Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of such masterful tomfoolery.
**WARNING**: Strong Language, Very Graphic Scenes, Bloodshed, Gore and Extreme Violence [This is a special warning for this chapter as it is very dark and graphic. There is no sugarcoating of the battle scene depicted here; there is no shying from the realism once so ever. If you are the faint of heart, squeamish, or just prefer not to read graphic depictions of violence, please message me and I will be more than happy to give you a censored summary of the chapter's main points so you don't get lost in the current or coming chapters. I will not be offended if you decide to take the summary route. Please take this warning seriously as I do not want to upset or offend anyone following the story. Otherwise, please read on and enjoy.]
Chapter Ten Characters:
-England/ Arthur Kirkland
-America/ Alfred F. Jones
Time Frame: World War I
-Never Your Hero-
Chapter X
"I can never escape."
The only thing he could think about was how much his right side burned. The muscles were strained and inflamed, his skin felt too tight and stifling over his old wound. He knew he had seriously reinjured the site when he collided with the side of the repository; he also knew the twisted metal pipe he had pulled out of his leg had left the appendage badly damaged. Thankfully his femur had been spared from breaking, but the quadriceps had been skewered clean through and bled heavily.
He had feared that his femoral artery had been ruptured, but since he hadn't bled to death he thanked God it had been missed.
He was bruised, bleeding worst from his leg and best from the lacerations on his face and arms. But overall he had been spared the brunt of the injuries thanks to having been thrown clear of the train, via the hole made by the final explosion.
Alfred...hadn't been so lucky.
Arthur wasn't sure how long he'd been out when he hit the ground, but when he came to it had been to the explosion of the engine car more than 5 kilometers to the north...or at least what he assumed was the north as that had been the direction they had been traveling in. Even from this distance the explosion had been intense enough to rouse him, given the landscape was a desolate wasteland with nothing to muffle the sound or shield him from the falling debris. He also vaguely thought he heard a plane, but he couldn't be sure with his ears ringing so badly.
When he got his bearings and realized he had a metal pipe in his leg, it didn't take him long after he'd yanked the thing out to really wake up.
It had taken all his willpower not to scream and several minutes more to slow his breathing down and reopen his eyes. Immediately he had begun to scan the field for Alfred. When he couldn't find his American companion he felt panic rising in his chest; he didn't even want to imagine the reasons for Alfred's disappearance as he forced himself up and back in the direction of the wreck.
What had been less than five or so minutes had felt like hours. By the time he saw a pale hand beneath the massive iron panel...he thought his heart had abandoned him.
He didn't remember when he got to Alfred's position, he didn't even remember grabbing the first metal sheet and throwing it off. He wasn't sure how he managed to keep standing with his leg oozing blood or even how he had ignored his throbbing side and lack of breath while he was commanding Alfred to remain still (though inside he was begging him to move and say something).
Fear choked him at how incredibly unresponsive Alfred had been. When Alfred had been younger he had been an endless ball of energy; even in his deepest sleeps he would still fidget and squirm, and a few times a single kick from the lad had knocked Arthur clean off the bed. The Alfred lying before him now was barely breathing, let alone the same pain in the arse he'd reared centuries ago. The feeling of gut-wrenching fear compounded when he removed the last of the debris and found the back of the American's uniform stained thick with blood.
In the firelight cast off by the wreck, he could see that it was dark blood...the kind released by vital organs.
He had fallen to his knees upon seeing it, his heart seized and he couldn't stop himself from shaking. The back of the tunic wasn't ripped, but it was clear something had opened the skin to make it bleed. Given the weight of the rubble he'd pulled off of Alfred's prone body, Arthur wouldn't be surprised if the skin had split upon impact. As for the near-black blood...he bet shattered bone meeting soft tissue had been the cause of it. Alfred was still unmoving and silent. Automatically his hand shot forward and searched for a pulse in his neck. The American's expression became pained and the fluttering of a pulse reassured him that Alfred hadn't experienced his first death...not yet at least.
That didn't stop his chest from constricting when Alfred cried out in pain upon rolling him over; it didn't get any better when the first words out of Alfred's mouth had been asking about his mentor's condition rather than worrying about his own. Bloody git...
There was no telling where those who had attacked the train had come from, and he didn't know if it had been friendly fire or enemy fire. There had been no doubt that whoever it was had been using high-impact shells, explosives strong enough to destroy a train like that. He knew that if their attackers were close then they had to keep quiet and more. Another thing he knew was that Alfred was hurt, badly so, and while he wasn't much better off he was still the only one vaguely mobile.
He had to get Alfred away from this area before their attackers arrived to survey the damage. Even if Alfred survived his injuries, Arthur doubted he would survive a possible German assault in this condition.
But by the knickers of St. George, when had Alfred gotten so bloody heavy?
Initially, just getting Alfred into position to be carried was painful for both of them, and then standing had been sheer agony on Arthur's injured leg and side. His American companion was pure dead weight on his back and it made the Brit stumble a few times before he picked up a steady pace and managed to move them as far from the scene as he could. While he doubted he had made it even half a kilometer, he found an old crater made by a mortar that was deep enough to conceal them for the time being.
It wasn't ideal...but considering how exhausted Arthur was and how injured they both were, it would have to do.
Arthur was currently slumped against the side of the crater, Alfred next to him on his back and slightly propped up on the dirt. Arthur would have rather rested Alfred on his side to take pressure off his back, but with Alfred's breathing as precarious as it was he knew being inclined was best for his struggling lungs. Alfred looked incredibly pale and Arthur knew keeping him awake and alert would have been what any human medic would have done...but Alfred wasn't human. For nations, they healed best when asleep and withdrawn from conflict. Arthur was healing incredibly slowly; he could feel his leg mending but it was nowhere near an acceptable speed for a nation of his age and strength. He would have loved to have slept and woken refreshed and repaired, but he couldn't risk leaving Alfred unguarded with possible Germans so close.
