-Elizabeta Héderváry-
The waxing moon was high in the star-speckled night sky, casting dramatic shadows around the dim hollow. The two whispered quietly through the night, about everything and nothing at all. All the while Gilbert was quietly munching on crackers and making Elizabeta eat one.
"Elizabeta, I have a favor to ask you," Gilbert's voice was barely louder than a movement of lips, as to avoid being overheard by any unwanted parties.
"Mhm?" she murmured.
"I want you to go check on the American. And while you're over there, do something else too."
"And what's that?" the Hungarian questioned, somewhat curious.
"I want you to take all of the bullets out of the magazine in his gun and put it back in empty. So it looks to him like it's loaded. But it's not."
….What!
"Why?" she asked, her voice high and caught off guard. "Are we running away?"
Gilbert looked at her quizzically. "We have to do something eventually. Otherwise come morning Mr. Red's gonna ditch you back at his base camp with only a couple of busy Russian-speaking nurses to protect you from Soviet rapists. Not to mention Ludwig and myself will be on a nice cozy train to spend the rest of our lives off rotting in some POW hole in Siberia."
Átok! Why did soldiers have to be like this? It would be easy just to talk and pull a few strings, but the politics of war were engraved too deeply. As far as the allies knew, letting the two German soldiers go might as well be condoning the murder of a hundred of their comrades. Even if in their hearts they wanted to, for the sake of their causes the allies could never voluntarily let Ludwig or Gilbert go free.
"Why not do it to the Russian too?" she asked.
"Bazookas need to be reloaded every time, it would be more trouble than it's worth. He'll notice the grenade cone missing on the tip of the barrel immediately, too. Plus, I think the Ami trusts you. If he wakes up while you're doing it or the Russian sees you, they'll just think you're checking on his wounds."
"That's cruel and dishonorable; abusing his trust like that. We're his enemies, he doesn't even need trust us at all." Elizabeta said, her tone chastising.
"Sorry Elizabeta. There's no honor or heroism in war. That's the talk of fools, most of them dead. We need to do what we need to do." the Prussian stated.
"You would use me for this?"
"I'm not using you," he said, "you're the only one who can do it without getting caught. Therefore the choice is yours." His voice was as even as his gaze.
"I can't say I like Ivan much. The only respect for him I have is that he tries to take care of people and he hasn't killed either of you yet, although he's had justifiable reason to the moment he saw your uniforms. I was planning on stabbing him with your dagger back on the road when the fight broke out when I thought we had no other option. But Alfred is different."
"Yeah? How so? I'm sure if we didn't find him half dead already he wouldn't have hesitated to blow mine or Ludwig's skulls apart any more than the Russian had." Gilbert's voice was demanding and stern even in his whisper.
The Hungarian winced under his harsh words. She knew why they hurt: his last sentence was likely completely true. From Gilbert's point of view the statement sounded flawlessly reasonable. Had she been in his big black combat boots she knew she probably would have said the same. But a cold talon of guilt curled around her heart. The American was a soldier, yes, but just a kid likely even younger than Feliks. She couldn't bring herself to even imagine anyone shooting someone like Feliks. "Alfred went out of his way to be nice to us. That has to count for something," she breathed, her tone faltering unintentionally at the end. She immediately hated the sound.
Gilbert's red eyes glittered and looked downwards upon hearing her tone, his mouth suddenly dropping apologetically. His eyes widened innocently. He had realized he had hurt her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and held her close.
"Elizabeta…I just want to make it a little safer for us four if the opportunity to run arises. It won't be putting either of the allies directly in any more danger, okay?" his voice was softer and comforting this time.
All it means is that if they caught us running away, instead of them killing you first, you'd kill them first, her mind supplied. Gilbert's garnet eyes still stared earnestly at her, awaiting an answer.
"Fine." Elizabeta ground out, "I'll do it. If you promise not to kill him because he can't defend himself."
"…I'll do what I can," Gilbert whispered. But it was clear from the way his eyes flickered he wasn't willing to commit.
-Ludwig Beilschmidt-
An eye flickered open slowly, calmly. There was not a noise that had awakened him, rather some war-hardened instinct inside of him had alerted him it was time to do so. It was still the middle of the night, perhaps in the early hours of the next day long before the sun had risen. It was cold, but not numbingly so. Long dry grass waved silently from between the trees in the night breeze. The fire was long dead and only housed a few red embers curling around charred bones of wood. About an hour earlier the sound of Elizabeta and Gilbert whispering had woke him up. He heard Elizabeta get up and check on the sleeping American. He also saw her do something with his gun, for reasons unknown. Currently it appeared everyone else was asleep; well except for the Russian. Ludwig couldn't quite discern if their red-army incarcerator was conscious or not. All he observed was the large silhouette leaning against a tree on the far edge of the clearing exactly as he had when Ludwig was confident he was awake and watching them. It was too dark for him to examine the Russian's face or analyze his breathing pattern, but either way, the German would know soon enough.
