The End of Innocence

A Hetalia story.

Chapter Warning: I am warning you now, from this point on their will be heavy reference to the Nazi ideology, their victims, the Holocaust, and various other occurrences in World War 2. While this is following a Nazi's point of view, the story is NOT BY ANY MEANS supporting Adolf Hitler or the Nazism pursuit he created. This story is not meant to give importance too, campaign for, or teach the philosophy of the Nazis in a positive light. My condolences are sent out to the victims of this hideous war.

IF YOU DO NOT LIKE NAZISM OR SUPPORT IT IN ANYWAY, DO NOT READ FURTHER. You have been thoroughly warned.

Chapter Two: The Year Was 1939

The year was 1939.

It was a hideous year.

The Polish skies were a constant battle waged in the heavens, casting fiery orange flames across the country side. Hideous swirls of ash circulated through the air, catching all the sunlight from reaching the ground. Easily, the once lush plains died off, succumbing to the darkness and the raging fires gnawing at the liveliness of the atmosphere. The dead ground was nothing more than one giant hole, dug in order to accompany the masses of bodies piling up. The clouded air reeked with their decay, gagging nearby residencies with such a horrendous stench. Many unevacuated towns went up in flames, raising the body count even further. What soldiers could be spared were shipped off to the eastern fronts in order to protect against another rumored invasion. These efforts would later prove to be worthless.

In this ugly distorted world that used to be native Poland, orphans ran ramped, their mothers and fathers murdered before their naïve eyes. Widows cried out for dead husbands and mothers mourned the impending death of their sons. The government was just as disarrayed as the sky, leading to many pointless meeting. There was nothing to be done after all. An invasion circulated through their defenses, assaulting their northern, their southern, and their western front. All there was left to do was protect the last remaining front from assault. That was the mind set before the Russians came of course.

The few survivors, those clever enough to hide underground for the duration of the war later recounted that they have never seen the ground stained as brightly as it did. The land could hardly be considered an isolated fragment of Poland now. The skies were too odd of a color, a mixture of a ghastly orange and a brittle slate that dissolved the most powerful rays from the sun. The coarse fibers of the grass were dyed a strange ruby color that offset the equally strange sky, making it appear as if the war had moved from the heavens to involve the land as well. So many bodies lay sprawled out on the ground, to the point that survivors could see the vultures overhead more frequently than the native birds. Maggots became a terrible problem. They were everywhere, whether in a dead body or not. They added a sickly ivory color to the scarlet ground, making Poland appear more and more as a painting done by an abstract artist.

For some people, 1939 was the beginning of the end.

For others, it was a whole new beginning altogether. It was a chance to showcase honor and pride for a country forever remembered, although it only began its infamy in 1939.

Germany.

The strange painting that was now Poland can be viewed with lines of soldiers marching all over the place, running their trains through the stations to transport the shivering and starving survivors they rounded up. They went around kicking over dead bodies, looking for a spare pistol tucked in someone's waistband or a few dollars in another's purse. They raided homes, whether occupied or not, and took everything the people had. At their hands, as if they were the artists behind the painting, they turned the country side red and the sky an ugly mixture. They arranged for it to appear that way, for their evil intentions dictated the absolute destruction of Polish land.

The units of soldiers sent out on their search and destroy missions varied in age and ability, constructing very interesting groups of people forced to work together. One unit in particular was made of the younger recruits, ranging from a ripe age of 16 to 26. Strangely enough, their most experienced member was only 19; despite this, he was a veteran of the First World War, which hardly made any sense. He had the metals to prove it, and the build to back up the claim, but nevertheless two and two did not go together. That unit was so strangled by the burden of war that they didn't dare to question it.

They were gagging on their own breaths by now, unable to distinguish bodies from fire anymore. Their pale faces were marred heavily by the soot, making one person look like the next. The only identifiable traits left visible were the pale blue eyes of German blood, the master race. Some were darker than others, shadowed by grief and fear, while others glistened with the pure ecstatic rush they received from participating in such a brutal mass murder. Most of them were children in a soldier's uniform, having run away from home in order to become a hero.

All but one.

Out of the twelve members of the German squad, only one did not possess the innocence his comrades had when it came to war. Unbeknownst to the rest, the acclaimed nineteen year old had even more experience than Hitler, making him a force to be reckoned with in a military situation. Ever since he was a small boy, when bows and arrows and swords were the source of defense, he led the German nations into battles despite being so little at the time. He was a country among mortals, walking and breathing for the people he was trying to protect on that Polish battlefield. He did not agree with the plan.

But he was the one that created it.

Adolf had breathed down his neck, demanding more and more from the country. He resorted to threats that the man had to accept. If he did not create a full proof strategy, Hitler would nevertheless send his people blindly into a war they could not win. So, in order to defend the innocence remaining in his people, he devised an idea that called for only bomb raids.

Hitler threw it out.

He constructed a plan to starve the Polish from their land and into a military ambush positioned around their border.

Hitler rejected it.