Arthur let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, letting his head thump back against the dirt wall as he tried to decide what to do. He could stay here and hold vigil over Alfred and hope he would pull through, considering the extent of his injuries. Given Arthur's own injuries, stay would have been a wise choice...but that left them unarmed and unguarded and that was unacceptable. Neither Alfred nor Arthur had been wearing their gear packs when the train had been attacked, and other than the items on their belts and weapons holstered on their person, they had nothing to defend themselves with. He didn't want to leave Alfred, but they had to at least have rifles before they attempted moving on towards the destination their train would never see.
He had his revolver, two No. 5's, knuckle dusters in the pouch on his belt and a trench knife sheathed on his back; but it would never be enough without a rifle.
He had to go back to the train. He didn't have a choice.
The Englishman felt his stomach tighten, but quickly ignored it and focused on treating Alfred as best he could. Alfred still had a med pack on the back of his belt, and Arthur had removed it before setting him up against the crater. Arthur made quick work of removing the belts, bracers, and tunic on Alfred's upper torso...a torso so stained with bruises his skin looked almost indigo. Arthur had to close his eyes and take a breath before angling Alfred's body enough to see the wound on his back.
He winced upon seeing the rift that nearly ran the length of Alfred's spine, and swallowed before tearing his eyes away to rifling through the med kit.
Making short yet efficient work of the patch job, Arthur stitched and padded the wound as much as he was able with the meager provisions. He tugged Alfred's uniform back on and rewrapped his belts, though not tightly...he didn't want to cause any further discomfort. He was grateful Alfred had been completely unconscious for the entire process, especially the stitching. He didn't want to have to deal with a vocal and difficult patient whilst wielding a needle; since he had given Alfred stitches before while he'd been alert and oriented, he could confidently say that he would not have taken it well. He knew when Alfred woke up he'd be complaining his bloody ear off, stitches in that area were not comfortable for anyone, but right now Arthur would be grateful for even a single note of bitching.
The Alfred he leaned back against the dirt crater was not the Alfred he knew, and it frightened him. He hadn't seen him so...so unlike himself since the War of 1812, and before that his condition during the Revolution-...
Focus. He had to focus.
With Alfred as settled as he could make him, Arthur took the last of the gauze wrapping and tie off his still-bleeding leg. That done, Arthur forced himself to turn his head from Alfred and climb out of the pit.
The terrain looked like much of France at the moment - a bloody lunar surface. Potholes covered the chalky soil and nothing stood on the open ground. There was no cover out here, which made traversing it very dangerous. Thankfully this area looked like an old battlefield, as most of the war had moved north and east. The rail that ran through here had been considered as safe as anything could be in Europe at this time, which was why they had taken it en route to Belgium. Arthur had no idea why anyone had remained in this desolate place, but he knew it should have still been behind Allied lines, as the train was only to take them as far as the Allies protected.
The Hindenburg had once been pretty deep into France, but as the Allies had progressively pushed the German line back the Allied hold should have been in control this area. So how the hell had they been attacked? ...Had the line moved again so quickly?
Arthur kept his revolver in his right hand and alternated between moving fast and low over the ground to halting in a crouch on one knee. He had to go down on his left leg since his right was still flaring with pain and bleeding; though he knew the bleeding had lessened and the wound was clotting, the pain was still horrid. He knew he was really pushing himself to his limit, but he had a mission to accomplish and needed to get back to Alfred as soon as possible.
The urge to turn around and head back right then and there was strong, but he had to get those rifles!
The heat of the fire was still strong enough to be felt from a distance, and seeing the extent of the damage as he approached the scene was humbling. The cars were either upturned along the track or completely obliterated, the scattered remains of which were spread out for kilometers to the north and south. The car he and Alfred had been riding in had been blown clear of the others and rested in a shredded heap yards away. Arthur really couldn't believe they had survived that...he also couldn't believe what had been inside those repositories the entire time.
In the firelight, the glint of fresh rifle barrels spilt from the ruptured containers made Arthur's jaw gape. Dear God, they had been riding in an armory transport!
Now Arthur had a new fear dawning upon him, and simply not getting shot at and returning with a few rifle seemed like the least of his worries.
Very few commercial trains were braving the rails between Paris and Belgium, but the military lines were still running supplies to the Allied front. Arthur hadn't inspected the train's cargo when he and Alfred boarded it, he had only relayed orders from Field Marshall Haig that they be allowed to travel the fastest means necessary to the Passchendaele area. No one questioned the strange request and Arthur never elaborated. He and Alfred hac just picked a car and held on for the ride.
Who knew they'd pick the most explosive and precious bloody transport of them all?
Hoping the fires had already discharged the majority of whatever munitions had been on board, Arthur had to keep himself moving forward to the car closest to him - one not in danger from the fire and still enclosed, completely on its head alongside the rail. He quickly pressed himself against the rusted surface and paused, trying to breathe slowly and listen for noises beyond the crackling fire around him. Any pops from overheated bullets or explosives would have been his cue to get the hell back to a crater and wait for things to calm down, but considering the payload naked and unclaimed all over the bloody ground he couldn't abandon it.
If it really was the enemy who had destroyed the train, then he couldn't let them collect the spoils and turn Allied arms against his people.
He took a few more breaths; easily calming himself as he entered into a mode where the objective was defined and executing the means towards it were nearly mechanical. Anyone, himself included, would have suspected anyone riding the train had been killed either in the initial explosions or the aftermath. Arthur knew that if he and Alfred had been human they wouldn't have disappointed this logic, but given they were nations...well, they had a chance at spitting in the eye of logic.
After a few minutes he heard it, both what he feared and expected.
German. The men approaching were speaking German.
At first he had only heard rapid steps approaching from somewhere far behind the car he was pressed against. The sound of heavy gear-packs jostling against rapidly moving bodies was getting louder, and more than a few bolts being pulled back and released made him tighten his grip on the revolver. The quick march seemed to putter out and silence reigned for a moment before someone kicked some debris across the ground.
"Der Luftstreik hat funktioniert!" A man commented, accompanied by a few nervous chuckles from various positions.
