Authors Note: Hi! :) I didn't expect to post another chapter haha. I didn't know if this story would be liked and kind of expected it to drift in the discarded corner of bad fanfiction if that tells you anything. But it seems that it isn't the case? I'm surprised! Incredibly so. I got a review and 2 followers and it makes me so happy really. I think the first follower made me grin like an idiot haha. ^^

But I want to reply to the Guest first since this is the only way I can: I'm glad that you like my writing style! It's rubbish really. I can't write to save my life, and I tend to get away from the concept sometimes, but thank you so much for your kind words. :) I am still working out my portrayal of Erik and Charles so I'm glad that you like them too! ^^ I will try to not disappoint. And, as you have asked, I have posted another chapter.

It's not that good a chapter... but I guess it's a chapter, no?

If you recognize the fandom, I certainly don't own it.


Chapter 2

Tutorials were cut off the next morning as well. It wasn't a surprise at all.

Charles didn't say anything as he shuffled downstairs, though. His thoughts were elsewhere, far away from his home and whatever seemed to be controlling it. He hadn't looked in the mirror, but he was certain there were dark shadows under his eyes over the fretting he had done.

Was Erik okay? Was he alive? Did…Did that shower of metal, whatever it was, get to him? Would he be at the wall when Charles went today? Charles didn't know any of these answers, but he had a feeling the tutor who usually taught him German knew more than he was letting on.

It was just a feeling he had. Something that tugged incessantly at him. He could just feel the restrain of information when he looked at him. It was like something was prodding at his head, poking at it, knocking on it like a door to be let in. It was hard to explain, but he knew what his thoughts were saying were true.

Then again, he had been feeling the tugging notion for quite a while now. It just started getting worse recently, though, especially with Erik in his thoughts.

For the umpteenth time since he came home the day before, Charles wanted to be able to peer into the tutor's mind, figure out what he knew and why his father was so terrified of the words he spoke vehemently.

As the servants served him his breakfast, he noticed he was alone at the table. His mother was nowhere in sight; he hadn't even seen her when he crossed the hallway. Every room was empty. Perhaps she was still resting? Highly unlikely. She didn't like sleeping in. Manners and etiquette as always.

Quietly eating his breakfast, Charles wondered what he was going to do today. That was, if Erik… wasn't there. Nobody knew that he knew him and… if he was in that ghetto, there was no way they could even hold a proper burial for him where Charles could pay his respects. Or Erik's mum for that matter… Oh god, what would she feel right now? Losing a son? He could barely process losing Erik, but it must be multiplied by a tenfold with her.

If Charles wasn't holding a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, he might have slapped his face to clear his head of such dark thoughts. He was becoming one of the soulless husks that wander Warsaw – beings he swore he would never become. Erik once told him that he took a liking to Charles because he sounded friendly, nice and optimistic in this world where it seemed almost foolish to be. It was refreshing for him.

Losing the part that he liked most was almost similar to betraying him. Charles couldn't let his thoughts turn so dark and sour so fast. He had to remain hopeful, that Erik had survived whatever he feared would happen.

After all, he was strong. Charles knew this. For all that he has dealt with, he must be strong and cunning. There must be a chance – and a strong one however foolish to believe – that he survived. He had lived on so far; certainly he must have lasted through this as well, correct?

Charles didn't know how much of that was logic and how much was hopeful wishing. They both seemed one and the same to him.

Breakfast was finished quickly and Charles was beginning to make his way upstairs when he heard his father's voice. It was faint but he could hear the desperation in the tone almost clear as day.

What was happening? Who was his father talking to? Family? Friends? His tutor possibly? Something awful must be occurring, but Charles couldn't fathom what it could be save for another disaster of this war. Invasion into another city? The questions were possibly endless and Charles didn't appreciate that in the slightest. He liked a certainty when he could achieve it.

Charles wanted to get closer to the conversation.

He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. It wasn't what his mother taught him, and if she caught him she would grab him by the ear and send him to his room. Eavesdropping was not something he should be doing. It wasn't becoming of his person. He should be getting past these urges at this age…

But he couldn't help it in the long run.

Keeping an eye on the creaky wood boards he had learned long ago, he silently crept up to his father's study where the voice was coming from. Leaning against the wall, ear to its paper thin wall, Charles realized there were more than one voice in there. There were three in particular. Two native German speakers and his father's. It was weird hearing them speak in English after hearing German for so long with Erik, but that made understanding easier at least. He recognized the stern voice of his tutor but the other one was new. It sounded scratchy – maybe elderly? He couldn't know for certain.

