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Where Idiots Dare

Chapter 8 A Gift Too Far

England had often found himself in confined spaces with various Nations. Some Nations were worse than others for sharing such spaces with. France being one. Austria was definitely another. But not for the same reasons.

The Austrian would not shut up about his imagined torture and England had to keep nodding (to be polite) and just ignore him.

They were sharing what appeared to be a cleaners cupboard and England was peeking out of a kink in the door at the scene outside.

Gilbert, still smouldering (and not in a France type way), his clothes giving off smoke and his white-blond hair stuck up on end, was talking to his brother.

Germany no longer looked relaxed. "What in God's name happened to you?"

"I can explain…"

"Really? I was only gone one day… one day to relax and er… do my hobby, recoup my energy reserves and I come back and find this utter chaos!"

"Do you want a sandwich?" Gilbert suddenly offered him a very squashed sandwich.

Austria grabbed England's arm, "That was meant for me! The cheek of it!" he whispered.

England shook his head and pulled himself away and almost fell over a mop bucket.

"Nein! I do not!" Ludwig smacked it out of his hand. "Please tell me the prisoner is still in his cell?"

Austria shook his head, "Ha! I escaped…" he whispered triumphantly.

"You mean you were rescued," England corrected him.

"It's the same thing…" Austria said petulantly.

"I beg to differ…" England snorted.

"Well… it's like this…" Gilbert started to say.

"I leave you in charge for just one day and the place just about falls to bits. Don't tell me you left Saxony and Silesia as guards?" Germany continued.

"Well…"

Germany was marching up and down as he talked to his brother, "Mein gott! This is too much! I told you they were absolutely useless morons!"

Gilbert was trying to indicate that Saxony and Silesia were actually stood behind Germany, he pointed and gesticulated, "Erm… you might want to… They're not that bad! They're quite good lads."

"Not that bad? They're stupid! I've seen cannonballs that are less dense. I've worn trousers with a higher IQ!"

Prussia couldn't disagree with this. "Are you two guys going to stand there and take that?" he said.

Saxony looked at Silesia, who shrugged. "Well, we kind of just did."

"It wasn't our fault that England got in…" Silesia said.

Germany shook his head. "Ja… I already heard about that…" he said and indicated the quiet intermittent sobbing from Feliciano who was clinging to him. The Italian stunk of petrol and smoke.

"Yeah and America…" Saxony butted in.

"We couldn't stop him! He's a superpower!" Silesia said.

"I'm a superpower!" Germany yelled.

"Yes, but he's a proper one," Silesia muttered quietly.

England and Austria exchanged glances. America would just love that, they both thought.

"Our codenames for them are Mother Goose and the Ugly Duckling," England told Austria proudly.

Austria shook his head.

Outside in the corridor, Germany/Mother Goose was looking especially peevish…

"Did you just issue an invite to all the Allied Nations?" Germany said sarcastically.

"Nah! Netherlands, Belgium and Norway were all busy!" Prussia said.

"Don't tell me… Russia's here?" Germany asked.

"Well…"

Silesia and Saxony practically jumped into each others' arms. "We saw him… He threatened us with a laser death stare…"

Feliciano went white, "I'm going to go and find Pope Dave and pray for our souls…"

"There is no Pope Dave!" Germany yelled. (Feliciano crossed himself.) He pulled himself together. "And I presume Austria went off with them?" Germany said this as if they had all gone on a trip together.

"Well yes of course he did. He's a bloody traitor. Posh twit. I always said…" Prussia said.

Austria shook his head, "Bloody awful people. I can't tell you, Arthur, how much I detest them…" he whispered.

England really wished he would stop calling him 'Arthur' as if they were friends.

Germany massaged his temples. "Did you get any information out of him at all?" he asked wearily.

"Apparently, he told them about your underpants," Prussia admitted.

Germany went a startling shade of pink.

Silesia and Saxony sniggered.

Germany glared at them, "You two! Go and dig a hole or something… surely they can't mess that up? You too, Italy and your idiot brother wherever he is…" he added to Feliciano.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

"And what in God's name are you wearing that monocle for?" Germany asked his brother. "It's like being in a pantomime!"

Gilbert stomped off, "I'll show you!" he said, his clothes still smouldering.

"I told you. Dreadful people," Austria told England as they watched Germany shake his head and hurry off, ordering the soldiers around him to 'get their arses in gear and get the agents captured'.

"I see Ludwig did get his underpants sorted though…" Austria added.

"How do you know that?" England asked, despite not really wanting to know any more details about Germany's underwear predicaments.