He tried air plane raids and destroyers on the ocean fronts, only for those ideas to be shot down too. Hitler would not accept anything that did not include an on foot approach. Planes and ships could be added into the plan, but Germany's military absolutely had to strike, and slaughter the majority of the Polish people in order to get their point across that the Third Reich was not to be messed with. No matter how hard he tried, he could not protect the young soldier's innocence and as a result, sent thousands of troops into Poland to begin the most massive genocide recorded in history. At the time however, they would never realize the extent their war would take them.

Right now though, a clear victory was still on the distant orange horizon, yet to be seen by the ragtag unit marching up the terrain. A recent rain storm left the ground soggy, soaking through their leather boots to a point where their toes grew numb when they stopped to rest. Lead by the nineteen year old military genius, the others trudged behind him wearily, totting heavy bags and weapons that weighed down their shoulders like the silence surrounding them. Sloshing through the mud, on any dreadful day in that country, was just another scare lurking around the corner. Except for maybe two of the loyalist Nazis, the rest of the group waited hopefully for an honorable discharge that never came.

That letter would be sent to their families, along with their death certificate and an Iron Cross. Compensation for giving their life for a less than honorable cause.

"Where are we even going Beilschmidt?" The youngest trooper at 16, Alois asked, formalities all but lost on him.

The commanding officer hardly spared a glance, "Bielsk Podlaski."

"Why's that?" Eighteen year old Sven followed, his mouth nearly bubbling with all the questions he had.

"Hitler wants us to join for the attack. It's a Jewish city after all."

The caravan of soldiers fell silent. They knew the underlying meaning to that: Prepare for another slaughter. None of them, not even the diehard soldiers accompanying them enjoyed such a duty. They would go in and check every single residence. Orders are if a man located a disabled person, no matter the age or gender, they would be murdered on sight. Any residents baring markings of a Jew or various other factions were to be put under arrest and transported to the nearest sorting station. From there a flick of the hand separated families, forming two lines that will forever change the lives of the victims; right to hard labor, left to the gas chambers. They have all seen their share of innocent children arriving at the sorter, only to be sent left without a moment's hesitation. Even those little boys and girls with the trademark blond hair and blue eyes were punished with death if a relative was convicted of Jewish faith (A/N).

"Why do we have to do this?" Alois dejectedly wondered, finding his feet more entertaining than looking his shocked superior in the face, "It's all kind of pointless if you ask me."

"That's why Heil Hitler hasn't asked you then." Joker, 22, sneered, "He doesn't accept pussies like you."

"Nein. That's not it. We just need to carry out our orders honorably." Ludwig Beilschmidt corrected them, ten seconds before his distraction cost a unit of people their lives.

"This isn't honorable though!" Alois cried, right as Ludwig carelessly stepped on a landmine, uncovered by the rain water, "I don't want to go down as a murder-"

The explosion rippled across the sky, stripping the earth of all its color until a gapping crater remained in both ground and sky. The fiery eruption partially incinerated those of them that were human, like Joker, Alois, Fawke, and Trigger. The rest were slammed into the ground as it fell apart beneath them hard enough to snap their spines in half; Sven, Felix, and Josef were victims to this. The rest of the unit felt as if their very skin was ripping off their bodies when they collided with the ground, opening up new wounds that bleed so profusely it easily repainted the ground. The explosion echoed like heavy gunfire on a lonely night, lapsing a certain veteran back into old memories, even as the fire burned hot along his skin.

As the closest thing to impact, Ludwig Beilschmidt took the most severe damage, except for one thing.

He was not dead.

He lay sprawled out on the ground, a mini inferno eating at his clothes and charring his skin an ugly obsidian color. His head throbbed with a powerful concussion that set his vision on a swivel. Unable to get up, or even roll over, he simply stayed put. In the absolute worst agony, all he could think about was the number 43.

This was the 43rd unit he'd lost in war.

Choking hard on his own blood foaming in his mouth from the internal injuries he sustained, he wondered vaguely if a country could die just like this, like any human would. His arm—the only one that could move anyway—instinctively reached for the helmet no longer on his head, knocked off by the explosion. It was as if for him, that was the last bit of hope gone; he always kept a picture in his helmet, of his family and of his friends, and now unable to reach it, he could not memorize the contours of their faces and die with a happy image in his head.

No longer strong enough to fight unconsciousness, it swept him in like death was as the grim reaper collected the eleven other souls of his comrades.

All requested units would report to Bielsk Podlaski, only to find one group in particular was missing; and who was in the unit? Hitler's favorite soldier. Half of the small army evacuated the town while the other section searched for the twelve missing soldiers. For the longest time, they were all classified as MIA.

That was until they found the sight of the mine.

From there it was picking the corpses up and loading them up in a vehicle. They did not plan to bury them on foreign soil, and since they died an honorable death in their eyes, they wanted something for their families to see and be proud of, and to be happy that their sons and their husbands died well. Much to their surprise, something unexpected happened.

One of the corpses moved.