Charles strained to listen closely, trying to decipher the subject matter.

"Give me one more week. One more week and I promise it will be done. I have the plans right here-!"

"We are done with waiting, Xavier," the tutor interrupted harshly. "You have told us it was almost done for a month now. No more. We want it by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? I… That's not enough time! Simply not enough. I told you a month ago that I had the project idea on a blueprint but that I would need the materials. You had failed to give me such materials until recently."

"Because half your materials are unrealistic and in areas we simply cannot extract from with our resources. You should have thought it through and accommodated to our schedule and resources instead of running off with your imagination."

"Wilhelm."

The scratchy voice was speaking now. "Xavier, Wilhelm is correct. We need this weapon immediately to ensure our success. The Americans have remained out of the war for this long, but it is uncertain when they will enter. They've claimed neutrality it seems, but depending on our actions it may change. We simply cannot allow the United Kingdom and its allies to side with America. Now is the prime time to strike. It is a little unnerving that you lack the weapon we need."

"I understand, but I said give me another week. They cannot assemble everything in a week. It's physically impossible. One more. That is all I ask. I have found the materials and I swear it will be done. On my life and loyalty to your cause."

Charles didn't like those words. He usually said the same when he made a promise, but he knew in this case they took a literal meaning – more literal than he would have liked.

What exactly was this cause? A good one? Bad? He could never tell with his father. It wasn't because he was not there or missing. The man wasn't a bad father, but he was more of a studious scientist than a father to the boy. Each time Charles was curious of his work, it would always be fiercely protective and proclaimed as "secret" or "not for your eyes, Charles" as if it would burn his sight.

This time it seemed his "secret" business was growing towards lethal. The idea set a cold lump of dread in the pit of Charles's stomach.

"On your life, Xavier? Are you sure that is wise? You do have a wife and child. If you swear upon your life, you are willingly swearing theirs as well I hope you realize. Think carefully before you make such a declaration," the scratchy voice warned.

"I shouldn't have to think of where my loyalties lie," his father said firmly, but Charles couldn't be as certain as him. It seemed like they were walking into a trap. Like they were tiny mice entering a field of mouse traps, waiting for that inevitable snap. "I lay down my life as well as theirs. This project shall be done within a week. You have my entire word."

There was silence for a little bit before the tutor exclaimed something in German – something Charles hadn't learned but he assumed it to be a curse word – before continuing, "Are you believing this man so easily? He has delayed the project this long. How do we know he isn't lying to us?"

"Do you take me to be a liar, Wilhelm? A man not of my word?" There was that dangerous tone of voice. It was frightening. Charles had never once been on the receiving end of the tone, but those who had often shrank in afterthought. He had no doubt that Wilhelm was doing the same for he never gave a retort.

"Of course not, Xavier," The scratchy voice smoothed over. "We just question if your time frame is going to be allocated to the project or to something consequential."

There was a heavy silence that even had Charles holding his breath.

"The project will be done. A week. Certainly. Is that all you have come to do?"

Charles only had a moment to busy himself with looking at the bookshelf across the door before the door slammed open and his tutor, Wilhelm, stormed past in an angry fury of disbelief. Attempting to not be seen by his father, he maneuvered himself to be slightly hidden by the open door.

"Xavier, one last thing."

"Yes. What is it?"

"If you do not finish this project in a weeks' time," the scratchy voice paused to cough. Once. Twice. Three times. "We will come to retrieve those close to you. If the project is given to us after that, our association with you will be terminated. Is that understood?"

Charles didn't have to look through the crack in the door to know that his father more than likely lost a few shades of color. "Yes. Completely."

A few seconds later the man who owned the scratchy voice walked out unsteadily, using a cane to help guide his way.

"Where is that Captain America when you need him?" he heard his father mutter lowly before sighing. Charles began to make his way around the door and out of the vicinity.

"Charles."

Or perhaps not.

Sometimes Charles wanted to sigh at all his rotten luck.

"I know you are there. Please come in here."

Refusing to allow his head to fall, his eyes to go to the floor, Charles met his father's gaze steadily as he walked in. He didn't utter a word, only narrowing his eyes as his father seem to age before his eyes, gray hairs appearing where there were previously none.

"Close the door and have a seat there."

He did as he was told and sat in the arm chair opposite to his fathers. There was a coffee table between their chairs that had blueprints for some missile-looking object with the scratchy handwriting of his father's messy scrawl. No doubt this was what his father was making. What he hasn't been, more like.

