Tempest
By Snare-chan
Pairings: Germany/America
Ratings: T
Category(ies): Romance/Humor/Adventure
Warning(s): Cussing, interpreting history
Status: Continuation, 2/5
Summary: The first World War presented the chance, but flying was what brought them together.
Notes: A quick message on America in this story: I couldn't pick one individual for him to be based on during the course of this story, so I cheated. There were twenty-eight recorded American flying aces and ideally I would have tried to include parts of them all, but this story wasn't long enough, so I only reached eight. Information on which eight will appear at the bottom of the chapters whenever inspiration was taken.
I also want to say thank you to everyone who's reviewed! You're all super sweet and made me feel welcome to this new collective. ;) I hope my writing continues to meet expectations! Also, a personal piece of gratitude goes to Momo for reading every chapter and nit-picking characterization and language, and Keppiehed, for being a complete godsend of a beta reader. Chickas, I'd be lost without you!
Disclaimer: I dun own Axis Powers Hetalia; wish I did like everyone else. They should put APH in stock, then I'd buy it all!
Chapter 1 –
The landing field was quiet that early morning. A slight chill hung in the air, but the cold was already decapitated by the rising of the sun as it turned the sky lavender beyond the trees. This was when Germany exited his tent and ventured toward the straight row of Fatherland aircraft. He would gaze at each individual plane, counting them and memorizing the different colors adorning the wood as he passed. At the end resided a red Fokker Dr. I dreidecker.
That one was his, and he would then go about inspecting it – the third or fourth time in twenty-four hours. He'd check the engine, controls, wings, tail… Germany went over every detail, reveling in the peace that methodical tasks and the open, calm air brought him, until-
"Hey, West!" Prussia, his brother, called, almost causing Germany's head to collide with the underside of one of the wings in surprise. Despite predicting the man's inevitable appearance, he remained easy to sneak up on. Prussia had been assigned to his Luftstreitkräfte not too long ago and made certain that he was a nuisance. If he wasn't taking risks or badgering the enemy while flying, he was doing it to Germany when both feet were planted on the earth.
"Prussia," he said in greeting, though he was stiff in comparison to the other man's exuberant demeanor.
Accustomed to that sort of welcome, his brother ignored it and coiled an arm around Germany's shoulders to yank them close together. Prussia talked as if in a conspirative whisper, which was short of a shout for him.
"So I heard you were under orders from the boss not to fly. That true?"
Germany hesitated from touching the white bandages wrapped around his head before responding, "Not…precisely. It was suggested that I take it easy. I was thinking of doing some practice runs today."
"Awesome," Prussia said, laughing and letting him go so he could give him a pat on the back. "That's what I expect to hear! You want me to get you started?"
"If you could."
As Prussia walked to the front, Germany hoisted himself up near the cockpit and reached inside for his gear, adorning the thick jacket over his Ulanka uniform with a scarf, goggles and leather flying helmet. Once he was sure the garments were secure and wouldn't fall off during mid-flight, he slipped inside and prepared for takeoff.
"Ready?" called his brother after enough time had passed. Germany gave him the signal and Prussia spun the propeller once, twice, and then, "Contact!" as the blades twirled under their own power and the engine roared to life.
With practiced ease he guided the airplane across the open field and took to the sky, climbing over trees and gaining altitude. He didn't even off until around three-thousand and forty-eight meters, the wind kicking like a horse and freezing the skin across his face that wasn't protected by the scarf or goggles. This didn't bother him, as he was long accustomed to the temperatures at this altitude, and Germany gradually allowed himself to survey the world floating by below.
His flying squadron's distance from the trenches was apparent as he spotted untouched green and clear waters for several miles. That didn't indicate it was free of combat, as he was reminded while checking his six an hour later; when he glanced past his right shoulder, the German spotted a Sopwith Camel approaching from behind.
Who would be so foolish as to willingly cross into our territory alone? Germany thought, annoyed and a little shocked. This was not what he'd predicted to find on his outing, but he didn't permit the unexpected confrontation to throw him into a panic.
There remained some distance between him and the enemy fighter, and he utilized this fact to his advantage by guiding his Fokker to flip in the air. He wanted the sun at his back, and as soon as his aircraft righted itself, the rest of the sun rose fully, engulfing him in brightness and obscuring him from view. The tactic aided him as it had in the past, allowing him to get a dive in at the unsuspecting pilot.