"Ruhe! Nicht so langsam!" A sharp voice barked, making some shift uncomfortably from the sounds of it. "Ausführung!"
A chorus of "Zu Befehl!" and "Jawohl!" rose up in unison behind him, and Arthur took an estimate that there had to be at least eight or so...possibly more, but definitely no less than six.
The Englishman remained frozen in his position against the car, sticking to the shadows cast off by the firelight as his green eyes remained locked in the direction he heard the majority of the voices. He hadn't really understood everything said, his German was incredibly limited, but his thoughts quickly turned from trying to decipher the foreign language to pressing tighter against the car as the first held rifle came into view.
A Gewehr 98 Mauser was held tightly in the hands of the first German soldier that graced his vision some ten or so yards away. The soldier's uniform was a darker shade of green than his own; his helmet more bowl shaped and came down lower over the sides of his face than the British version. The cuffs of the sleeves were larger and rolled higher on the forearms, the pants slightly baggier and tucked into tall black boots. The utility belt was similar to the Allied equivalent, but there was no gas mask hanging from the back or a med pack next to it. Arthur caught the flash of a large knife handle sheathed down from the back of the soldier's hip, and as the man passed him by he also found a secondary knife sheathed along his right leg.
The soldier was heading away from him and towards one of the busted repositories to his left; it wasn't long before several more Germans followed suit, Arthur counted seven in all now gathering approximately thirty yards from him.
Seven rifle toting Germans verses the injured personification of the British Empire, armed only with a six shot revolver.
It was anyone's game as far as Arthur was concerned.
About three Germans clustered around the overturned containers bleeding rifles, the others were quickly going through the cars down the line and excavating one shell after another. There seemed to be a kind of system going on as each time a scout exited a car they shouted what Arthur recognized as numbers. He wasn't sure what they were counting off, but someone was winding up what sounded like a radio behind his cover.
Who the hell were they contacting this far into France?
Suddenly, the smell of heavy tobacco clouded his senses when the wind shifted. Arthur had to hold his breath to keep from choking at the unexpected addition to the air, and froze again when another man came into view and stopped just at the end of his car to take another draw on his cigarette. He was close enough Arthur could have nearly grasped him at arm's length; if the man turned around, he'd see the Brit for sure...then all hell would break loose.
Arthur was now very certain that the seven Germans maneuvering about the wreckage were not the only ones here...but as to how many more he couldn't see, he didn't know.
Damn it.
The German near him took one last draw of the roll before dropping it on the ground and crushing it into the dirt. He shouted something to someone beyond Arthur's scope and turned to head away from the end of the car-
Towards Arthur.
The Englishman didn't waste any time. The second the German turned and lifted his head, Arthur had holstered his gun, whipped out his knife, grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him forward into the blade.
The man's expression was startled, wide hazel eyes were frantic and confused until Arthur angled the blade embedded in his sternum up and watched the light shudder and die in his eyes. Arthur let the body fall into him as he quickly tightened his grip on the collar and slowly eased the corpse down. It had been quick and silent, the point of using the blade rather than the gun. The Englishman drug the body further into the shadows before reclaiming his place against the car.
He barely noticed the warm fluid dripping from his hand.
Looking back out, no one seemed to have noticed the absence of his comrade. Whatever the man had said before making his fatal mistake must have satisfied them that he'd be gone for a while...maybe to take care of some bodily functions, who knew. Arthur wiped the blade along the side of his pants before re-sheathing it and unholstering the revolver once more.
Suddenly, Arthur felt the car behind him shake. He tensed and his head shot up at the sound of someone banging on the other side of the overturned car. There was some grunting followed by loud shouting, footsteps rapidly approached before two voices began a countdown, and on "drei" the car shook again to the sounds of metal scraping on metal that made Arthur grind his teeth.
Someone climbed into the now open car and Arthur immediately crouched low, eyeing his side of the upside-down door behind him. Hopefully no one got the urge to open it or he'd be royally screwed. Heavy boot-steps in the coach at his back made his heart race and sweat pour down his face. It wasn't until someone laughed and then leapt out on the other side that he relaxed enough to move to the opposite end of his cover and peek around the corner.
He crept along the panel and stopped just far enough to see the large box the soldier had retrieved from the car. His eyes widened, he didn't have to wait for them to open the hay filled box to know what was inside.
Grenades; judging by the pleased expressions, there were plenty more to be had inside.
Arthur couldn't allow this. Not only would these Germans now have Allied rifles, but explosives as well. There might still be ammo and other provisions that hadn't been destroyed in the attack, and the thought of the enemy walking away with such a bounty to turn on his side was beyond incomprehensible. There was the sound of a vehicle approaching, the loud motor from the machine beyond his view rumbled as a new set of voices greeted the other Germans. Someone grabbed the crate of grenades and started towards whoever had come. They were going to transport what they could back to wherever it was they came from.
He had to do something!
Arthur paused only a moment before suddenly rushing back to his original position by the car, straight to the soldier's body he'd hidden. Intentionally keeping his eyes away from the man's face, Arthur immediately began to search him and procured the specific items he sought. Arthur took the man's Luger P08 pistol, slung his Mauzer rifle over his shoulder, and grasped the handle of the main item of destruction he'd been hunting for. The man had only been carrying one, but one was enough.
Pushing himself up, locking his jaw as pain shot through his injured leg, Arthur swiftly moved as close as he could to the end of his cover in the direction of the armory car - eyeing the congregation of soldiers moving armfuls of munitions into a mound by the first spilt container. Someone on the other side of the tracks shouted a command and everyone turned towards him, then four more Germans added to the four now congregating around the mound of weapons.
Arthur unscrewed the cap at the bottom of the handle and grasped the cord that fell out. He wouldn't be able to count on shrapnel from this, but he didn't need it. The explosion alone should be enough to kill a good number, if not all of the soldiers, and create enough deadly discharges from the rifles he was about to sacrifice to finish off the rest.