A quick glance to the left revealed Feliks as sprawled out on his stomach on the earth, arms and legs crossed every-which-way. He was snoring softly. The American was asleep too, his back propped up against the same tree he had been slumped against when the quintet had discovered him, rather than one of the logs around the dead campfire. Even though they didn't have their guns anymore perhaps the American had decided it wasn't so safe to sleep next to a duo of unrestrained enemy soldiers. A wise choice.
Then he looked to his brother and Elizabeta. Sleeping virtually on top of each other; of course. He was confident that the only thing that restrained them from having sex was everyone else around. Sex before marriage. How deplorable. Ludwig knew he and Gilbert were far from virgins themselves, but he understood as a soldier these rules didn't quite apply. Whoever they did it with in the past was willing and never an object of affection and both parties understood that. Ludwig didn't hate Elizabeta, in fact, he realized rapidly that she must have been exceptional if she had managed to tame his brother. But he also understood the Hungarian girl likely didn't trust him unconditionally. Respect? Certainly. But trust? That was… unlikely. Perhaps it was easier to trust him before she was aware of exactly what actions the lifestyle of an SS required of him. He had overheard his brother describe their most-recent quarrel to her at the campfire.
Which then brought his attention to Gilbert. Ludwig didn't blame Elizabeta for the situation they were in, but he could indeed pin her as the catalyst for the change in his brother. The two brothers couldn't afford to be fighting in a time like this, where if they wanted to escape with their lives fate would require nothing less than unity. He would have to fix Gilbert about that. Even if Gilbert disagreed with how unworthy people were treated, there were still plenty of honorable tenets Nazism possessed he was sure the albino agreed with in the past. Nationalism was the main one, of course. Gilbert was the second-proudest German he knew, going as far as to declare himself the product of a state long-since dissolved. They both loved their countries and were prepared to die for them the moment they enlisted. There was the virtual elimination of unemployment in Germany that the Nazis had brought about. Years before the war started in 1939 Hitler had preached peace to his fellow Europeans –lying through his teeth, of course- but he undeniably did get the depression-crushed economy better. Between '33 and summer '39 their countrymen had been happy and prosperous. And obviously there was the development and use of a powerful military that Gilbert would have liked too. Deep down, they both held an affection for fighting. And if it was good for your country; even better.
Ludwig sighed. He would have to fix his brother and get him back to how he was in the good old days. But that would be an endeavor for another day. It really was foolish of the allies to leave him and Gilbert unrestrained at night. Even if they lacked rope, the allies could have at least torn up the remnants of the American's parachute and bound their hands and feet together with that.
Slowly, carefully, Ludwig shifted to his side. He pressed his gloved palms on the ground and bent his knees, slowly easing his weight off of the earth. He stood straight and tall in the center of the clearing, illuminated by the windy shafts of starlight. He waited a moment, expecting some heavily accented voice to tell him to lay down again. Ludwig stared cunningly against the tree where he knew the Russian sat. He heard nothing. The Red must have been asleep, or else he would have seen Ludwig get up and would have done something. Even if he squinted it was too dark over there to see completely. The blond then looked over to the sleeping American. His rifle was propped against the tree next to him where Elizabeta had left it. The man was snoring somewhat loudly, Ludwig was surprised that between all of the noise he was making and the scent of his blood he hadn't attracted any animals. Preferably something they could kill and eat. He was ravenous.
Ludwig moved silently, as men did instinctively at night. He glanced once at his brother but deemed it too dangerous to risk a noise to wake him up. Especially if Elizabeta awoke as well and decided to interfere. If everything went according to plan Ludwig shouldn't be in need the elder's assistance anyway. Five of the six would be awake soon enough. He tread right for the American. As the German got closer and his eyes adjusted he noticed the pilot wasn't just dozing like the Russian, but was full on slumbering. Exhausted from crashing and losing all of that blood, likely. Ludwig couldn't blame him.
He stood over the American wistfully for a moment. Young and strong he was, with fine Aryan features unmogreled from the genetic mess that was the United States. Shame this happened to him. Ludwig snaked an arm through the air and picked up the American's rifle. It was an aesthetically crafted weapon, moonlight reflecting in the waxy woodgrain that consisted for most of the M1's siding. Unlike the mostly metal Sturmgewehr he was assigned back at camp the only parts of this rifle that displayed metal were the short exposed barrel and the magazine along its belly that held the bullets. He hefted it in his hand, comforted by its familiar weight. Gilbert had not raised a coward.
Rifle in hand, he started stalking towards the Russian. Yes, he'd shoot the Russo first. He was already armed, and the gunshot would wake the unarmed American who would be easy enough to subdue.
