Time was ticking. By now the Tupolevs would be on a course to Hafnarfjördur. Iceland spun to face the people, about to warn them of the oncoming danger. But he was too late. Within a matter of seconds, there was a loud roar as planes flew above them, dumping out heavy explosives. Iceland's violet eyes went cold, his face pale, and his lips trembling, frozen in place. It was only when a person ran past him, banging their shoulder against his did he snap out of it. The familiar screech sent memories of a few minutes ago back in Keflavik back to him. There was a large explosion, followed by violent shock-waves and vicious fires. Iceland sat up again as he heard the shop and car alarms screeching. People around him lay, faces down on the concrete, heavily bleeding, and worst of all, not breathing. Iceland stood up, ignoring the blood leaking from his own body and ran up the hills near-by. He couldn't handle seeing that. It brought back memories of when Norway would come home from invading Britain or someone when Iceland was just a small child with a loud-mouthed piffling on his shoulder. He scrambled up the hill as fast as he could, not wanting to risk coming face to face with Russia. Above him, MiG's flew at low altitude. He pressed his body into the ground as the land was quite barren, and there wasn't much shrubbery to hide him. Once they were out of range, Iceland stood again and sprinted until he found a ditch. He collapsed into the ditch, lying on his back, breathing heavily. Slowly, he felt more pain creeping over his body. When he lifted his arm to his face, he saw a deep wound, open out in his skin. He winced before realizing, these were the wounds of his own people. Damn it Russia. He slowly began to feel the hot, salty liquid exit through his eyes and make a long journey down his cheeks. Where was he supposed to go? What was he supposed to do? It all was so vague to him. He had never been taught any of this stuff. He still didn't even know why Russia was attacking in the first place. He had nothing to give Russia. Surely it couldn't be the whole 'become one with me' story again. Iceland closed his eyes, hoping to catch at least a few moments of sleep. But how can you sleep with the sound of alarms going on in the town below, planes roaring in the distance, and the sound of his peoples cry for help.
Once the carrier docked in the harbor, Russia marched off the ship and onto the land made from a series of volcanic eruptions centuries ago. Russia was very amused by the bodies of Icelanders sprawled across the destroyed town. Now all he had to do was find the small, white haired representative of this country and make him suffer as he had suffered. He could already hear Iceland's screams in his head, causing him to smirk at the thought. He proceeded towards a jeep that had been unloaded of the carrier and he got into the front passenger side. The driver drove off and up a hill, in search of the Icelander. A MiG had spotted him running across the hillside. Now all Russia had to do was catch him.
Iceland had been walking over the hillside all night. His muscles were crying out in pain and he just wanted to fall asleep. He knew that his house wasn't too far from here. If he got there, he may be able to get better contact with other nations. He began coughing, feeling weaker by the minute. The horizon was a faded orange turning into a light grey-blue shade. He could still hear the alarms in Hafnarfjördur and the planes heading towards Reykjavik. That couldn't be good. He knew he had to move, and fast. Quickly he gathered all the strength he could possibly find and ran. He had to get to his house and contact someone as he had lost signal on his cell. His people were dying. That was just unacceptable. After what seemed like hours, and after pushing himself past what felt like his limit, his small house came into view. He trudged onto the front lawn and fumbled with the keys in the lock. Once inside the house, he walked over to the phone, dialing England. There was a long pause before he picked up the phone.
"Hello, Arthur Kirkland here" He spoke formally, in his usual accent. Iceland cleared his throat before answering.
"E-England! Um...I don't know how to say this but uh...do you think you could send me some military back up?" He asked. This was embarrassing asking his enemy of the Cod Wars this.
"Oh now you want my help. Unlike in WWII eh?" He joked. Iceland gritted his teeth. He knew that England was going to bring up that damn operation again.
"Uh...yes please..." Iceland said, not showing any negative emotions in the tone of his voice. If he got on England's bad side, Iceland may have to fight this on his own.
"Hmmm...Okay, since you are my neighbour and you haven't caused TOO much trouble, I'll be there within a few minutes. In truth, I'm on my way there as we speak" England said, snickering down the other line. Iceland scowled furiously. He went and did that embarrassing call for nothing! He hung up and placed the phone back in its electronic cradle before walking into the kitchen to boil the jug for a coffee. He went to the back of his house and searched for anything the may come in handy like a flashlight or a weapon of some sort. He began to clean out the wounds that had opened up on his body as the wounds had stopped appearing for a few hours now.
America had already jumped out of the plane and packed his parachute a little over 5 minutes ago. He was now on his way to Iceland's house to begin operation 'Get rid of commie and replace with hero'. Long operation code name I know, but this was America we were talking about. He would just nickname it GRCRH. After a while, America met up with England, not too far from Iceland's house. Just after they had consulted with one another about attack moves and such, the noise of a jeep coming over the hill was heard. They flung themselves into the ground to see a Russian jeep drive towards the Icelander's house.
"Bloody hell!" England quietly cursed. Both America and England went pale-faced, hoping that that vehicle wouldn't stop at the Icelander's house. They began sprinting towards the house as fast as they could, trying to keep out of the Russians sight as best as possible.
The jug in house finished boiling and Iceland poured the hot water into his navy blue mug. He stirred the coffee around as the house felt strange. Everything seemed so still and silent and the atmosphere felt icy. Just as Iceland turned around, he felt a large hand pressing his back sharply against the steel bench top. Iceland winced and focused on the face. Big nose, violet eyes; colder than his own. It was already obvious who it was. Iceland's expression was a total look of fear which caused the large Russian to smirk.
"Privet my sunflower" He said, trying to sound as innocent as ever. Iceland swallowed as Russia picked him up by the collar and threw him as though he was lightweight; which he was, into the wall. Iceland's back hit the wall hard. He felt more pain sink into his body and the blood fall from the back of his head. There was loud gunshots coming from Iceland's stable and the shrieks of hurt, frightened, and dying, horses. Iceland's eyes shot open and he stood, protective of the magnificent creatures. To him they were more than just pets or whatever, they were a magical being that gave us that image of magic and freedom. They were the guardians of the future. He leaped towards Russia, placing his hands on his large shoulders and pushing him into the wall. That made the Russian giggle. He threw Iceland to the doorway before dragging him further into the house by his leg. Iceland struggled and demanded to be let go, but the Russian did not listen. Before Iceland knew it, he was thrown onto his bed, with the tall Russian approaching him.