"He suffers from what Gilbert calls wedgies," Austria whispered.

England shuddered.

"I see Gilbert finally got me that sandwich though. But no cucumber. You see what I had to put up with, Arthur?"

"It's a violation of human rights. No cucumber," England said. Whether this was sarcasm or not is unsure.

"I know!"

Arthur was pulling out his walkie-talkie. He really needed to talk to someone fairly normal.

"Are you going to tell them about my torture? I'm sure Russia will understand."

England didn't answer. "Charming? Prince Charming? Frog Prince? Come in? Where are you?"

The walkie-talkie buzzed, "Yo!" came a voice.

"It's Charming. Not yo!"

"It's not nice here. Is the weather good there then, Artie?"

"It's not Artie, it's Peter Pan!"

Alfred ignored this, "Dude Francy-pants is doing some spying stuff."

England looked confused.

Austria whispered, "Tell him about my sandwich. Honestly, you have no idea how horrific it's been."

England ignored him, "Prince Charming, Mother Goose and the Ugly Duckling have just moved out… I repeat… Mother Goose and the Ugly Duckling have moved out and know you are here…"

"Wow! Really? Is there some kind of petting zoo?" America asked.

"No you bloody fool. I mean Prussia and Germany! Now get a bloody move on and tell France to stop mucking around!"

"Why? Are we on a schedule?" Alfred asked.

"Of course we bloody are! We have a rendezvous with Red Riding Hood."

"Wow… is Red Riding Hood one of the zookeepers?" America asked wonderingly. "Anyway, gotta go… Francy-pants needs me to check his make-up…"

"Wait what? Put him on! France?" England almost yelled down the walkie-talkie but Austria put this hand over his mouth.

"Over and out!" Austria said into the walkie-talkie.

England shoved him back, "Hey! It's my walkie-talkie!" They wrestled ineffectually over it for a moment before it buzzed repeatedly and a purple haze issued from it.

They tried to pass it to one another until a voice emanated from it.

"Privet Peter Pan and Rumpelstiltskin?"

"I hate my codename," Austria muttered.

"Hello Big Bad Wolf!" England replied.

"Da! I am!" Russia said happily. They heard a horrid crunch and a scream cut off. "Sorry about that, what were you saying?"

"Austria doesn't like his codename. Where are you?"

"I'm in a gift shop! Someone asked me if I wanted any help but I said no and he was trying to get me to join as a member of the Friends of Castle Farting or something."

Austria nodded, "You get free admission for life, if you do," he told him.

England shook his head. "We're at war!" he said in his serious voice.

"Shall I buy some souvenirs?" Russia asked and then there was another cut-off scream.

England would have cut him off but he was a bit scared, "Erm… I think… just some fridge magnets for my brother," he said quickly.

"Da, okay!" Russia said chirpily.

Russia could then be heard saying, "Can I take this and this and oh, this box of fudge for my Baltics?"

They could hear some poor German saying something and then Russia saying, "Really? For free? Thank you!"

"How come he gets free stuff?" Austria asked, appalled. "I didn't even get a coaster!"

"Because he's a bloodthirsty psychopath," England said quietly.

"What was that, Mr Peter Pan?" came the voice over the walkie-talkie.

"Nothing, nothing. Bye then. See you in a bit!" England said, far more cheerily than he felt.

England peered out of the door and quickly shut it again. "Damn and bloody blast! There's at least a dozen bloody Germans out there!"

Austria sighed, "Well we'll have to wait for them to shift then, won't we?" he began to brush at his usually immaculate velvet jacket. "I got filthy in that cell. There was no laundry service at all. I put my shoes outside the door and nobody came along to polish them."

England stared at him aghast, "This isn't a 4 star hotel!"

"I know! And you can tell. When Baron Farting owned the place it was beautiful. It really was."

But this all gave England an idea, especially when he spied a few things in the cupboard that could help…


"So, what do you do for a living?" France/Marianne said seductively.

"I erm… I'm a Major in the Luftwaffe…" the Major pointed to his uniform and his flying 'wings'.

"Of course you are!"

"Do you want some more wine, Marianne? You're looking very erm… interesting…" the Major said.

France was sat at a table in the officers' mess drinking wine and eating some kind of awful German sausage. He was on a date. It was all part of France's cunning and fiendish plan.

"Waiter! More wine please for the lady!" the Major called. "You can't get the staff these days," he whispered conspiratorially.

"Oh I know!" France whispered, leaning across the table, his wig a little askew but his false boobs pressed against his silky blouse. He shifted a little as he was sat on a grenade (with the pin still in, thank goodness).