The communist was still sleeping. Unlike that American with his raucous snoring the Soviet slept calmly, alertly, with a tired smile on his face. If Ludwig didn't recognize the steady rise and fall of his chest as the breathing pattern of a sleeping man he would have assumed that the Russian was merely resting his eyes. He switched the M1 to both hands and laced his right index finger around the cold trigger. He pointed the barrel of the American rifle against the scarved, pale throat. Merry Christmas. Saint Nikolaus brought you lead.
Click.
Click. Click.
….Click.
The barrel resonated with the hollow thunk of an empty chamber. Why wasn't the gun firing? That was the sound it made when it was out of bullets! But the magazine was placed correctly, wasn't it? A pair of purple eyes flickered open at the noise, staring up at Ludwig curiously. Then with realization. Swiftly, the Soviet reached for the bazooka that lay next to him.
Ludwig was without a functioning firearm. But he was in possession of a finely functioning club. Without a moment's hesitation he swung the wooden butt of the rifle above his head and used gravity to smash it down towards the Russian's skull. Tree bark shattered off in a cloud of splinters as Ludwig swung the rifle towards the trunk. But the Soviet had ducked to the side and was already on the ground searching for the RPG. This was going downhill fast.
"Gilbert!" Ludwig screeched, risking a precious moment to look over his shoulder to his brother for backup.
-Gilbert Beilschmidt-
What was all of this stupid noise for? He was trying to sleep. Gilbert cracked a burgundy eye open lazily. Then there was more noise, like the sound of a fistfight. Also a few heavier clangs of wood and metal. He thought he heard his name somewhere in the mix, too.
He stood up swiftly and scanned the clearing. Ludwig and the Russian were wrestling on the ground. He saw Ludwig smash a rifle against the Russian's back with an audible thud. The Russian countered with a vicious punch to his brother's face. From the other end of the clearing he saw Ludwig lock eyes with him.
"Gilbert!" his brother commanded, holding the Russian down with his boot. "Kill the Ami! I'll handle the Russ!"
Elizabeta stirred next to him on the cold earth. An intelligent green eye cracked open upon hearing his name.
"Gil..?"
"Eliza, stay here. Wake Feliks and be ready to run."
Without waiting for a response the Prussian bolted. Legs flying over the ground Gilbert quickly covered the distance from the campfire to where the American sat. The pilot was out cold, not even the commotion of battle waking him up. Slouched against the tree-trunk, the soldier didn't even stir.
"Alfred!" It was the Soviet who yelled it this time, risking a precious moment of time to look back to his comrade. The German kneed the Russian in the jaw to shut him up, but the blow came too late. Ludwig grasped the Russian by the collar and forced him to the ground.
Panting, he ripped his eyes away from his brother's fight and turned his attention back to the task at hand. Gilbert leaned darkly over the American. He fixed the dagger he had kept concealed out from his coat. He gripped the curving black and silver hilt with conviction in his right hand and crouched before the sleeping pilot.
"Gilbert! Stop! You promised! You promised that if I unarmed him you wouldn't!"
The familiar voice was laced heavily with desperation and betrayal. Elizabeta was running towards him now, tears running down her face. Feliks stood behind her. "Don't kill him, Gilbert! We had a deal!" she screamed.
I didn't promise anything. I'm just doing what I have to do to get us all out safely. Elizabeta, please understand.
He readied the knife, suspending it in the air above the pilot's exposed throat. Elizabeta was still too far away. Gilbert pinned the pilot to the tree with his knee, holding him still for the cleanest cut.
But then, as if by some silent command, the pair of blue eyes finally flickered open.
Scheiße.
"Jerry….what are you doing?" the American asked.
The voice was high pitched, uncertain like that of a confused child. The American's sapphire eyes glittered honestly in the moonlight, full of an emotion so pure Gilbert had a difficult time comprehending it on the face of a soldier. The American looked to his left for his rifle to find it wasn't there. Deep in the cerulean depth of the American's eyes Gilbert saw waves of confusion and betrayal rolling like an ocean. He knew he was going to die.
Those eyes bore a hole in his soul. So blue, and full of pain and confusion. Wondering what mistake he had made. It was not the emotion in them that struck the Prussian so, he had seen the very same look in men about to die before. But what bothered him was the fact that this time, Gilbert found the expression on the American's face familiar. He had seen it before. As if in a dream, or from an experience a long time ago. Where had he seen them before? Those childlike blue eyes staring beseechingly at him, full of questions.
With a shock, Gilbert realized precisely where he had seen that look before. For a second, the person looking into his eyes wasn't the American, it was a young Ludwig. Hardly eight years old. The eyes were big and blue, not yet tarnished by the kiln of war. It was on the day all of those years ago Ludwig had come home from school, after he had explained what he'd done. He was still wondering innocently where their father was when Gilbert had to break it to his brother that he was dead.