At fifty meters he opened fire, shooting from one of his machine guns. Germany hit the broadside of his mark, but not as much as he'd hoped. Only two of the many shots made contact, the rest striking nothing as the Camel took a fast right and out of range of his weapons. He wasn't able to get a bead on them for several drawn out moments; whenever he got close, an aerobatic move saved the enemy fighter pilot from a bullet to the engine or wing. He gritted his teeth as the enemy fighter seemed intent on showing off more than battling.
In a daring maneuver that Germany had never witnessed, during one of his dives that encroached them closer together, the other pilot let him overshoot and lagged until the enemy aircraft was flying directly under him – out of sight. He strained to lean far enough over the side without losing control of his ride, but glimpsed a hint of the opposing aircraft. Though Germany was loathe to attempt it, he retained low altitude and flew straight for a line of trees, intending to flush him out. He'd prefer risking branches than the other pilot's skill at not having their two planes collide top-to-bottom.
The Camel hearkened to his at the last minute, the pilot opening fire on him not from the mounted Vickers machine guns, but from a handheld weapon that unleashed a barrage of bullets that grazed Germany more than once. He tried to break off course, uncomfortable at the close proximity of their airplanes, and felt another bullet hit close to his upper arm.
He pulled on his control stick and the Fokker rose at a sharp angle. As he predicted, the enemy tried to follow right after him, but Germany knew of the other plane's limitations – it could not safely handle such tight moves at an elevation exceeding three-thousand and fifty-seven meters. The air was thin and Germany was starting to lose all feeling in his exposed skin when the plane behind him sounded as if it was stalling. That's when he struck. He repositioned and blasted holes into the Sopwith Camel until bits blew off entirely.
Germany stopped at confirming that it could no longer fight back and was willing to leave matters be, but on his return path a thump and then a crack resounded as, of all things, the enemy pilot parachuted onto his top wing. The wooden panels couldn't handle the additional stress of a human body collapsing on it and split, sending Germany's Fokker into a dead drop that wasn't aided by the parachute getting caught in his propellers, tangling them.
"What are you doing, you bastard?" he yelled in his native tongue, frantic as his aircraft went into freefall. He had to blindly try and land what was left of it.
The aircraft crashed, the bottom of the fuselage tearing apart as the landing gear snapped off, sending them straight into the tree line. The front end shattered as it connected hard with a trunk, causing Germany's already injured head to smash into the rim of his cockpit. He saw dancing beer mugs as his head bled – from his previous injury re-opening, a new cut or both.
A loud crash alerted him to movement nearby and in a daze he lifted his head to see what it was. Red framed both sides of his vision, but he could still make out the sight of the enemy pilot falling from where he'd clung to the remains of the top wing as he cut himself free from the parachute straps. He landed butt-first and appeared as disorientated as Germany was, shaky hands wrenching the leather flying helmet off to reveal a shock of wild blond hair and blue eyes behind dark-framed glasses.
"What a lollapalooza of a dogfight!" the man said, in a blatantly Sammy accent, if the American idioms hadn't been clue enough of his heritage. "I mean…I mean, what a humdinger! We totally have to do that again; it was awesome!
Germany groaned, letting his forehead hit the nearest surface. He'd been taken down by another Prussia, and he wasn't sure what to think of that, so he closed his eyes and didn't bother.
To Be Continued…
Notes:
(1) German 101: Dreidecker – triplane.
(2) American 101: Lollapalooza and humdinger – something excellent, outstanding. 1900's.
(3) Luftstreitkräfte – The Imperial German Army Air Force of World War I.
(4) On July 6, 1917, Manfred von Richthofen was wounded in the head during combat. This injury, while not fatal, permanently affected his health and flying career for the rest of his life.
(5) The Ulanka uniform was worn by Ulanen soldiers, which included Prussians/Germans. The u must stand for UNF, 'cause damn, that's some nice piece of military dress.
(6) 3,048 meters = 10,000 feet and 3,657 meters = 12,000 feet.
(7) Alfred's airplane, the Sopwith Camel, is based on American flying ace Field Eugene Kindley's. He was the same airman who allegedly shot down Manfred von Richthofen's brother, Lothar von Richthofen – who I envision Prussia to parallel.
(8) Sammy: American soldier. From Uncle Sam.