He counted to three in his head, waiting for the tightest cluster of bodies before yanking the cord, throwing his arm back and then launching the stick grenade.
Someone looked up, not recognizing the flying device until the last moment, and his scream was swallowed up by the loud explosion that ripped the night, followed by the pops of wild gunfire.
Arthur, who had been crouched with his head turned away, looked back to see a heavy plumage of black smoke billowing from the center of the blast, ringed by haphazardly thrown rifles and bodies either still or flailing. There were frantic shouts and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, someone shrieking out frantic orders while bolts were drawn back and rifles being drawn up and armed. The Englishman grasped a rung of the upside-down half ladder and proceeded to scale it, trying to ignore his leg as he ascended and hauled himself up and over the top of the car.
In an ideal situation he would have taken to hiding atop a car further down the tracks (preferably not filled with grenades), but since he would have risked being seen he had little choice but this one closer to his targets. Arthur knew he couldn't have outrun the Germans anyway, not in his condition, so this was it and it was pointless bemoaning it.
While the Germans were scurrying over the ground, searching for where the grenade had been thrown from as a few braver soldiers rushed to their fallen comrades, Arthur held on to the train axels and swiftly lowered himself to settle down onto the coach's belly. He kept himself in a crouch, feet spread wide over the gears as he imagined where would be the best place to start while unslinging the rifle and chambering a round. He knew there was still a number of Germans on the side of the tracks opposite his original position; he also knew there was a vehicle of some kind around there. If possible, he hoped to keep from damaging the vehicle...it might be his and Alfred's ticket out of here.
A sudden shout from right below startled him, and he soon realized someone had taken cover on the opposite side of the car from where he'd been hiding. Arthur slowly crawled to the railing closest to where he heard the German's voice and peered over the edge...rifle aiming down.
The man never knew the bullet that ended his life.
The loud bang of the rifle and the collapse of the German had several soldiers turning towards Arthur's position. Arthur took little time examining the various debris piles they had taken refuge behind before he used the last of his element of surprise to sight down and pull the trigger on two more soldiers.
A bullet struck the metal railing next to his head and Arthur immediately ducked down as more followed. His stealth sniping was over, but he was still at a somewhat advantage as he had the high ground and a low barrier shielding him from the gunfire. Provided he didn't pop up like a carnival duck (or Alfred), he'd be spared from the hail of bullets.
But God damn it, he couldn't get a shot in edge wise with his body pressed to the deck!
More bullets pinged against the metal surrounding him and even more went wild over his head. The man issuing orders before was back to doing so and he heard the thumping of boots getting closer while others kept up cover fire. Were he not so concerned about setting off the volatile cargo below him and not knowing his enemies positions, he would have pitched a No. 5 over the side and returned fire in the confusion. As it was, he was banking on the Germans' keeping their bombs to themselves for fear of the same reasons.
How frustrating!
The sudden shake of the car was his first alert that someone had managed to round the coach; the second was the sound of hands grasping the ladder and climbing up. Arthur rolled over onto his back, dropping the rifle and cleared his revolver of its holster before aiming the pistol in the direction of the German ascending to his position.
The minute he saw blue eyes he pulled the trigger and saw the blood spray before the sound of the body dropped back to earth.
Holstering the revolver, he grabbed the rifle again and counted to three before rolling back onto his stomach and barely rising up to his knees. He only had a second before he was forced to drop again as bullets ripped through the air, but now he had a better mental picture of the field.
Two Germans were taking cover behind an overturned car no more than ten or so yards from him while another pair -about 5 yards to their right- was behind a mound of shredded metal, still winding up a radio, and shouting back to the man barking out orders in German - the majority of which were "Feuer Frei!" That one, Arthur was very familiar with.
Germany had screamed it moments before German machine guns had leveled his men at Somme.
Arthur's eyes narrowed as he pulled a grenade from his belt, hooking his finger around the trigger pin before pulling it, holding onto the silver lever tightly. He now knew he could throw this far enough and be safe from compromising the cargo beneath him. Besides...Arthur wasn't about to take another German bullet to the head.
One-
Another shot pinged off the railing.
Two-
He released the lever and his stomach tightened.
THREE!
Arthur bolted up and pitched the grenade as far as he could, dropping back behind his cover as a bullet grazed the side of his jaw.
"GRENATE!" The officer shrieked before the resounding explosion consumed him.
Dirt and metal shredded the air and the pellets that rained down went far enough to cover Arthur with burning hot bits of shrapnel and sand. The Brit had one arm covering the back of his neck as the other pressed against the right side of his face. Warm wetness spilled through his fingers while he screwed his eyes tightly shut as the last of the explosion's aftermath continued falling.
Pulling his hands away from his neck and face, Arthur wasted no time in grabbing his rifle and rising from his prone position. He leveled the weapon, sighted down the barrel and surveyed the field.
...Aside from the settling debris, nothing moved.
Arthur's eyes moved swiftly over the landscape, rifle still raised and ready to fire as he took in the damage. It seemed as though the grenade had landed on the right side of the overturned car and killed both men hiding behind it. Blood and gore littered the ground he could see, and turning to the pair who had been hiding behind the rubble not far away yielded a detached and mangled leg peering out from behind mound...the radio and other man nowhere to be seen.
The Englishman held his position for several minutes, listening to the fire still crackling along the tracks and his own paced breathing. Finally, he rose from his upright crouch and stood, his right leg protesting the entire way. He felt something fall onto his lapel and he looked down to see blood splattering his uniform.
Oh...right...his jaw.
He reached up with an already bloodstained hand and felt along the several centimeter deep gash running the underside of his jaw. The skin wasn't bad enough to need stitches, he guessed, but it was still bleeding pretty steadily and turning areas of his green uniform black...which was fine with him.
If he was bleeding, then his heart was still beating.
Arthur turned to head back towards the ladder when a man suddenly surprised him with a rifle aimed at his chest.
