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England scrambled around, running toward the flaming plane. "America!" he shouted into the flames, panic consuming his entire body. "God dammit where are you?!" Stepping back from the craft, he span around looking at the trees on the edge of the clearing. It didn't take him long to see a hand sticking out from behind one, resting motionlessly on the ground.
Within seconds, he raced over to the body, kneeling down next to the unconscious man. "Alfred." He gently placed a hand to the man's cheek. "Bloody hell, he's alive." Sighing with relief, Arthur looked the man over, observing the damage.
America's bomber jacket was in tatters as shards of glass and metal were still embedded into it. A large piece of debris was thrust through his side, causing blood to gush from his body. A pool of it had already formed around him, staining his tan clothes. America's face was filled with scrapes and gouges, a string of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.
"What did you do to yourself?" England sighed, his hand resting on Alfred's cheek. Reaching into his pocket, he quickly called an ambulance. "We'll get you taken care of right away." He slowly began to shift the American into his arms as he attempted to pick him up. "Now let's get you out of here." He looked back at the plane a final time, hoping the firetrucks would soon arrive to extinguish the mess.
Sighing, Arthur began to walk away heading toward the main road, ignoring everything behind him.
On the other side of the clearing a man stood, watching England hall the American away from the wreckage. Not saying a word, he quickly disappeared within the shadows of the forest behind him.