Alfred shut his eyes, an arm draped over them as well, as he attempted to pretend the hissing whistles and thundering explosions weren't what they were. He was off duty, for the moment, laying in his tiny canvas tent and listening to the war that raged nearby.
With his eyes closed he thought of fireworks on the Fourth of July. He thought of barbecues and sparklers and picnics and waving flags. But eventually those thoughts wrapped around to the very war he fought to earn the independence he'd proclaimed on that day, and he could see behind his eyelids the explosions and fallen friends all those years ago. Which did him absolutely no good in clearing his mind from the horrors of the battle he was amidst so that he might get to sleep before he had to be up and fighting again.
Groaning, he pulled his sleeping bag up over his face in hopes of drowning out the war— drowning out reality.
Thinking of the fourth had done one good thing, however; thinking about his independence had reminded Alfred why fighting the war against the nazis was so important. Not only did everyone deserve the liberties and freedoms he had, but he was there in large part for Francis. The man who'd helped him be himself needed his help and he'd be damned if he didn't try his best to provide it.