"How much of that did you hear?"

Charles pondered whether to tell the truth or not, but seeing no harm in his answer, he responded honestly, "Since you first began asking for one more week on your project."

"So almost all of it," his father smiled ruefully, chuckling without humor. "Well, I suppose I have to explain things to you now since I have officially dragged your mother and yourself into my business that I wanted to keep you both separate from. It is impossible now. You've definitely heard the threat given otherwise your hands wouldn't be shaking so, Charles."

Charles clenched his hands to stop their shaking, but it was no use. The fists he made continued to quiver. "I'm not afraid."

"And I am not saying that you are," his father acquiesced. "You are smart. A fool would not be shaking right now, and this proves that you're no fool. Something that is going to be needed in these next few months, bloody hell… perhaps even years now that I've heard glimpses of the plans." He ran a hand through his hair and then sank into his chair.

"Are you aware of the war going on right now, son?"

The boy nodded. "I have heard the general facts about it but none of the specifics. The tutor has been avoiding my questions on it when I ask."

"And he has good right to considering where his loyalties lie," his father muttered begrudgingly before continuing. "Do you remember the war before this? Did the private school teach you that before you were pulled out?"

"Yes. There was an assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and Hungary-Austria teamed up with Germany to go against America, United Kingdom, Russia, etc. Germany lost dearly and reparations ruined their economy. Their economy is still bad. Why does it matter in this case, father?"

"Because, those reparations caused a certain dictator to rise to rule. Adolf Hitler. He is a very good speaker and has won over many to his promise of the world. In the process, however, he has prosecuted Jews to-"

"Ghettos," Charles gasped out, thinking of Erik and the shower of metal and a whole new wave of nausea hit him like a bus.

"Well, yes," his father said slowly, narrowing his eyes. He was no doubt suspicious of how Charles knew this but he didn't say. "But not only that. Concentration camps as well, which are far worse than the ghettos. They were sent there because they were accused of keeping money from Germany. Currently, Germany is in an alliance with Italy and Japan, Tojo and Mussolini being the leaders, in this matter. They are the Axis. The Allies are those that the men mentioned before. Right now it mostly consists of the United Kingdom and potentially America in the future if their neutrality changes. France is a possibility. It's not a pretty picture at this moment in history, my boy."

"It doesn't sound like it. Whose side are you on, father?"

Another rueful smile. "Quick to the punch, are you?"

"I just know when one is skirting around a topic very well I assure you."

His father seemed to have a beam of pride in his eyes for a moment. If this topic wasn't so depressing, Charles might have preened under the praise. "I see. Well, to answer your question, I am on neither and both. Before you ask another question, let me explain this." Charles's mouth popped closed as he crossed his legs, waiting for his explanation. This was the longest time that his father had ever spoken to him in person, and even though Charles wished it was under different circumstances, he was going to listen fully. "My loyalty in terms of morals lie with the Allies. My loyalty in terms of this project are to the Axis. However, I do not have a preference on who prevails since I plan to remain absent after this project, your mother and you as well. The reason I am performing this project for the enemy, as they say, is because I made this project to have a code that the Allies can hack into, with the code I left by the lab before we left home, and detonate it. It's not a huge explosion, but if it ends up at one of the main bases, this could aid in finishing the war quickly."

"You say you don't care who wins but it seems you follow the Allies completely."

"I suppose I just prefer freedom and peace rather than a dictatorship ruled under fear and prejudice. I suspect that you would, too."

He wasn't wrong in the assumption. A dictatorship might as well call on a disaster. People don't do well under restraints. Much like dogs with a collar unwanted, they fought and fought hard. Even if this war ended with Hitler and his dictatorship, another war would start not so soon after in rebellion and retaliation – which would lead to an increase in dire results.

Compared to the possible demons faced with Hitler on the rise, having the Allies win seemed to be the lesser of the two – even if that might take longer to achieve.

But what was the point in telling Charles this? He was merely a child right now, much to his annoyance. He didn't like admitting it for he surely felt smarter than any child, but he couldn't deny the truth of it. Granted, he was smarter than he should be for his age, it still didn't change the fact that he wasn't an adult who could do anything and cause havoc for a movement. He was only a boy, sadly, and not many people took him seriously anyways.

"Why are you telling me this? Logically, you know that I can't do anything about it but prepare for the worst. What is your reasoning?"

