Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Talking to the Enemy

Chapter 2

My men were following me. The night was calm; we galloped through conquered grounds without any problems. We should have been hearing the sound of flowing water by then. Instead, we found ourselves on an Alpine meadow. Well, not exactly a meadow. There was nothing green there, just a vast plain, thigh-high snow, in the middle of nowhere. The 'meadow' was slightly hilly. There had to be a frozen lake somewhere. The wind got stronger. It started to blow downhill. We were lucky though, and we arrived at our destination right on time, but at the expense of our horses.

When morning came, I was ready to fulfill my order. I waited in my hideout under an overhang formed out of frozen snow. I gave the orders to my recon team to scavenge through the ramparts. However, I remained crouching in my position, monitoring the surroundings with my eagle eyes.

Seconds before the sunrise, I hear screams; the hill is shaking like in an earthquake. The dawn comes, I'm not sure if it is a good thing or a bad one. If I can see them, they could spot me. Roderick, Gilbert's adjutant, shouts something towards me. Suddenly, all noises die down. The rumble is no more, only a single gun-shot, nothing else. Before Roderick can repeat what he was yelling, an iron bullet shoots through his forehead, right between his eyes and blows his cortex apart. Another soldier standing behind him is smeared by the waste of blood and brain.

The battle goes on; nothing has changed, except for one thing. Roderick falls down to his knees; his dead eyes are still fixed on me, red from his own blood running down his face freely. I let go of my gun and rush to him.

A grenade explosion threw me two meters away like a rag-doll. Smoke and grit were stinging in my eyes, my vision blurred, and I couldn't breathe properly.

A hand attacks me from behind, deviously; I grab it and throw the lithe owner of that hand over my shoulders. I withdraw my trench knife and stab – one time – two times – three times where the spleen should be, just like the drill instructor taught me. I hiss quietly and grab the Italian by the neck. He is so close. A gurgling whisper comes out of his strangulated throat. I let him go.

Why am I doing this?

Any other day I would slice him open. Or torture him to tell me the truth…

What truth?

I don't know really.

The enemy soldier is a medium high, brown-haired man. The sun rises finally; the golden rays splice around his body and blind me for a moment. Despite lying here on the foothill, he casts his shadow upon me, shrouds me and clouds the sun, so it doesn't shine into my eyes anymore.

But it isn't the sun that blinds me, it's something else, something I'm not familiar with, something beautiful, pure, untainted and innocent, a young man, but fragile and vulnerable. His eyes… those beautiful brown eyes… no, not brown… amber… amber-brown, yes, that's it. Amber is a magnificent color, my favorite actually.

... I remembered, ha.

Why does it occur to me just now? Maybe because I haven't thought about it. Is it a good thought or a bad one? I have to ask him… later. Somehow I get the feeling that I am allowed to and that he'll answer me. I don't want this to be the question I should have asked, but I didn't.

Was it essential? For me, it was; for my country? Hardly... did it matter? Back then, I didn't know. I'd gotten lost in his scared eyes. Maybe, maybe it did matter; I was Germany, after all.

My wistful gaze didn't betray me; it hid my personal inner battle thoroughly. In my mind, I returned to my childhood. Panic had stricken me. I hadn't felt like that since I was eight and the old bald baker with Kaiser Wilhelm's mustache found out that I was stealing his bread. On a wooden bridge, he caught up with me; he beat me up badly and threw me into the river. I could have drowned, I should have in fact. I desired it. But the natural instinct prevented me from being stupid and I swam to the bank, and I went home.

I crouch here today, neither a bridge nor a wild river is anywhere to be found, but strangely, the panic is jolting with me like during the old days.

„Parli Italiano?English?"

I hear his voice, low and peaceful.

„Yes, I do speak English."

„Te… ah, tell me… what is… easier? To… sur… surrender… or to lose?"

I spot a white sheet behind his belt. I want to scream and cry at the same time. Instead I reply: „Surrender."

„So… you see," he raises the corners of his lips, „that's… why… this white… fl… flag," the Italian looks at that piece of cloth on his knees, it starts to draw red. „This must end… as soon… hah," he coughs out some blood. „Look… around you, German. What… do you see?"

