"Ah, moshi moshi ?"
"Japan. I need your help."
"Asa, you only ever call me when you need help."
Chuckling, Arthur paced the floor of his empty, dark house. This was his last and most important call. "That is true. Care to join me on a high-risk, deep undercover mission?"
"Hmm. Perhaps. Who have you recruited?"
"Russia, Canada, hopefully you..." he swallowed distastefully. "And the United States."
Japan huffed over the phone, "I have heard about France. I will aid you in his recovery..."
"But?"
"You make sure I keep Shantung Peninsula."
Arthur smiled, leaning against the counter. It would be victory for him after all. "Your wish is my command, darling."
July 25
Russia restlessly paced the meeting room as he spoke, instructing the elite force England had picked for France's rescue. Never having cared much for what he coined "public speaking," Arthur let Ivan do the work. He listened to Ivan's words but did not process them, instead lost in his own mind as he stared out the window.
The country of France was beautiful this time of year, especially Calais. Fanciful thoughts floated through England's mind, that of a reunion with France and the relief he'd experience once the man was safe. It should be easy, England thought, rubbing his forehead. A sudden splitting headache made him wince, closing his eyes. Nowadays sudden pain he was used to. It was the consequence of bonding with another country.
Naively, England forced himself to believe France was just in solitary confinement, that he was not being tortured. He pushed all of his doubts into a corner and locked them up. France was fine.
"... and we think France has been deported to an intelligence agency in Berlin," Russia continued, the words filtering into England's mind and drawing his attention. "We'll deploy two teams. Black One will be led by England and consists of America and Japan."
England held back a smug expression, watching as a frustrated, petulant America shifted in his seat. Russia kept talking, and England tried to tune back in. "I will lead Black Two, consisting of Canada and I-"
The conference door swung open, ripping away everyone's attention. "And me," the newcomer said, heavy accent unmistakable. England, letting out a huff of dry amusement, murmured, "China."
China, in his grey military uniform, strode in with his head held high. Japan bristled in his seat beside England, hissing, "What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you with the central powers?"
"Was I committed to them?" China snapped back, coming to stand at Russia's side. "You know the answer to that, báichī."
"Get out," Japan growled, fists slamming against the table as he stood. China made to attack, but Russia stepped between the two, eyes narrowed at Japan. In England's view, he didn't help much: he sided easily with China. As expected, it's always my duty to clean up the mess. Assholes.
"Stop this nonsense, now." England commanded, standing from his seat with an air of superiority that made everyone want to do what he asked. "We are here to rescue France, and whilst you bicker amongst yourselves, he rots in a prison cell!" Striding to the front of the room, England gestured to the map on the blackboard. "Our intel provides possible and probable locations that our rogue Prussian group may be in. I suggest we start in the mountainous regions of Berlin and we start now. Thanks to our newest addition-" England glared at China- "We can split into three teams."
"I'll take Canada," America quickly called.
"Russia will partner with Canada," England corrected, not bothering to look America in the eye. "And China will partner with Japan."
"What?! No!" Both Japan and America shouted (more like whined).
Thankfully, Russia broke in this time to aid England. "Your partner is intended to be your opposite," he explained calmly. "For example, I am the strength and Canada is the escape-artist on our team."
"Why can't Canada be the escape-artist to my strength?" America stubbornly argued.
"I prefer the term Houdini," Canada chimed in.
Russia rubbed his face, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "But the point is, you balance the other out."
America crossed his arms. "I don't see how England and I balance each other out. He's strong, I'm strong-"
"You are half-witted whereas I am brilliant," England pointed out smugly.
Before a heated argument could begin, Russia interrupted, "The three teams will also serve as a three-pronged attack on the building we intend to sabotage." He motioned to England. "Care to explain?"
"Thank you." Gesturing to the map, England started, "Our best undercover informant, stationed in Germany, tipped us off a couple days ago. A rogue Prussian group is assumed to be living in this stronghold. In it, certain spies of ours have seen various undercover agents taken. Russia and I have studied the building, and it has several weaknesses that ultimately make it a vulnerable infrastructure."
England strode over and set the map in the middle of the table so that everyone could see the attack plan up close. "America and I will take the south mountain range, facing the front of the building. Russia and Canada will be directly north, just behind the stronghold. Japan and China will take the east side. If America and I can sneak past the delivery gate when it opens, I can override the security structure..."
