"Hurry up men! Hoist those guns up there!" Canada heard the commander on the street below bellow up at them as they pulled the last of the three pounders into the second story windows of the building facing the street. The snow was coming in harder now, and the men below were barely visible. They put the last cannon into position and secured it in place. The Artillery men wasted no time loading the guns with grapeshot and getting ready for Montgomery's men making their way up the street in the blizzard.
"We're not going to be able to see anything to shoot at." Canada said, staring into the swirling snow.
The commander walked up to him, still stamping snow from his boots. "We'll let them get nice and close before we fire."
"Montreal fell, what's to stop them here?" Canada tried to not show his fear, but he had been shocked at how ferocious the Americans fought. The Canadians outnumbered them easily, but they were no match for them and were completely unprepared for their attack.
"Don't worry," The commander said, putting a hand on Canada's shoulder, "We're about to give them a taste of hell."
America ran up the street, slipping in the snow and trying not to trip over men who lost their footing and fell in front of him. The snow stung his eyes but Montgomery kept urging them to move forward quickly. He could barely be heard over the howl of the wind, as he led them through the storm. America wasn't sure who had the great idea to attack Quebec on New Years Eve in a blizzard, but there they were
The front columns were just rounding the corner into the next street when America's foot found an icy patch and he went down into the snow. His musket was knocked from his hands and slid into a drift. "Dammit!" He shouted as he scrambled on hands and knees sifting through the snow trying to find it, the rest of the regiment running past him.
America saw the flash of cannon fire before he heard anything. He heard men screaming as they were flung back by the grape shot tearing through them. He saw Montgomery go down, then looked to his side and saw Canada standing only a few meters away in the blood spattered snow. "Canada?" America shouted into the wind. Canada said nothing as a swirl of snow enveloped him and he disappeared. "Canada!" America yelled again, reaching for him, as he heard the thunder of more guns.
America opened his eyes at the sound of pounding close by. He sat up with a start when he realized the pounding came from his own front door. Frowning at the puddle of drool on the table he wiped it up with his sleeve as he rose to answer the door. He flung it open and squinted into the weak winter sunlight glinting off the snow. "Yes?" He growled out gruffly, only able to make out a shadow in his doorway.
"What rude manners Francia, and after all we went through to get here." A warm, cheerful voice said behind the shadow.
"I know, I know my friend, but remember who raised the boy." France replied as he entered the room and looked at America with a kind smile. "How are you America, looking thinner and pale perhaps?"
"He looks like he could use a decent meal." Spain replied, as he set down a basket on the table.
"Not surprising, with that blockade out there." France said, pulling off his gloves and assessing the fireplace. He picked up the poker and stirred the coals, then tossed in a few logs. It didn't take long for flames to appear and begin dancing around the wood. "Now that the room can warm up, let's have lunch."
Spain pulled a large loaf of bread and a bottle of wine out of the basket. He looked at America and smiled, "Do you have a knife to cut this?" America blinked and went to the cupboard to get plates and cups. He handed Spain the knife and watched him cut bread, meat and cheese for all of them. France produced a corkscrew and opened the wine; sniffing at the cork and smiling before setting the bottle back down to allow the wine to breathe. They sat down and after Spain said a brief grace in Spanish, they enjoyed their lunch.
France poured wine for all of them and pulled his chair over so he could sit in front of America. "Now my young friend, tell me your own personal assessment of how the war is going."
America looked into his cup and studied his reflection in the wine. He took another sip then answered, "It's not going well at all. I still want independence, but unless I can get some help or England decides to let me become a country I don't see how I can win."
Spain finished clearing up lunch and sat on the table next to America. "I assure you England will never just give you up and let you become independent."
"But why not?" America asked frowning. "I don't want to be part of England anymore."
"Because that's not England's way." France said, refilling everyone's cup. "And completely not fair."
Spain chuckled into his cup as he took a sip. "That's for damn sure mi amigo."