It took three soldiers to turn over the living German, his skin burned from his throat to his left wrist. Gashes scattered over his body, partially healed and obviously infected. No matter how hard they tried, the blond hair blue eyed man would not wake up. When the commanding officer came to look, he instantly cringed. He recognized the man, unlike the rookies. It was Ludwig Beilschmidt's unit, and they were staring at Hitler's personal favorite himself, fighting for each breath to circulate in his lungs.

See, the Jews and the Polish (A/N) were not the only ones that suffered unbearable losses. While the Nazis and their allies were at the forefront of it, they were also human as well. They died the same way, whether it was being shot or gassed or bombed. Both parties undoubtly left behind people that loved them and mourned their passing's with heavy hearts. In that sense, they weren't so different after all, aside from the conflicting morals that lead them to the battlefield in the first place. Among these humans were their loyal countries, who suffered all the same as well. They cried when people died, either on their side or not. They shielded comrades from heavy gunfire because they knew they could not die as easily as the flickering life of a mortals. Countries had a much higher pain tolerance when it came to physical abuse.

Mental was a different story.

Like many soldiers in today's society, the unbearable horrors they had witnessed haunted them every single day they dared to open their eyes again. That is why Ludwig lapsed into the distant memory of the Great War, so distraught with the thought of it that he couldn't consider getting back on his own two feet again. Countries never forget. What Ludwig happened to forgot was replaced with more agony and pain then before.

This is the very factor that prevented his eyes from opening. His mind eased his sorrows in that coma-like state, telling him that if he stayed just like this, he'd be okay.

It wasn't okay to Adolf Hitler.

Immediate attention was directed towards the revival of the weary soldier. The camps erected all across Europe stationed with doctors who performed experiments on the unlucky occupants. A secret sector was assigned to each and every Jewish camp (A/N) with hopes that if the professionals had guinea pigs to work with, then they could figure out a way to wake him up. This was the reason a majority of experiments were actually tested. The rest of them were simple fascinations of notorious doctors like Joseph Mengele. Hitler would not be satisfied until the head of his operation, the very brain running the show was back in commission. He had successfully conquered Poland with Russia's aid, but that wasn't enough for him.

He got exactly what he wanted in the spring of 1940.

Unable to feign unconsciousness any longer, Ludwig Beilschmidt finally awoke on a Saturday, exciting his friends who were desperately listening for any signs of life. Within half an hour of waking up, soldiers escorted him right to Hitler's front door, where they discussed battle plans for over twelve hours. Hitler wanted to conquer more land, so in the flickering candle light of his study, Ludwig was forced to draw up plans and documentation for the beginning of Operation Fall Gelb: the invasion of France. Also in that period, still battle weary and physically strained by Hitler's demanding nature, Ludwig sketched up the strikes that later became Operation Sea Lion and Operation Barbarossa, sending thousands of troops to England and Russia respectively only to be held off for a long duration of time. Ludwig would never understand that in the very near future, two out of three of those plans he constructed in his exhausted state would end in failure.

This is also the time where Hitler would write his letters to a close friend, providing the key piece of evidence in a courthouse decades later. The incriminating evidence survived fires, bombing raids, and careless soldiers, only to be used against the very man he spoke so highly of; The loyal soldier whom did exactly as he was ordered, even when the expectations of him were too high to be attainable. Ludwig doesn't think this way though. All he thinks is about how it's "all his fault", losing his units, losing his people. He battered himself with the memory of all those dead soldiers when their invasions went south. He blamed himself for not thinking harder, for not doing something better. He nearly regretted every step he ever took in that war, because even something as simple as walking got an entire unit of people killed. He wondered what would have happened if he was never found, if he was sentenced to an eternal slumber on foreign soil. Now, he would claim he deserved it, although not all the fault could be his.

He would never understand this though.

No matter how many people tried to comfort the German, his hard determination and stubbornness never faltered. He retained all responsibility for a war he did not even start and therefore burdened himself with the greatest load any country in existence has had to bear. He placed the millions upon millions of deaths on his soul, and never moved on from it. The memories would still come back to him, continuing to shadow his every move. But now they were purely of that war, of that time, of that year.

Truth be told, it was more like the end of Ludwig Beilschmidt's innocence that awful year of 1939, when orange and grey never looked so bleak together.

A/N: Not all denominations of the victims were listed, considering how extensive the list is. However, by any means, this does not trivialize their suffering in the war. For reading purposes, this was simply left short. Considering this is a work of fiction, it's not designed to provide all information like a history book does. The list of victims Adolf Hitler specifically wished to eradicate were as follows: Jews, Poles, Slavs, homosexuals, blacks, Jehovah Witnesses, physically disabled and mentally disabled, hereditary altered, twins, gypsies, Romani, political opponents, and anyone else deemed unfit and not in accordance with their master race ideology. Again, this is not meant to offend anyone who might have been a victim or knew a victim of the time. This is simply an attempt not to overload the reader with too much history. For more information, check out Wikipedia or a book from a library.

I just wanted to get that all straightened out lol.

I hope you liked it! I changed it where the third chapter would be real time. Sorry for trolling you~!

-Soul Spirit-