I lifted my eyes and I saw...

Hundreds of dead bodies surround me, the lifeless shapes of my men and the Italians. Stripes of green and blue and red on the white snow, screams of our enemies and hatred and gore and fire. It is filth. I fight the nausea starting in my abdomen and shoving up my throat.

A smaller hand than mine touches my chest where my heart should be and then it travels up to my left cheek.

„German," he whispers, the smile never waning from his lips.

I embrace the Italian in my arms.

Sounds of the fading battle protrude into the cave sporadically. It's a rough day, today. But it could be much more difficult without finding this place. If the battle wouldn't be the death of me, the snow storm would. I have spent my blanket on the enemy soldier. So the worst part comes when I patch him up and lie down to the rocky ground with nothing underneath my body that could make it more comfortable for my hurting muscles and bones. The Italian tries to fall asleep and I should do the same.

I can imagine how it must feel like to be cornered…

…with no friends around you, no relatives…

…only the enemy.

What are you doing here in this war, in this world?

„Thank you," the Italian says.

„I beg your pardon?"

„Thank you," he repeats and smiles, shyly, gently.

„Don't mention it… Ever." I bark out coldly. My feet react faster than my brain. I stand up and hurry away.

Where?

To the furthest and darkest corner of the cave, before he…

…what? Starts to speak again? I fear that voice and long to hear the sound of it.

The graceful Italian accent could be heard between those rough English tones, the singing sound of his voice has thumped against my heart more than a hand grenade...

… landing in front of the cave entrance. It brings me back to reality. The blast is breath-taking. The stalagmites shake in their roots. The echo resonates long after the ball of fire disintegrates into the air. I threw myself to the side. I should be more careful, this one was close.

Another body lands next to me in a second. A pair of amber-brown eyes is watching every move I make.

Is he afraid?

Is he a coward?

I give it a thought and immediately focus back on the action. A ground-shaking rumble penetrates from outside, reverberates across the cave's walls and hits my ear drums. Someone blew up that fucking hill. Someone else has just paid the highest price. I hope it was the enemy…

Again, our eyes meet. I exhale and wipe sweat off my forehead.

Why am I still here? Is it because I'm afraid? Or because of that small trembling body that nestles beside mine? I should be outside, fighting. Two armies engage each other in a battle that will make history. I have to get out there before one or the other orders the retreat. I shake my head and shove the Italian off.

„Get yourself together, you weakling!" I shout at the shivering shape in the dirt.

God, you're so impossible! Why are you in this war when you shake like a leaf in the breeze? You could die…

You could die...

…so what? People die, deal with it. Why should one more matter? I shake my head once twice… This is not the moment. I take a look at my map. Maybe I'll find a way out of this hell hole. But I can't see shit in this darkness. Oh, I'd kill for a kerosene-lamp.

„It'll be alright," there comes a whisper, out of the dark.

I wake up from the lethargy. I'm startled, even frightened when a hand is placed on my shoulder, gently.

„You're a good commander, German."

Bullshit, if I had an army, I would give orders and be a good commander. Now I'm so scared that I could leap over this fucking hill.

„Easy, it's me, Italy."

„Italy?"

„Yes, if you're Germany, then I am Italy."

How hilarious!

„It's okay, we'll be saved," he assures me and disperses my confused thoughts.

„How can you be so sure?"

„I know… I know many things."

„Who the fuck are you?"

„My name is Feliciano… I am Italy."

I was puzzled. But I'd lie if I told you that I wasn't intrigued… a little bit at least.

„So, are you not going to ask me?"

„Ask you what?" I shrug.

„Anything you want," Feliciano suggests, „straight from your heart."

„What's your favorite color?"

„Blue, yours?"

„Amber."

„Why amber?"

„Because I see it in your eyes."

It was easy and deliberating. I felt natural, not embarrassed because I was asking stupid questions and gave away even more stupid answers.

With nothing to lose, nothing to prove, we talked for hours. The fatigue, the restlessness, the dirt all around us... everything vanished; only we remained, me and him, whispering in the dark.

To be continued... one last time.

Bavaria

Author's notes: Thank you Schauspielerinnen for editing, and for your help with Ludwig's character :p