"Because I fear for the worst. As I said before, your mother and you are not safe anymore. Lives are on the line, and it is my fault. I am preparing for the worst and if that should come, I don't want you to have any doubts as to who I was. Just remember that I did this to end the war quickly and that the Allies will prevail I assure you."

"What is the worst, father? You seem to speak of it as if it is a death sentence – something that cannot be avoided."

To that question, his father averted his gaze to the documents on the table, staring at them as if wishing them to disappear and fall completely in nonexistence. "I cannot answer that, son. I will answer any other question you have, but I cannot answer that one."

Charles thinned his lips. He couldn't answer that question? The one that was burning brighter than the rest? He has been able to say the awful things he had planned to do thus far, but he couldn't continue to the result? It was like starting an experiment and skipping the results – going straight to cleaning the tools and leaving.

To say he didn't like it was putting it so lightly it was practically transparent.

He wanted to know what his father was thinking. Was he regretting his decision? Was he truly sorry? Or was he trying to put a better, more believable image of himself into the boy's mind? He didn't know what to believe. His father was who he appeared to be and yet not at all. Working for both sides? Preparing for the worst?

And he was creating a bomb at that. A bomb! Something incredibly dangerous. It didn't matter if it was controlled and would end the war quickly, it would still cause a lot of lives to be lost – and who is to say those lives were not innocent? Bombs were never good. They never brought peace at all from what Charles understood.

He wanted to read his father's mind and was distraught to know he couldn't. It was impossible. It was so terribly impossible, but he would be damned if he couldn't wish with every fiber of his insufficient being.

"Then that is it I think. I am going to go to the shop and buy a few things," Charles spoke quietly, making his way to the door of his father's study.

However, when his hand had just grasped the door knob, he paused and turned to face his shaken father. His skin was pale, like those outside, and he was beginning to carry the thin hair and the sallow cheekbones. At least his eyes were still alight. At least he wasn't a complete husk yet.

"Actually, I have one question. Who is Captain America? You mentioned him before?"

There was an amused smile that came to his father's lips. A complete opposite from the strained frowned. This was a different smile though. Secretive. Hush hush. A small little inside joke that made his father seem younger than he looked before. "Just a man who would have done anything for his country. A friend, really. You might have liked him."

That only caused a new can of worms to open in Charles's infinite curiosity, but feeling that his father wouldn't tell him more about this mysterious hero, he nodded and left the room. He couldn't handle any more uncertainty and secrets. There were far too many already. Enough to drown a person without them even being known.

Daily Herald

October 10, 1939

First Close-Up Of Fighting

NAZIS SEND BOYS TO WESTERN FRONT

Edgar Mower, "Daily Herald" Special Correspondent, gives you to-day a big news "scoop" – the first close-up story of warfare on the Western Front.

LAUTERBACH, Forest of Warndt, Monday.

They brought in the two Germans feet first in a wagon covered with a cloth. Soldiers and visiting newspapermen fathered about.

A French Lieutenant cautiously removed the cloth there were two dead boys. I watched the face of Jules, the French private standing next to me. It seemed he could never get enough of the dead faces.

"Two more victims of Adolf Hitler," he said and looked away.

The taller and louder of the two dead was a corporal.

"Like Hitler," said Jules. "It's always the wrong fellow who gets it."

Carefully the French examined the Germans' equipment. The dead men were wearing good, solid high leather boots and good, strong tunics. This was no "ersatz."

Charles left the study and not a quarter of an hour later, left the house that seemed stifling with stale, tense air circulating over months and months with no end.

He already had an idea in mind for today and it didn't include praying, like his mother, or expecting the worst, like his father. It was his own thought. A partial thought, for he wasn't sure if it would succeed, but a thought of his own nonetheless that was surely more optimistic than those around him.

Erik would be proud of him.

He wasn't sure if it would work since he was still a child to most people, but he was hoping that some people were still nice and would give what he needed to him. If not, he didn't know what he would do but he would figure out something.

He was good at improvising he was told.

Making his way to the nearest shop, he asked the man sweeping the floorboards for medicine. Of course, that wasn't nearly specific enough. Wracking his brain for a thought of pain killers, he asked blindly for something for the flu. Anything to help the symptoms. The man gave an odd look to Charles, but went to the storage to retrieve a syringe in a fancy little box.

"This is the vaccine for the flu. I shouldn't be giving it to a boy, considering it is not completely tested and you are far from being a professional."

Then why bring it out despite the fact? Charles wanted to counter on impulse. Clearly you intend to sell it and ignore my age.