"What do you mean, it's not fair?" America asked, very confused by France's statement.
France studied the boy's face for a moment; he had the brains to realize his predicament was seriously in dire straits, now it was time to see if he could learn to understand how other countries interacted in the world. He would never be recognized as a country until he could. There was no time to lose, he had to learn now or his desire for independence was doomed.
"Mon chéri, it's time to educate you about England."
America looked at France confused, "Educate me about England?"
"Sí," Spain added, smiling down at the boy. "You know him only as a parent or big brother, now you need to understand him as a country."
"We learned history in school." America replied frowning, hoping they didn't mean for him to go to school again, he had to win against England now.
Spain and France exchanged looks and both laughed. "Non, that's not what we mean. Do you remember that silly proverb from long ago that made you think parts of my anatomy explode?"
America blushed a deep crimson. "I know it doesn't mean that now."
"Umhmm, and what does it mean?"
America looked France in the eye very carefully and said, "It's talking about how different countries behave with each other, is that it?"
His answer made both countries laugh again. Spain slapped America on the back and exclaimed, "Francia, I think there's hope for the boy yet."
America looked down at the floor, his face still red. "Once Canada and I were out walking with him, and we saw a swarm of bees. He told us it was a new queen on her mating flight. Canada started crying and I grabbed a stick and started waving at the swarm, trying to save the drones. He thought we were both mad until I explained we didn't want the poor male bees exploding after mating with the queen." His eyes grew sad, "I miss Canada."
France looked at America for a moment then said, "So do I, but right now we need to focus and deal with more important matters. You need to know what makes England tick; that proverb is just one example. Spain and I are going to educate you very quickly, are you ready?"
America looked at up Spain seated next to him with one hip on the table, then at France seated in front of him. "I'm ready." He stated with a nod.
"Excellent, now, two things you must always remember about England." France took another sip of wine, and then his smile became wicked. "First, he is a mongrel degenerate piece of trash. All of that proper stiff upper lip pip pip duty honor tradition nonsense is just that, nonsense." America couldn't help but blink with surprise at France's sudden acerbic tone as he described his enemy. "Mongrel people, mongrel culture, mongrel language and rulers, everything about that country is nothing but filthy swine wallowing in his own shit."
"It really is disgusting." Spain added, rolling his eyes. "The reason why England is so good at fighting is that's all England ever does. If the people don't have another nation to fight, they fight with each other."
"Usually over who's going to be the next boss of that cold, wet, miserable rock." France continued. "Even England's concept of the divine right of kings is a joke. Being the king's sixth cousin nine times removed's pimple on the scullery maid's left ass cheek puts you in line for the throne in that god forsaken excuse of a country."
"And then, even being the king doesn't mean things get any better for you." Spain said, shaking his head. "Divine right of kings indeed! England doesn't have a clue what that means!"
"I'm sure you've heard of the sport of bear baiting?" France asked.
America made a sour face. "I hate that, it's cruel and makes the animal miserable."
"Indeed it does. Well, in England they have a peculiar sport called king baiting."
Spain snorted into the back of his hand.
"King baiting?" America asked with an incredulous look.
"Oui," France answered, "a very popular sport in England; put a sovereign on the throne, and then make his entire reign completely miserable. It's a time-honored institution in England."
America looked at France, very confused, "Who's responsible for this king baiting?" He asked.
Spain laughed at the boy's confusion, "Who else? The parliament! Let me give you an example; you know who King John is right?"
"Sure, he had to sign the Magna Carta." America said.
"That stated in brief that even though he was the king he was an idiot and couldn't be trusted." France added. "Do you understand now?"
America was beginning to see what they meant, but there was still some confusion. "But why? Why would they do this?"
"Because it's only fair, which brings me to the second thing you must always remember about England." France said with a very serious set of his jaw, the sparkle in his eyes the only indication of the humor in his next statement. "There is only one way for England to do anything, and that is the English way, which means the hard way."