Arthur couldn't stop himself from staring in wide-eyed amazement as the blood-covered German kept the rifle level with his sternum, shaking hands barely keeping the weapon steady as the soldier met Arthur's surprised expression with a wild one. The moment seemed to stretch for eternity as the German struggled to pull the trigger. The Englishman finally snapped out of his daze and slowly began to raise his unarmed hand before the startled soldier suddenly screamed and leapt forward, plunging the bayonet at the end of his rifle high into Arthur's stomach.
Green eyes widened, disbelief struck him before instinct took over and he dropped his own rifle to grab the barrel of the German's; he had to prevent the German from ripping the bayonet out in a way that took his insides with it. Immediately, Arthur pushed the shell-shocked German's blade from his gut and used his continued grip on the barrel to throw the soldier to the deck, the man landing hard atop the gears. Fiery pain consumed Arthur's midsection, spreading out from his bleeding stomach as he pressed one hand to his wound and unholstered his revolver with the other.
Now it was Arthur who stood above the German, pistol raised and expression between pained and furious.
But like the German...he couldn't pull the trigger.
The soldier staring up at him with wide-eyed fear couldn't have been any more than fifteen or sixteen. His eyes were light blue and his hair was blond and hanging wildly from beneath his helm. His skin was very pale, both from fear and what Arthur guessed was his natural skin color. His face was smattered with blood from what appeared to be cast off, the front of his uniform was soaked and his body was trembling like a leaf beneath it. He looked...so scared...
He looked...so small.
"N-Nein...b-bitte..."
Arthur's heart seized and he swallowed. He couldn't bring himself to lower the gun, but he couldn't bring himself to fire any more than he could tear his eyes away from the boy. God, he was young! What was he doing here? Kids weren't supposed to be fighting adult wars. Kids weren't suppose to be traveling No Man's Land and accompanying raiding parties; they were supposed to be home, safe from the God damn reason their fathers picked up a rifle and left without a word.
Once upon a time it had been one of the main reasons he had done it; whether history agreed with him or not, protecting his sons meant a great deal to him.
"B-bitte..."
He knew that word. God how he wished he didn't.
More blood continued to pour from between his fingers clutching his stomach, but he remained standing and never lowered the gun. "...Why are you here? This...this isn't...the seventeenth century...anymore..."
The minimum age for this man's army was seventeen...apparently, men in charge felt seventeen was a good enough age to die.
The boy looked even more startled, as though Arthur had both surprised him and just caught him in a lie. He was breathing fast and gulped down a mouth full of air before looking from the gun back to Arthur, "L...lied...to...be...Soldat."
Arthur felt a wash of sorrow before anger filled him and he couldn't restrain himself from shouting, "You bloody fool! You wanted this? You bloody wanted this!" The boy winced and seemed to be struggling to rapidly decipher the words, as Arthur kept raging, "Is it everything you hoped for? Is being a soldier all you bloody wanted? You shouldn't be here; you shouldn't be anywhere near here! You could have died-!"
The last of his words were met with silence as they began to sink in. He was the enemy, he was a German...he was a kid with grand delusions and a gun...and Arthur was...scolding him that he might have died?
Arthur's face and arm fell ever so slightly.
He was a kid...just a kid...but how many men had he killed since falsifying his age to join the war effort for his country? How many times had he been in Arthur's position with his gun pointed down at another pleading enemy's head? How many others had he run through with his bayonet and left for dead as he raced to rejoin his unit? ...A unit Arthur had now demolished before his eyes...
How many times had Arthur killed friends and loved ones before another's eyes? How many ambitious young heroes had he killed being the perfect imperialistic villain?
The revolver now hung in his hand at his side. Green eyes softened as he looked down at the young face beneath him and finally he had to close them to block out the image.
Even behind closed eyes he couldn't escape it. The image only paired with another and he couldn't expel either from his mind.
When Arthur finally reopened his eyes, he met the still frightened boy's again with a more resigned expression on his face. He felt woozy and light-headed; he knew the blood loss was getting to him even though he felt his body leeching energy to repair the damage. He needed to rest soon or he'd fall on the spot..."Do you speak English?" He asked, his tone lower and softer than before.
The boy swallowed again and eventually nodded his head, "L-little."
"...How did your unit get here behind Allied lines?" Arthur continued.
The boy's expression became tight, like he was struggling with something in his head, but he eyed the revolver in the Englishman's hand and choked back a shuddered sob. He was alone and beyond saving and he knew it. "T-tunnels...f-from...rückzug," He struggled with the word in English, but eventually found it, "before with-withdraw..."
Arthur's eyebrows furrowed and he blinked a few times as he spread his feet wider to steady himself. Tunnels? What was he talking about? ...Tunnels...
-Tunnels!
The thought struck him like lightning as he pieced it together. Since the start of the near-constant stalemates on No Man's Land, the Allies had begun to dig tunnels under the death fields to connect to the other side of the line and surprise their foes. It took months to build most; some had been started back in 1915 and were still being worked on. Intelligence reports had said that the Germans had picked up on the practice as well, but it was near impossible to find the tunnels let alone the network. No one had any idea how expansive it was or how far along the system had come. Some of the few recovered prisoners of war had reported that the Germans were importing captured Russians, Slavs, and even Italians to help build these tunnels, but as none of the prisoners had been told where they were at the time so none had been able to give exact locations of the entrances. If there was one nearby, then it must have been built before the line was pushed back and the Germans had been forced to abandon it.
Apparently, however, it was still active.
"Where is the tunnel? How far does it go, where does it connect to?" Arthur all but demanded in his excited state. He had to find this tunnel; it might be the best way to get to Langemarck without having to traverse the open landscape.
Flustered by Arthur's sudden intensity, the boy looked pained as he tried to decipher the Englishman's language and formulate an answer in the appropriate way. "W-wo?" He breathed, very conflicted again and eyeing the Brit and the gun. It wasn't pointed at him at the moment, but he knew that could change in a second...Still, he didn't want to betray his people...people who were lying dead around him.
