Everything was a blur. His ears felt muffled while his visibility was limited. Three seconds later, there came the distinctive high-pitched ringing and the unfolding of the scenery before his eyes. Mein Gott!

Germany reached for his rifle but saw it shrink in the snow. Puzzled, he looked around. Now, he turned angrily at whoever was dragging him away from the battlefield.

"It's a lost cause, Deutschland,"—that voice—"Our only hope for now is to pull back"—can't be—"Netherlands and Luxemburg will cover the fronts…" Scheiße.

Germany opened his mouth but was greeted with a burning sensation in his throat. He coughed and stained his hands with dirt and blood. Mortar... mortar shells.

"Come on! We don't have much time." He could hear the deafening bursts of a machine gun above his head. He caught one of the empty cartridges in his hand and was impressed. For someone her size, she sure can carry something that big.

Seconds later, there came the notorious click and a short curse in French. "I'm out!"

"Belgium…" Germany managed. His throat was throbbing.

"Shh, don't talk. It'll only get worse for you." She sounded so gentle yet so fierce.

I just want to say how sorry I am…

The whir of the helicopter startled Japan. On one of the cliffs at the edge of Japanese coast, the final brigade was being reduced to waste by its own dead. Japan broke a naginata pole and thrust weapon's blade into its owner.

"Japan! Japan!"

The nation whirled around. What are you doing here! You'll get shot out of the sky!

"Aniki! Come on!"

"No!"

"Aniki!"

To punctuate his point, Japan pushed his blade through a young woman's head and twisted it viciously until the skull fragmented. "Leave before I do the same to your rotary engines!"

South Korea sighed. He gestured to a squadron of 707th Special Mission Battalion sitting tight behind him. The sergeant nodded and shared a neutral look to his fellow subordinates. The message was communicated without any words. Silencers were rolled onto the barrels of their rifles. South Korea accepted the dart rifle and rested his back against the door of the helicopter.

Despite the strength of the gale that came along this endless blizzard, the pilot managed to steady the chopper long enough for the country to take aim. The crosshairs centered on the back of Japan's (exposed) neck.

Three… two… one…

The black berets swooped down as Japan went limp. The last of his soldiers had already shifted sides after tasting death. There was an exchange of gunfire as the undead Japanese Special Forces group clashed with the 707th. Both sides took casualties.

In the end, Japan had to be restrained as he let his emotions run high having realized what had just happened.

"Aniki, we cannot win this war without you."

"You should have left me!"

South Korea bent down to face him. "Aniki, we have set all our differences aside a long time ago. Let's work together on this. No one can beat General Winter alone. North tried. He was just as stubborn as you."

Japan looked up. "Nani?"

"North tried to beat the season. He lost. We pulled out just as they broke through the parallel. Seoul is gone, too, aniki."

Japan let his gaze shift to the stone-faced soldiers of the 707th. Three seats were empty. One was unconscious and had his leg wrapped in gauze. The floor of the aircraft was smeared with red.

South Korea faced the cockpit. "Pilot, how much longer?"

"Thirty minutes, jang-gunnim."

"Where are we going?" the older nation asked.

"To our allies' navy battle group."

"America?"

"Southeast Asia."

China had lost full control of his left leg. Carried on a stretcher, he managed to hold onto a radio to call in an artillery strike in their area. He could see the young privates begin to succumb to the effects of fatigue. Lijiang will have to prep up.

Tibet! Tibet's mountain ranges will help! He almost forgot. If General Winter would attempt a flanking maneuver, he would have to go through the Himalayas. But what if the mountains would give way to his troops? They were, after all, snowed over year on end. How far until the next encampment, he didn't ask.

A few more minutes, the private replied.

"Who is in charge?" After losing their headquarters to a sudden artillery barrage, it was clear that the leadership of the PLA was crippled.

It took five minutes to reach tent city. Sandbags reinforced the walls of rock that encircled the snowy plateau. Artillery cannons lined the rear, launching their munitions high and mighty against the cold wind. These colonels should be promoted!

Germany steadied his hand for the fifty-seventh time. Naturally, he would recover from war shock rather quickly. But with Prussia gone and the loss of his state, it was rather hard on him. No tears were shed. Only sweat and blood, frozen on the ground and buried by the snow.

What made things worse on his conscience was that he shared double-deckers with Belgium. He didn't know whether it was cruel humor on Austria's part or the result of Hungary's cracked spirit. Even countries were supposed to follow the regulations of mortals; gender-mixed quarters had seemingly become the norm in this chaotic world.

He stared at his coffee, watching it evaporate in his cup, unable to drink it. Because Belgium prepared it for him. He couldn't even shave. Because he was using a Belgian-made razor. He was too damned to lie down on the cot. Knowing all too well that Belgium would be sleeping right above him.

"Gott verdammt," he whispered.

Belgium walked into the shelter. The mere sight of her gave him a moment of complete paralysis. He shook it off and felt queasy as she sat beside him.

"I'm sorry about what happened to Prussia," she apologized in his native tongue.