"What?" Was all America could manage to say; he was beginning to get a headache.
"Let me give another example, as much as this will pain me." Spain replied. "Some time ago England's navy, which at the time had fewer ships, smaller ships with less guns went to war with my wonderful and great Spanish Armada, yet still managed to win because they did it the English way."
"Which is the hard way." France said.
"And having fewer, smaller ships with less guns and still winning would only be fair." Spain replied.
"England must have a different definition of 'fair' than the rest of the world." America muttered.
"Of course he does, because England must always do everything the English way." France smiled. "Poor England, he must be beside himself right now; he has the superior army, superior navy, superior military commanders and that's just not fair at all."
"Sí, amigo, how will he do things the English way if he can't be fair about it?"
"He's always been the underdog in every war he's won, and he always wins. Even in wars where the outcome has been in question, he's still the winner somehow."
"Because England did it the English way."
"Which … is the hard way?" America asked.
"¡Claro que sí!" Spain laughed.
"So let me get this straight, if I want to beat England, I have to do it the hard way?" America asked, despair beginning to sink in.
"Only if you want to be fair about it." France replied, smiling at the boy's realization that winning this war would be much harder than he imagined.
"If you're here, that means you're going to help me?" The colony asked, trying to grab on to any shred of hope that may exist in the universe at that moment.
"Officially, no." France said. "Our governments at this time cannot declare war on England."
"Please understand America, but no one recognizes you as a sovereign nation." Spain said sympathetically, "My boss, as far as he can tell thinks this is a civil war between Englishmen"
"And to be honest, my boss just plain doesn't think you can win." France said. "So for now, our countries cannot get involved."
"However" Spain added, "That doesn't stop us from privately funding and supplying you with what you need in secret for the time being."
America looked up at Spain, his eyes wide with a new light that perhaps all wasn't lost.
France stood up and put his hand on America's shoulder. "Our governments are watching this war very closely, and they are itching for a chance to take another shot at England, but they can't declare war unless you can show you have even the smallest hope of winning.
"Wh-what do I have to do to show that?" America asked.
Spain replied. "Win a decisive battle."
"And killing drunken Hessians in their sleep on Christmas doesn't count." France continued, "It has to be a real battle, on a real battlefield."
America's face fell, "Oh, most of Washington's army is made up of young men like me; they don't know how to fight like England does. They can do all 184 steps of the Manual of Arms in their sleep."
"They're professional soldiers, that's all they have to do. If your army wasn't made up of farmers and shop apprentices and could spend all day every day drilling they would also be a professional army." France said.
"We can help there too." Spain smiled. "I've seen to it that someone will be coming from Prussia to train Washington's men."
"Really?" America felt like smiling for what seemed like the first time in ages.
"Yes, he's one of the best; he'll whip the continental army into shape." France said, "Just as a precaution though, try not to spend too much time alone with him." Spain looked from France to America and nodded with a far too cheery expression.
America stood up, scratching the back of his head. He gave a shy smile to both countries and said, "Thank you both, for the food and the lesson."
"De nada." Spain said.
"You have a lot to learn America, but in time I think you will make a fine country." France said.
America looked at both of them and asked, "Do you have to leave soon? Can you stay for a while? I get lonely here being by myself." He admitted, blushing.
"We can stay for a short while, I believe. L'Espagne, do you have any pressing business?
"I think an extended visit with América would be very nice." Spain agreed.
"Great!" America exclaimed with youthful exuberance.
"It will give us a chance to continue your education." France added, "And now that 30,000 of them infest the place, I think this would be a good time to teach you about the Germanies."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author's Note: The Battle of Quebec in the winter of 1775 was incredibly tragic for the Americans. They continued to send delegations to Canada to try and convince them to join in their struggle, but Canada wasn't interested at all. Montgomery's body wasn't found until the following spring when the snow melted.
My inspiration for America's 'education' came from a very funny book, The Boomer Bible. As always, hope you enjoy reading this!