Arthur seemed to sense his reluctance and tightened his grip on the revolver. He knew he wouldn't use it unless the boy pulled another weapon and tried to finish what he started, but the threat was there and he hoped it would sway him in favor of speaking and give him the information he needed. "Ja, wo?"
Surprised by the use of his native language on an English tongue, the boy bit his lower lip and slowly reached down to his boot.
Arthur pulled the gun up so fast the boy immediately threw his hands up and began yelling in German, showing unarmed hands, wide eyes, and saying "Es ist kein Gewehr! Es ist kein Gewehr!"
"Don't move!" Arthur commanded, his body tensing and his wounds screaming bloody murder as he caught his breath. He was losing steam and desperately needed to rest, but not until he got what he needed and for that he needed this boy.
Moving forward, making the kid jump, Arthur kept the gun trained on him as he reached down to where the boy's hand had been moving. He quickly let go of his stomach to unsheathe the concealed blade he had seen on the other soldier before; he tossed the offending weapon over the side of the car and then reached into the side of the boy's boot where he found a cloth like map.
Keeping his hands up and frozen in place, the boy didn't move as Arthur withdrew the map with the gun still level. He may not have wanted to kill the kid, but if it were between his life (that affected so many more) and his enemy's...he'd pull the trigger and deal with the guilt later. He let that be known with his eyes before looking back at the map...
He sighed. It was all written in German.
"Point to where we are," Arthur ordered, turning the map as best he could with one hand so the boy could see it.
Blue eyes turned down towards the topography on the sheet and he quickly pointed to the region just south east of Arras where a number of hand-drawn red lines intersected.
Arthur's eyes widened. The fighting north of Arras had been where he'd been pulled from to return to Paris to meet with his commander and the incoming Americans. The battle for the city of Arras was the last time he'd been with his men, making a stand against the Germans holding the high ground. Farther north was Vimy Ridge, where Matthew and his Canadian troops had taken the critical point from the Germans in one of the most successful operations of the entire war. Arthur had been incredibly proud of the young man and the subjects of his dominion...
He wondered if the lad was still there...
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Arthur felt a new resurgence of pain in his leg and stomach from having been crouched for too long. He stood and backed away from the boy, grunting and trying to suppress more evidence of his weakness as he kept the gun level. He couldn't do this any longer; he had to return to Alfred and...rest...
Blackness clouded his vision before he quickly shook his head again, blinking rapidly to clear the bleariness before he saw the boy's hands dropping slightly and his eyes going right to his bleeding stomach. He looked in awe for a moment, then confused as his eyes traveled back up to Arthur's face.
The Englishman's expression was blank. The silent question had passed from the boy and he returned no answer with his eyes or anything else.
How are you still standing, let alone alive, with a wound like that?
"...Stand up and slowly make your way back to the ladder. I need to go somewhere and you're coming with me."
The young man looked panicked for a moment, but Arthur hushed his protests with a look and stepped back so he could stand easier, "Ich werde nicht schießen...provided you cooperate. Verstehen Sie?"
Arthur wasn't sure if he had worded everything correctly, given he didn't normally hear the Germans he had met saying they "wouldn't shoot". However, he figured he'd gotten his point across when the slightly relieved boy nodded and hesitantly rose to his feet. He was still shaking, both with fear and excess adrenaline, and kept his eyes on Arthur as he made his way to the ladder with his arms raised.
Arthur motioned with the gun for him to descend before following. When the German swung his leg over the side and stepped down to grab the first rung, Arthur saw a flicker of youthful hope in his eyes and recognized it immediately.
All Arthur had to do was cock the hammer back on the revolver and that hope died, the boy descending without a word.
It had been excruciating for Arthur, but he finally made it to the ground where the boy was waiting and motioned him forward in the direction of the crater. While the boy's back was turned, Arthur looked down at the two bodies on the ground by the car...Arthur had re-slung the rifle he had procured earlier back over his shoulder, and he bent down to retrieve a second rifle from the body of the soldier he had killed when he tried to mount the car. He had his rifles for himself and Alfred, plus a Luger...he wished he could have grabbed more, but already this weight was nearly too much for him so he resigned himself to the fact that this was the best he could do.
The trip back to the crater felt longer than Arthur remembered, but he knew they were going in the right direction as he could sense Alfred's presence getting closer. The boy-soldier continued to walk in front of him, looking back every now and then, but otherwise quiet and obedient. Arthur's legs felt heavier and heavier, his right still hurt but Arthur knew the wound had closed and his stomach was still fighting to repair itself. He knew that he was getting dangerously close to the point of shutting down; that was the point a nation's body could no longer sustain function and literally dropped until a suitable level of recovery had been reached.
Alfred, at the moment...was a good example.
Arthur seemed to wake up when he heard the young German whisper "Mein Gott". Shaking his head again, Arthur found the boy standing at the edge of the crater and staring down at Alfred. The Englishman stepped behind the German and nudged him, indicating for him to go forward into the crater.
The human turned and stared at Arthur with a look of frozen fear and dawning resignation. Arthur seemed to read his thoughts again and shook his head. "Nein...Er ist mein Freund. Uh… Er ist verletzt...nicht tot." He said in broken German, but the boy seemed to understand enough and was a little more willing to move forward and slide into the pit.
In some ways having the boy was fortunate; Arthur knew he would have had a time getting Alfred up and out of the hole. He remained at the edge of the crater and looked down at the American, still exactly as he had left him, and watched his chest rise and fall more evenly than before. Relief washed through him and nearly rivaled the pain. He had been worried that Alfred might have...slipped away while he'd been gone...Seeing him alive and actually healing made the burden a little lighter.
It looked like Alfred's first death had been postponed...yet again.
The German stood before Alfred, looking between the unconscious American and the Englishman and waiting to be told what to do next. Arthur didn't know how to word it in German, so he didn't try. "Carefully," he stressed and motioned towards Alfred, "help hoist him up so we can move him. Verstehen Sie?"