But he couldn't say that. It would be a quick boot out the door and then where would he be?

So he bit his tongue until the words died away and replied.

"Oh, please, sir. I need it for my mum. She is too sick to come on her own and my father has left the country for work. I am the only person who can pick this up." He made tears spring up in his eyes and opened his eyes wide. The man seemed to hesitate.

"Well… do you at least have a doctor who can administer this?"

"Yes. He's at the house now. He's looking over my mum and sent me to get this. I even have the money to pay for it." He fished around his pockets for the Reichs and pulled them out, showing them to the man.

The adult seemed to pause for a long while, looking over Charles suspiciously before finally nodding. Charles almost wanted to sigh in relief.

"You seem to be telling the truth so I will give this to you. But you better be telling me the truth, boy."

It's not like you would care otherwise.

"I am," Charles affirmed quickly, handing the amount of money over quickly and then dashing out towards the wall. With each step he prayed to a God he didn't believe in that Erik would be there. That he would be okay. He had to be okay.

Reaching the wall, he was more than relieved to not see the officer he had seen the day prior. There wasn't even a guard on the wall like the past few days he has seen in the distance. He hoped that was good thing. It had to be. Luck had been on his side so far so perhaps that was telling for how this might go. He had to remain hopeful and optimistic – for Erik and for himself.

Getting close to the wall, his spot, he placed his hands against the wall, as he had done the very first day, and murmured just loud enough for anyone directly next to the wall to hear. "Hello? Erik?"

For a minute, Charles had heard nothing. It was silent. Absolutely silent.

Charles wanted to cry for a moment, for the second time that week. He wanted to cry for the friend he might have lost in the "shower of metal" Erik was vague about. He didn't even get to see him or help him! He didn't even know how old he was! Was he older than him? Younger? Charles would never know and the frustration and sadness and fear almost choked the building sob out of him.

Then, at the last moment when it seemed unbearable, he heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

"Charles?"

The tears that sprang to his eyes were happy and brief, and he wiped them away quickly with a small laugh.

"Oh… God. Thank every lucky star I could ever have. My friend, are you okay? Are you hurt? Did-"

"Calm down, Charles. I am fine. I don't know how I am, but it seems I was not chosen this time around. I am safe, for now. Please do not fret."

"Ah, you must be asking the ridiculous!" Charles exclaimed in hysteria before calming down, brushing away his dark bangs that were getting way too long for his liking, almost tickling his nose. "Not to worry about my closest friend? Especially right now? You must be crazy, Erik. I simply cannot not worry about someone I care about. My goodness. What do you take me for?"

"Charles-"

"I mean, do you realize how utterly terrified I was? Knowing that I could never talk to you? And I have never even seen your face. You could be taller than me, older than me, hell, you could be someone completely different from my imagination, but all I have cared about is hearing your voice. That's crazy, isn't it? Silly. Ridiculous. Wanting to hear someone's voice so badly. Ha. You must think me a fool, Erik."

"Charles, please, for a moment, shut up."

Charles closed his mouth with a pop.

"It isn't silly. Wanting to hear someone's voice. At least, I don't think it is, and if it happens to be despite what I think, then to hell with it all. It is perfectly reasonable because… I wanted to hear your voice, too. After you left, your words kept on in my head on repeat. Even as I stared at the metal itself with a fear of what may happen. I truly wanted to hear you."

"Erik…" Charles sighed, allowing a soft laugh to escape his lips. It sounded almost on the brink of mania, but what did one expect when it seemed that his skin was finally settling. "Oh goodness… I swear..."

"You swear what?"

"I… I don't know!" Another laugh. "I don't know. Maybe I swear that I might actually fall from exhaustion against this wall. Or maybe I swear that you may be more important to me than any person I have ever met. Or maybe I swear that we are both ridiculous in the best ways when it comes to this friendship. I haven't the slightest which to swear completely to. Which do you think?"

He could hear a smile in Erik's voice as he responded. "Preferably the last two. I'd hate for you to pass out against this wall. Someone could come and take you away, and when would I ever hear your voice?"

He was used to Erik's teasing, but he couldn't help the flush that crept up his neck as he chuckled. "Oh yes, what would you do?"

When he sat down on the ground, he felt the box with the needle slip from his grasp to lightly land against the cobblestone floor. Charles blinked at it for a moment before scrambling to get back up in an instant.

"Oh! Erik! I have something for you."

"For me?" He asked quizzically.

