg, (which upon further thought, he realized that he could no longer feel,) he only seemed grow whiter. The injury was going to make it even more of a chore to get out of the sinking ship.
Hunching lower for a better view, America decided on what to do and grabbed the slab of metal, gripping it tight enough that his fingers left indents. "Brace yourself, cause moving this is probably gonna hurt like a bitch." He warned, and with a grunt of effort, the heavy slab was slowly bent up and away from Arthur's injured leg, letting a rush of red blood color the water as the man was freed.
Sure enough, a wave of pain did penetrate through his body, and England bit back a cry that was almost mottled out by the wave of blackness that temporarily fogged his vision. Somehow, despite the agony, he managed to pull himself further out from under the metal.
Taking a few deep breaths, Arthur looked down at his damaged limb. He had seen and probably had also experienced far worse before, but the main difference between then and now, was the possibility of drowning. "Bloody hell..." The Brit gritted out, chewing on his lip for a moment.
"Thanks," England finally said, something he probably hadn't said to Alfred in ages, even after the first world war. Not that he wouldn't have before, had America stuck around long enough for him to do so... but he didn't really have time to start thinking about that right then, not when a particularly strong surge of water started to raise the level of sea in the room at a far more alarming rate, and he let out a yelp of alarm at the observation.
Alfred took off his uniform jacket, tearing the sleeve off with a quick jerk. "Don't sweat it." He replied absently, concentrating on tying the strip of cloth around Arthur's leg to limit the bleeding.
"Also, this is... probably a bad time to mention this," England then continued, his voice trembling, "But those rumors about me and swimming? Well, they're unfortunately true."
America's actions paused for half a second at the sudden confession. "Seriously?" He asked, shaking his head briefly before getting back to work, tightening the knot and moving on to England's other leg.
Judging the second limb in good enough condition to leave alone for the time being, the sandy blond allowed himself a moment to to give the captain an aspirated look. "A pirate that can't swim? That's just lame. Totally." The teen informed the former empire bluntly as he stood up.
Running a hand through his wet hair, America glance over his shoulder towards the exit as he spoke, silently trying to judge the depth of the water that they'd be heading through soon. "Well, that's all right." He went on, ignoring whatever England might have had to say in responds to that insult, "I'm a hero, so I'll just have to make up for your limey lameness with my star spangled awesomeness!" America stated and turned back around to face England with a bright, photogenic grin, and two thumbs up.
Bending low, the American then grabbed the injured Brit's arm and propped it over his shoulder, helping the older man to his feet. The action was rougher then Alfred liked, since he Arthur was injured, but he was realistic enough to realize, (and he was sure that Arthur was too,) that they didn't exactly have the time for him to be gentle. "Come on, this'll be a piece of cake... it's not like these boats are THAT big or anything..." He joked, knowing perfectly well exactly how large these warship really were, and half dragged Arthur forward, through the nearly chest deep water, towards their escape.