The boy nodded and quickly moved to Alfred's side, crouching down and eyeing the blood on the man's uniform before assessing the best way to lift him. Arthur didn't want to holster the revolver, but he eventually did and went down on his good knee and motioned for the boy to pass Alfred off to him.
Deciding his method, the German stood with his legs on either side of Alfred, crouched and hooked his arms beneath the American's, then grunted as he struggled to lift the the American's body. Alfred was heavy, Arthur knew firsthand and felt the lad's pain, but since he was feeling stronger - more literal pain - at the moment, he didn't voice any sympathy. Instead, he silently reached down and grabbed Alfred's arms when they were close enough and nearly fell back hauling him out of the pit. Once Arthur secured the American's upper half over the side, the German grabbed Alfred's legs and slid them up, clearing the man from the crater before he moved to clear it himself.
Arthur kept Alfred propped up against him, the American's head lolled to one side against Arthur's chest as the Englishman balanced him the best he could. With one hand around Alfred's chest, the other unholstered the revolver and let it hang over his bent knee in view of the German now standing up and staring at him.
"...Danke," Arthur said, then motioned to Alfred's side, "but we're not done. Schnell."
The young man gave a discreet sigh and bent down to grab one side of Alfred, slinging an arm over his neck as Arthur did the same on the other side. Thankfully the boy wasn't short for his age, which Arthur still pegged around 15 or so, and the disproportion between his own height and the boy's kept Alfred relatively level. Taking the first step, finding it much easier on his weary body to be able to move his companion like this, the German soon fell in step with him and the two carried the American between them and back into the direction of the wreck...
According to the map, the tunnels were on the other-side.
To Be Continued…
Notes from the Author:
*panting* Oh, my dear sweet Christmas! I am so sorry this took so long to post, but between school, work, and the heaviness of this particular chapter, it took a while and a few consultants. Props to my amazing Beta-editor, Oneechan, and my German Master (MelodyofStarshine, who was so epic awesome for proof-reading my rusty German). Also, shout out to my amazing co-workers (the trauma nurses on the unit who never question my bizare inquiries and are more than happy to explain the mechanics of injuries to me). Before I get into the notes...I apologize if the blood and gore of this chapter offended or upset anyone. ): Its not my intention to do so, but I'm really not the type to "sugar-coat" anything...and the pictures I like to paint with words...well, if they're super colored in red and black, then so be it. I've been desensitized to a lot of this stuff from personal experiences so you can ask anyone who knows me and they'll be honest in saying "Yeah, she has this thing about detailing the most gruesome thing ever and then asking when lunch is". I don't do it on purpose, I don't do it because I'm sadistic or some weird vampire thingy, I just honestly stopped being bothered by a lot of stuff and tend to forget others haven't. So, I again reiterate that if this chapter was too difficult to read through due to the content, please feel free to message me and I'll be more than happy to summarize it for you, censoring out the gore (though I'll still run it by my Beta editor to make sure I didn't slip up, just in case). Also, couple last minute items before we move on to the notes...Please know that while Arthur is depicted very dark, apathetic (at points), and combative, I absolutely love his character and meant no offense to anyone else who may not agree with Arthur's actions. On the same token, I am American with Germany ancestory and love my German roots dearly. I do not mean to offend anyone with depictions of German soldiers being killed so graphically, nor do I mean to offend anyone with the actions they took in this chapter. *deep breath* Last thing, prooooooomise...HAPPY NATIONAL FREEDOM DAY! XD Today in America is National Freedom Day! To my fellow Americans, hope ya'll got to see the Liberty Bell and the wreath laying ceremony; to my international audience, I HOPE THIS FEBRUARY 1st IS AWESOME FOR THEE! With said done, ON TO THE NOTES!
1.) For my American readers who are like me and can't convert kilometers to miles for the life of them (I DID have someone check this for me): 5 kilometers = 3.1068555 miles. X3
2.) Quadriceps are the thigh muscles. The femoral artery is actually a huge high pressure blood vessel in the leg (upper thigh to be exact) that branches off into the main veins that supply blood to your legs, up and back. In short...ya bust that, pray to God there's a surgeon in the house and he's damn good. That's right, you're learning anatomy, math, AND history in this fanfic! XD Isn't education fun?
3.) Checking a pulse means more than just checking to see if someone's dead. If someone is in tachycardia (meaning the heart is going to fast) or bradycardia (meaning the heart's beating to slow), you can tell what kind of state someone is in. When you're in a lot of pain, excited, or physically exherting yourself your heart turns into the equivalence of a jack rabbit. On the opposite end, if you're bleeding internally then your blood pressure drops and so does your heart rate. The heart rate can also drop if you're inactive to long...like say...if you're asleep or unconscious. XD Poor Alfred's case is due to the fact his body is "shutting down", as Arthur coined it, and he's repairing several internal injuries. Hey, a freaking train fell on him, DX that really has to hurt!
4.) In case you missed what took out the train (as not even Arthur has connected all the dots yet), the Germans hiding in the tunnels were waiting for the trains to pass by and call in air strikes via that radio Arthur kept hearing them "wind up". Yes, field radios at this time were gigantic, carried on the back and had to be wound up to be of any use. The Germans called a circling plane and that's what bombed the train. The Germans depicted were both a covert unit and a raiding party, tasked with keeping an eye on enemy transports and ensuring as few supplies get to the Allied lines as possible while taking what they could to return to their own side with. War is expensive, and at this stage both sides are hurting so every little bit is precious. Both sides constantly confinscated each other's weapons, technology, and provisions when possible, so what you see here is an example of that...with the clever twist of the tunnel systems involved (I'll explain that in a minute).
5.) St. George is the patron saint of England. And please don't ask me if he really wore knickers...I have no idea.
6.) ITS TRUE! Ask any respitory therapist or pulmonologist and they'll tell you that sitting up or just being upright in general helps to expand the lungs for better respitory functions. Its why we encourage pnemonia and surgery patients not to lie in bed all day less the junk in their lungs become worse.