"It's alright," he managed.

She looked at him. Germany felt a stone hand grip at his heart. Those eyes.

"Belgien, ich…"

"It's really hard to forgive someone who did something deemed unforgivable," she began. Already her voice wobbled. And her eyes sparkled.

Curse the Schleiffen Plan! "I really am…"

She broke. "Deutschland, you didn't have to really follow what they told you."

"I'm truly sorry… I know you've heard it many times before… even Prussia would—"

His heart skipped a beat. How could he not have shed tears for his brother? Was he really that cold-hearted? Growing up out of so many wars, was this the result of the bloody conflicts courtesy of the mortals who embodied the blood of his state?

"Preußen…"

It didn't surprise him that he caved in silently over Belgium's shoulder. She, too, was caving in over his. Both were locked in a wet embrace.

"I am truly sorry…" If only I could more than just say it…

"I forgive you…" If only I could bring my whole heart to do it…

Austria watched from his quarters. The silhouettes in his cousin's tent were sufficient enough to tell him that they made up. Hopefully.

He turned to check on his patient. Hungary had never spoken much since the incident. Prussia was gone. A childhood friend forever gone to history. Did the Frosted Plague really have the capability to kill nations as easily as hypothermia killed mortals?

"Magyarország?"

She looked up. "Ausztria, I don't really feel…"

"It's alright." He sat beside her, resting his arm over her shoulder. "We all did our best."

"I really didn't know…"

"Go on."

"I really didn't know"—she stared through his glasses—"how much Prussia means to me."

Not far off, a rock tumbled down its holdings and landed thirty feet below. "It hits us hard when it happens," he answered neutrally.

"He was a segg… but an alright segg."

"Ja."

"Austria?"

"Hm?"

"You miss him, too, right?"

"Yes, I do." I really miss his antics.

"Then that defines how much of an impact he made on us."

"I agree."

As Hungary drifted to sleep, Austria waltzed into the storm and sighed. Prussia, you idióta, I have much to thank you.

"Well?"

The super weapon was nearing completion. "We just need to calibrate the electronics and align the mirrors in the proper angles."

"What about the source of the energy?"

"Already taken care of."

Why am I not surprised? "I guess I do owe your scientists some credit."

France took no offense. "It was our brainchild, Britagne. And we have America to thank for the initiative of the whole project."

"I guess you're right."

The whole thing had gone so fast that it was making the deadline two years early. The main setback of General Winter is that none of his goons are smart enough to enter the world of espionage. Britain smiled at that thought. He's the only commanding officer with a brain. Even if the other nations succumbed to his power, they wouldn't even bend to his will.

Not that they would, anyway. America stepped into the room, an aura of frustration lingering about. By the sour look on his face, everyone knew what had happened before the media got a whiff.

"Alaska's gone."

"America, it's a loss that we all feel."

Yeah, right. "Fucking Snowball just ate up my fucking cavalry regiments." America collapsed into a swivel chair slammed his fist hard against the table. "He is going to pay for what he did!"

Not good, Britain thought. What was it that he liked? Fast food sandwiches? "How about a burger?"

Judging by the look he tossed him, he wasn't in the mood for his favorite meal. Loosing Alaska was hard on him. Bloody git needs to cool off. He tossed in his next card. "France is almost done with the super weapon."

America lit up at the news. "How much progress?"

"Estimate of about fifteen percent, Amerique. There is still a major calibration process that needs to be conducted before we can—"

"I want the ray gun aimed at Moscow!"

"Moscow is already in ruins! Do you still want to reduce a good city to a farmer's paradise?"

"General Winter started his campaign from Russia's place. Logically speaking, he has his base there. If we blast the base, we blast him hard enough that he'll be holding onto his crotch for the next ten years!"

"Ease yourself, America! By God, at least cool off, damn it," Britain snapped.

America seethed at the older country. France looked on, waiting for them to settle their differences. He's right. If I don't fess up and suck it, thing's get worse. "Thanks," he sighed. "for knocking some more sense into me."

"Just don't let your emotions get the better of you, America. This is war, remember? You've had better performances when you were hunting down Osama."

"Don't bring it up!"

"Very well, then."

France butted in. "Well, then, shall we? After all, we have to find out if it works."

"Well, we can't aim it anywhere in Russia, considering that the whole place is a white mass all year round."

"Not entirely." This time, it was America who made the corrections. Impressive, both nations remarked. The youngest of the three looked at the maps on the wall. Then a light bulb went on. With a grin reaching all the way to his ears, he grabbed a pen and drew a red circle around Alaska.

"Fine choice, mon neveu."

Britain turned to his friend-slash-enemy. "France, are the satellites in place?"

"Oui. The International Space Station has already installed the mirrors just in case their shuttle would participate."

"No problems with our energy sources?"

"Aucun, Britagne."

"And alignment?"

"Superbe."

"So all we need now are a few more glass panels and we're set," America declared.

"Do I have to repeat myself? The device still needs a major calibration before we can continue with the mirrors!"

"Whatever…"