The waiter plonked the wine down and leaned down to whisper in France's ear, "Man! I ain't no waiter!"

France looked up into America's blue eyes, "Ah you're so cute!" he murmured and patted his cheek - rather hard - and sent him away.

America stomped off grumbling, a tea-towel over his arm, an apron around his middle. He really thought this was stupid. Shouldn't they be killing Germans, not wining and dining them?

"So my leetle Major…You were telling me?" France said, leaning forward.

"About what?" the Major shuffled around in his seat. In the glaring light of the officers' mess, Marianne the barmaid did not look as attractive as she had done in the dark smoky atmosphere of the village Tavern.

"About your job… it sounds so… glamorous!" France breathed.

"It does?"

"Of course! All those planes you have to fly and all those codes you have to remember!"

"Codes?"

"For landing and taking off! You are so clever!" France said, leaning forward.

"Ah yes! Well when you're clever like me… why is that waiter glaring at me?"

France turned round to see America gesticulating. He waved him away. But the 'boy' refused to move.

France sighed, got up and tottered across. "What eez wrong with you?"

"Why are you chatting him up?"

"Are you jealous?"

"Jeez! No! But Artie dude might be! I thought we were escaping!"

"Ah Arthur… mon amor… I have to get some information from ze silly German fool."

"Yeah okay…" America shuffled from foot to foot and looked like an impatient child waiting for their parent.

"If you're good, I'll get you some sweeties later, okay?" France said.

America's eyes lit up.

France headed back to the table, "Sorry about that, sweetie. You tell me all about it…"

"I shouldn't be here…my wife…"

France put his hands up in mock horror, "Your wife! You never told me you were married! Oh Gustav! How could you? I thought we were meant to be together! What will I tell the children?"

"We don't have any… children? Oh mein Gott!" the man went very pale. "That night we didn't… I mean.. I was very drunk…."

"You mean you don't remember? Oh Gustav! What will everybody think of me? I will never hold my head up high again…" France said, looking as if he were going to swoon.

America frowned and shook his head, but his hand tightened on his rifle.

The man was panicking now. There were still sounds of gunfire somewhere. "I erm…"

"And what will your superiors say? What will…" here France paused, taking a big gulp of wine, "…General Beilschmidt say?"

The major began finding that his collar was suddenly too tight. "I er…"

"Or… Major Gilbert Beilschmidt?"

"Nein! Please don't tell them! I'd never live it down!"

France smiled. It wasn't exactly how he was going to get the codes but this was just as good. "Give me some information and they will never need to know…"

"But that's blackmail!"

"Blackmail is such an ugly word. Like sabotage. And slaughter. But not code. Code is a far more lovely word…" France said, smiling a deadly smile.


While France was blackmailing a poor unsuspecting Luftwaffe officer for landing codes. Russia had a dilemma of his own.

"Do you have any t-shirts?" he asked the man behind the counter.

He was stood in the Castle Farting souvenir shop browsing the wares and wondering what gifts he could take back for Estonia and Lithuania. He'd already picked up a box of fudge (with 'Castle Farting' printed in gothic script on the top), a fridge magnet for Scotland and was looking at the t-shirts.

Ivan had been a little surprised to find a souvenir shop but then again, the castle did appear to be on the tourist trail. After all, he was there wasn't he?

"We don't sell t-shirts…"

"What about… maps of the castle?" Russia asked, with a flash of genius.

The man nodded and pointed to a shelf full of touristy maps.

Russia grinned happily and, humming, flicked through some. "I'll take one of these as well… actually I'd better take three if I catch up with my friends." (America, France, Austria and England would all be amazed that he called them 'friends'.)

He then dashed out, after all, he had a schedule to keep. But not before he signed the visitors book, 'SUNFLOWERS DA?' in blood, a childish smiley face underneath.


"I feel a right bloody fool," England muttered.

Austria resisted the urge to tell him that he looked it. But then he would have to say that he did too. And he didn't think he did. In fact, he thought the Tour Guide uniform was rather splendid.

"Do you think this will work?" England asked.

"It will if you keep your mouth shut and leave the talking to me," Austria said.

"I say! I'm in charge here you know!"

"Can you speak German?"

"Nein, I mean er ja. Zis is eine Denrog!" England said triumphantly, after much spluttering and humming and harring.

"Denrog! Where?" Austria almost jumped into his arms.

"Well…"

"Fine. Leave it to me. Don't say a word." Austria said confidently and opened the door.

**To be continued **