7.) M'kay, the Hindenberg of WWI (which should not be confused with the Hindenberg Line of WWII or the zepplin that exploded over New Jersey) was the German's literal "fall-back" line. This line was the German main front throughout the war and it moved several times during the progression of hostilities. The line stretched out from about Lens (in very northern France boardering Belgium) and Verdun (which was the last line of defense for Paris and one of the bloodiest conflicts of the war for both the Central and Allied Powers). Several smaller defensive lines speckled the war zone, but the Hindenberg was THE main line the Allies were fighting to penetrate and destroy. No Man's Land is the term used for the area between the German lines and the Allied front, meaning that giant crater filled mass in between was were the brave had to try and cross to confront the other side. Sadly, this No Man's Land is where the majority of the casualties were sustained. To counter this, BOTH sides began making tunnles beneath the battlegrounds and pushed to get to the other side without exposing themselves. On the German side, its a well documented fact that a good portion of tunnel labor was done by Prisoners of War taken from both the Western and Eastern Fronts (though mostly the Eastern). Its said that the German tunnel network was built faster and more efficently because of this, but depending upon what reports you read you get different opinions. Anyway, as you can well imagine...some of the Allied and Central Power's tunnels bisected and thus we have an underground war AND an above ground war happening simultaiously. The city of Arras (which had a series of tunnles beneath it before either side started digging) where our heroes (*giggles*) are currently near is another decisive battle site. This is the city where the Allies managed to take the city and the Canadians banded together and take Vimy Ridge (ask any Canadian, its a point of pride). Vimy Ridge was arguably one of the most important feats of the war, and one of the most impressive victories for the Allies. Taking the high ground was everything in WWI, from there it was easier to see your targets, pick them off, and win battles in small numbers.
8.) On that note...I do NOT recommend anyone try Arthur's very risky battle tactics depicted here. D8 Banking on the enemy not to blow your ass up because they might want the booty beneath your booty or that they're worried about one of their own getting injured is not a wise thing to count on in war. Other than this being a crazy like 13 on 1 battle...dude, Arthur is NUTZ! ...But so bad ass. ;D
9.) If you're curious about the little German boy, know this...A.) He'll get a name next chapter, B.) He'll likely be adios next chapter, and C.) He represents the "boy-soldiers" of the war. On both sides there were young men and boys who lied about their ages to join the war effort (I even read an account of a 14 year old doing this). Its a terrible thing, in my opinion, and the "age of enlistment" on both sides was, for the first part of the war, a strict 18-35...however, as the war stretched on and able bodies became less and less avalible, the restrictions laxed and some recruiters looked the other way when a young lad proclaimed they wanted to enlist. *sigh* I dunno what countries on the Central side had drafts (selective service), but I know Canada and the U.S. BOTH passed them out to fill the ranks (though Canadians were much more willing to enlist on their own than the Americans).
10.) Also...TRANSLATION TIME! These will all be rough translations, meaning I'm not going to literally translate if there's an English equivalent that makes more sense. THANK YOU AGAIN TO MELODYofSTARSHINE! XDDD
= "Der Luftstreik hat funktioniert!" – "The airstrike worked!"
= "Ruhe! Nicht so langsam!" – "Shut up! Stop lagging!"
= "Ausführung!" – "Move out!" (The American military equivalent to the German command)
= "Zu Befehl!" and "Jawohl!" – Both mean the equivalent to "Affirmative" and "Yes sir!"
= "drei" – XD That's German for "3"
= "Feuer Frei!" – The American military equivalent is "Fire at will/Open fire!"
= "GRENATE!" – The literal translation is just "grenade", but when someone on the other side of said explosive, on a battlefield, starts screaming it, its more like "HOLY SHIT, IT'S A GRENADE!"
= "N-Nein...b-bitte..." – "N-no…please…"
= "B-bitte..." – "P-please..."
= "…Soldat." – "...Soldier."
= "…rückzug." – "Retreat/Withdraw"
= "W-wo?" – "W-where?"
= "Ja, wo?" – "Yeah, where?" XD Don't you just love Arthur being epic awesome with his German?
= "Es ist kein Gewehr! Es ist kein Gewehr!" – "Its not a gun! Its not a gun!" Poor kid, Arthur terrifies him. XD
= "Ich werde nicht schießen...provided you cooperate. Verstehen Sie?" – Arthur is so on a roll, "I won't shoot…Do you understand?"
= "Mein Gott" – "My God"
= "Nein...Er ist mein Freund. Uh… Er ist verletzt, nicht tot." – "No…he is my friend." The "uh" is universal for "Oh crap, totally just forgot what to say", but he remembers and ends with "He's injured, not dead". Poor kid thought Arthur had shot and killed the guy in the ditch (Alfred) and he was next…because its so easy to mistake Arthur for a serial killer. X3
= "Verstehen Sie?" – "Do you understand?"
= "…Danke." – "…Thank you."
= "Schnell" – "Quickly"
...Holy crap, those were a lot of notes, D8 SORRY! I've gotten a couple messages from readers saying they look forward to my footnotes, but I'm still sorry if I stressed anyone by writing so many. Again, not my intention...I just really like to share facts and devulge the coolness of history. Anywho! THANK YOU SO MUCH TO ALL MY REVIEWERS! OMG, you guys totally make my WEEK! XD Getting a review alert on my phone while I'm moving between classes, working at the hospital, or stuck at a stoplight really makes me smile! ^_^ To my favoriters, subscribers, and alert-adders, THANK YOU SO MUCH TO YOU TOO! XD I love sharing my stories and it really humbles and leaves me in awe when I see how large the international audience is (BTW, as of Monday, the Canadians topped the encumbent U.K. viewers by 7...That battle has been going back and forth for months with Belgium slowly catching up. Dear Lord!). ^_^ You guys all thrill and inspire me, and I really wanna thank ya'll from the bottom of my heart. I'll try to update again as soon as possible, and hopefully next chapter it'll be a little brighter as Alfred will be up and running (YAY!)! UNTIL NEXT TIME!
Sincerely,
General Kitty Girl