"Yes, you. Of course you. Who else? One second. Let me see if I can find a way to slide it over the wall. Perhaps if I climb-"

"Charles, there is a hole a meter away from where we are talking. You can probably slip it through there instead of recklessly climbing something and potentially hurting yourself."

"But that does dampen the fun of things, don't you think?" Charles joked, following the instructions until he found a little hole between two stones in the wall. It was just wide and tall enough to slip the syringe through but not the box.

When Erik received it, there was a confused silence.

"What is this? Medicine? Poison?"

"Poison? No. Not at all. It's a vaccine, Erik. It's… not perfect, but I was thinking that perhaps it would help your mum. I remember you telling me she was sickly. If you weren't here I would have found a way to give it to her somehow, but I'd like to say that I like this outcome more."

"You didn't have to. How did you even get it? You can't be but a boy."

"I wanted to. I truly insist, and I'm not a boy. Almost sixteen as a matter of fact so shush," Charles quipped childishly, wanting to stick his tongue out. After a second to calm down, he asked, "Are you going to be able to give it to her? It's probably strict in there, isn't it?"

"Quite. But I'll figure out a way. Thank you so much. I don't think words could express my gratitude enough."

Having him be as happy was more than enough. He didn't have to thank Charles more than that. Living and being here and allowing Charles to hear his voice made things all the better. It would be so much better if he could just talk to him without being here. Telepathically like in cartoons and science books. A link. Something to make them able to converse more and whenever they needed it the most.

Again, hopeful and impossible thoughts he knew. Yet, he couldn't stop them. Never tried to actually. He was a hopeful wisher by nature.

For the rest of the day until nightfall threatened to break the sunlight Charles and Erik talked. This time, however, Erik seemed to talk about his family more than before. Charles listened and said nothing as Erik mentioned how his father was shot by the Germans trying to protect his family and give them a chance to run. He mentioned how his father was always a little odd, but that he was well-respected and meant well entirely.

His mum was a soft-hearted person by nature. She wanted the best for her son and wished for him to be happy. She was the mum Charles wished he had instead of the scolding mother he had now, unreachable in her ego. He still loved his mother, but he couldn't help but compare them and wish for a little more. Compared to his mother, Erik's mum had always been sickly but the ghettos weren't making it easier for her immune system. The soldiers didn't care what happened to them.

And that was absolutely horrible. Terrible. Inhumane. It was… it seemed like something straight out a horror tale. Nothing more than words to give you night terrors when you closed your eyes.

Yet Charles knew it was reality. At least, a little part of him. Most of his head told him that things couldn't be that bad, that humans couldn't treat other people that way. It was cruel and should violate multiple obscure rules of humanity if they existed. Who could do that?

But then there was his head and his head was saying mean things too. Things like the fact that it was reality, and he couldn't help the grimace and frustration that came when he heard of how the soldiers beat him when he challenged their authority, how they starved his mother once simply because they thought it was pointless giving food to a weak individual. How they didn't even have names in that place really.

By the end of the conversation, Charles had a newfound respect for Erik. For all he had gone through so far and continues to go through – and for his mum as well.

When they said their goodbyes, Charles's heart felt heavy, but he couldn't help the wave or relief that came with the fact that Erik was indeed alive and well. He didn't… He wasn't…

Well, it wasn't true. That was what mattered.

Daily Herald

October 12, 1939

OUR POWER GROWS AS NAZIS DALLY

Somewhere in France, Wednesday.

The truth about the Royal Air Force in France at present is that there is very little spectacular fighting going on.

Like the French Army and those parts of the British Army which are already in position, the R.A.F. await the main German onslaught – whenever that may come.

One opinion in France holds that the Germans will attempt a grand scale outflanking movement, sudden and penetrating, through both Dutch and Belgian territory.

158,000 British troops are now in France.

See Hore-Belisha's report on PAGE FIVE


This is a little bit of a plot chapter I think. Information on everything. I'm sorry. The next chapter is where things kind of get a kick start. I am still working the kinks, however, and am still weary on posting another chapter, but we will see what happens. Since I changed the age of Charles and Erik (previous was 12 and 15) to 15 and 17 respectively, I have to adjust Charles's reaction in the third chapter some... He's still a boy, but I think he would have matured a little bit more than the average kid by this time. Just a little. So...

But yay. :) Erik is okay! I think I gave myself anxiety when I wrote him possibly getting hurt.

Thank you all so much for reading so far and have a wonderful day! ^^