And onto to more history! ^_^
Felicja had only just rescued Feyvel, and he looked terrible. He had suffered a good deal of trauma to the head, but he still seemed to keep his space from her. As he would be expected to. Feliks and Feyvel's relationship had always been rather cool.
She brought him some of the food she'd found in the house.
"Don't worry, it's kosher." She assured him, passing him the bowl of soup she'd made. Feyvel frowned slightly.
"This isn't your house..."
"No, no it isn't. I'm just hiding here for the moment." Felicja explained, handing him a spoon as well.
"This isn't your food..."
"No, it's not. But the people who lived here probably won't be back before it spoils." She shrugged, taking a seat on the end of his bed.
Feyvel suddenly threw his bowl at her, sloshing the hot soup onto her skin.
"You monster! How could you just take their home and belongings for yourself? They loved these things, do you understand? Their children cry for this food, and you're just eating it up and giving it away! This food was never for you!" He yelled, getting to his feet.
Felicja backed away, startled.
"O-ow! Feyvel! Stop, you'll hurt yourself! I only took the food because I was hungry!"
Feyvel stormed away furiously, heading down the stairs. Felicja went to the sink, carefully running water over her red skin.
She hadn't expected him to be so angry...but she couldn't be mad at him. He probably truly thought that the people who'd owned this house would come back...at least, that was what he really wanted...
Poland had sat down at the table with a pout on his face, rather annoyed that he was attending another formal event. England smiled lightly; oh, how Poland reminded him of Alfred...
His dear, dear Alfred...
"Can we go home now?" Poland questioned, interrupting England's thought. England smiled at him, shaking his head.
"Will you stay an hour longer if I let you in on a little secret?"
Poland looked over, curious.
"Okay, okay, what is it?"
"You and your pilots have been approved for combat." England announced, taking a sip nonchalantly from his cup. He nearly choked on his drink when Poland jumped up and hugged him tightly, excited.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you! I won't disappoint you, I promise!"
England blushed slightly at the display, patting Poland's back somewhat awkwardly. Indeed, he was very much like his Alfred...
Felicja had simply had to leave Feyvel alone; if Prussia didn't see her, he'd become suspicious. She glanced down the street, swallowing; the German soldiers had been performing daily executions among her people. Her body ached everytime it was done; she was in constant pain.
She looked at the corpses still hanging from the gallows as a warning to others. But a warning for what? Only two of these people had been caught selling food to Jews; the other twenty were just unlucky. They were simply Polish.
She continued down the street, looking away from the gruesome sight.
It was difficult to keep living like this without panicking, like many of her people. This was not a time for the weak-hearted.
She glanced about, before ducking into another house. This was where a group of her people were meeting, though not for anything nefarious. Music played quietly, as young Poles danced in the basement. This was about keeping their hope, their passion alive.
To remember who, and what, they were.
They were the Poles, who had endured over a hundred years of hardship for their freedom; they were not going to simply let it slip from their hands now.
Felicjan had long since stopped hoping; it seemed like Russia always knew what was goin on with him; where he was, how he felt, what he was thinking...
He simply couldn't stand it.
If he had been able to, he would've ended his life already, left whatever ruins and people there were to Feliks and Felicja. Life was not fair; he always got the worst among their lots. He couldn't stand it anymore...
He was so alone.
Feliks felt almost light-headed as he walked out to his plane. Today was the day he'd finally fight Germany again, just as he'd promised Felicja. He would not let her, or Felicjan, down.
He climbed into the cockpit, quickly checking his controls, fuel, guns. Everything was in working order. He took a moment to breath in the scent; oil, sweat, crisp morning air...it was so energizing.
He started the engine, guiding it out onto the runway. He could see the air battle going on, and it was a mess. But he would help turn that around.
Taking off expertly, he went towards the chaos, guns at the ready. He was flying in formation, as he'd promised England, and he was signalling in English, as he'd been trained.
But he was fighting for Poland.
Felicja's knees had begun to feel weaker than before; like she could barely go a few steps without feeling as if she would fall. She wasn't sure if it was physical or emotional pain that caused this; the two seemed to be so intertwined at this point.
She looked to Feyvel, who was still not talking to her as he ate his bread. She hadn't dared to give him soup again, after what had happened. She had tried talking to him about it, but he'd refused to look at her.
Feyvel glanced over at her, before wrinkling his nose.
"You're happy this is happening, aren't you?" He charged calmly. Felicja started in surprise.
"What? No! Why would I-"
"I mean that you're happy that he targetting Jews." Feyvel clarified, sullenly taking a bite of his bread.
Felicja shook her head.
"Feyvel, that's ridiculous! I would never want something like this to happen to you!"
Feyvel frowned, looking away.
"You've always wanted me to leave; now you're getting what you wanted."
"They're killing my people too, Feyvel!"
"But they're killing mine more!" Feyvel snapped, crossing his arms. Felicja looked down a moment.
"Feyvel, if I wanted you to die, would I be helping you? I know we haven't gotten along very well in the past, but I would never wish this on anyone. Not even Russia."
Feyvel continued to frown, picking at his bread.
"You're only helping me because of your religion."
"I am helping you because it's right."
"Sure."
Okay! Many Jews were not exactly happy with their Polish rescuers when they saw what was happening to Jewish belongings; because they were sealed inside ghettoes, they didn't see what happened to the Polish part of the population, and so didn't realize that the Poles were being victimized as well. Some Jews felt as if the Poles were taking advantage of them, and though there were a few scoundrels who did so, most Poles were just trying to survive.
Polish pilots, along with other refugee pilots, helped turn the Battle of Britain around. They were skilled and experienced, and offered competition to German planes.
Poles were the target of daily executions by Nazis as a means of controlling them through terror. Also, Poland was the only Nazi-occupied country that had incredibly harsh consequences for even selling food to a Jew, let alone trying to help them escape. Often, entire families would be killed if one person in that family helped a Jew.