He flipped the knife in his hand. No. Don't think about it. This wasn't little Luddy, just an enemy soldier. He just had to slide the blade across the sweating flesh, a mere flick of his wrist and he would be free. They would all be free.
"Gilbert! Please!" It was Elizabeta again, still running towards him. All of this contemplation had taken place in the space of two seconds.
Ludwig, no –the American –no, what did he say his name was? Alfred?- grasped him on the shoulder.
"Jerry, make it quick. An' ya better put all the wounds in the front, I won't let anyone think I died running away." Alfred declared fiercely. His previous hesitation had vanished from his gaze.
Gilbert raised the dagger. The gray steel gleamed a harsh silver in the moonlight. A thrust of his arm sent the blade plummeting down towards Alfred's throat. The long triangular blade glinted hungrily in the shafts of starlight. He slashed a thin, red, smile across the man's exposed collarbone. As the capillaries ruptured a sticky crimson began to pool from the cut.
Elizabeta shrieked in maddening rage.
He felt the American's hand drop from his shoulder.
A spray of black dirt signaled the arrival of Elizabeta skidding to a halt beside him. She roughly grabbed Gilbert's shoulders and forced him to stare her in her burning malachite eyes. He was surprised by her strength. "Gilbert, he was wounded! There was no need for you to murder him!" she snarled, "He was in no shape to stop you!"
Ignoring Elizabeta, he pulled the dagger back to his waist and stood up. Hopefully Ludwig wouldn't check his handiwork. Because if he did, he would notice that the blade scarcely broke the American's tanned skin. He ran his fingers along the gray blade and swiped the American blood onto the ground. He fixed Alfred with his steadily burning scarlet gaze.
"You are going to play dead. If I ever see you again, I will not hesitate to finish the job."
Through half lidded eyes Alfred looked up at him. It was not a defeated look. The blue shone out from the long brown lashes. He frowned for a moment, contemplating this. But his face erupted in a sly grin, white canine teeth displayed under thin lips. Perhaps he'd play along. For his sake. For the girl's. He winked at Elizabeta, then closed his eyes again.
"Y'all had better get out of here now," Alfred whispered. His eyes flicked once to the other end of the clearing, to where the Russian and Ludwig fought. "And Jerry, if I ever see you again, we'll finish it for real when we're both better. Mano a mano."
"Alfred," Elizabeta whispered. The American smiled.
"Stay safe, Elizabeta. Thanks for patchin' me up." he said.
Gilbert nodded sternly at the American but said nothing more. He escorted Elizabeta out in front of him towards the center of the clearing. He raised his hand behind him in silent goodbye to Alfred.
The American cleared his throat. Gilbert stopped, his back still turned. What did he want?
"Jerry, what's your name? You do got one, dontcha?" the American asked.
Gilbert turned his face profile, his body not showing any signs that he was talking to a corpse. "Gilbert Beilschmidt," he grunted. Then he walked forward and exited from his earshot.
He set his gaze on where he had last seen Ludwig. His brother and the Russian were fighting close to the fire, but it was obvious that Ludwig was winning. Despite the Russian's size, the fact that Ludwig had a weapon and the initial element of surprise was whirling the fight brutally in his favor.
A hand clutched Gilbert on the shoulder, the touch softer than a moth's wing. Elizabeta locked eyes with him. "Why didn't you kill him?"
"It doesn't matter," he said gruffly, "You got what you wanted. The boy's alive." He motioned with his hand for her to stay here. "You can fill Feliks in. I'm going over there to help Ludwig."
A/N.
The nation of Hungary initially wanted to avoid military confrontation in WWII, but they benefited greatly from their trade with Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany in the 1930's which pulled them out of the great depression. Due to this they were swept up into becoming part of the Axis powers. While waging war against the USSR, Hungary engaged in secret peace negotiations with the UK and USA. Upon finding out about this in March 1944, Hitler ordered the occupation of Hungary by German troops. This led to the deportation of nearly 600,000 Hungarian Jews late in the war.
Thanks to damtoti, Marukaite Chikyuu, KthePrussian, Inigo1220, andy-chan24, Resha04, DarkBlaziken, Sarah, Desu-chan, keek n d, rifleman123, ApostolicShadowNinjaGirl, Hammsters, misa8900, Shiralala, Demoness Drakon, samirawrr-19, Prussianess, Saya Kurobara, Kirbymepoyo, BlitzkriegGirl14, and misshansson96 for reviewing!
[Hey. I just wanted to say thank you for all of the personal accounts about yourselves and your families that several people have told me in reviews for the last few chapters, involving what roles your ancestors played in WWII. I usually can't find the words to reply with justice, but I want you all to know it really is amazing to hear ^.^]
-insert standard 'beg for reviews' here-
CelticFeather.