"Allowing the rest of us to break in," Russia continued. "From there, America and England will break off to find France. The rest of us will set detonators around the building to erase evidence of us ever being there."
Silence fell amongst the group. America and Canada glanced at each other before America spoke up, "So, we're going to kill unarmed, unsuspecting people?"
"These people abducted Francis," England bitterly snapped, taking everyone off guard. "They plan to take all of us out, one by one. Don't you understand? If we don't kill them first, they'll kill us."
The countries remained quiet. Russia folded his arms and leant forward against the table. "Whoever does not want part of this is welcome to leave now."
No one spoke. England let out a relieved breath and flexed his fingers against his palm, standing up once more. "I'm glad we all agree, then. We'll convene here at 05:00, bright and early tomorrow. We'll rendezvous with a train as soon as possible. And a quick reminder-" He shot a pointed look at America, who was trying to sneak out the door- "That we are in deep shadow conditions. No one outside of this recovery group should know a word about this. I'd advise you keep your trap shut unless you want my wrath incurred upon you."
No one argued save for the hushed grumbles of America as he walked out.
July 26
A train horn blew as it slowly started to roll out of the station in the dead of night. England gazed out the window of the train as they departed from France, headed for the dangerous Germany. The other nations in the train with him slept, but England found himself restless. Occasionally light would pass by the window, illuminating his face briefly. His cheek slumped against his palm as he thought, cloudy eyes closing out of stress. A vivid memory appeared out of nowhere, a memory that had been buried deep for centuries.
"Gaulia?"
Turning, Gaulia faces Albion. He smiles sleepily. "Yes?"
Albion doesn't understand why he feels the need to say these words- he doesn't even know what they mean. He has only know Gaulia for three months, and his language is a mangled, hard thing to understand. Still, he curls up close to Gaulia and throws a leg around his waist so they are pressed flush together, sharing body heat in the cold forrest they live in.
"I really love you."
Gaulia giggles and buries his face into Albion's neck. They are both too young to be living in a tree, all alone in an empty forrest: too innocent to realize they are not the only countries that exist in this world. But Albion knows the faeries led him to Gaulia for a reason. He is certain that the words he has spoken are the reason. Love is what drives the forces of this earth. It is what shapes it.
"Albion?"
"What?"
"I love you, too."
England softly laughed, and his lower lip quivered dangerously.
July 28th
In the wee hours of morning, England's team gathered, preparing for their first attack near Berlin. Tracking down the building that intel provided coordinates for had been easy. Smack-dab in the middle of a mountain range right outside Berlin, the building had been hidden quite conveniently: now all that remained was a successful infiltration and rescue. They wore black long-sleeved shirts and black bullet-proof vests, blending in with the night itself. Determined, England breathed in deeply, and felt France- who was still connected to him- do the same.
England could feel France when he slept, could see him in his dreams. It was as if they were tied at separate ends of a rope: they couldn't physically touch each other, but they could feel the other's presence.
"You're staring off into space," came a gravelly voice beside England's ear. Turning, England faced America, blue eyes carefully neutral. Just the way I taught him to deal with other nations. Maybe he did learn something from our days together.
"Did you need something?" The pointed politeness almost made America cringe, but England convinced himself that he didn't care. "Or do you only exist to annoy me?"
"Other people, maybe, but not you." America couldn't hold a passive stance for long: unbridled passion was perhaps his greatest weakness in being a country. "The world does not revolve around you."
"Seeing as how I own half the world, I'd say it does, in fact, revolve around me." England snidely bit back, not bothering to look his brother in the eye. America started to walk away, to England's relief, but then hesitated.
"My world does not revolve around you, Arthur."
Bristling, England turned around, ready to smack the impudent bastard for using his human name, but America was already walking away, studying the building beneath them. Shaking off the irritating encounter (which hurt more than he even realized), England adjusted his mic, muttering, "Testing. Russia, can you hear me?"
The voice of Russia- on a mountain range with Canada behind the building- came fading in. "I thought we were using codenames, yes?"
"We haven't the time for-"
America interrupted him, voice almost giddy as he chimed in, "I vote that England's codename be highfalutin motherfu-"
"Stop right there, you godforsaken spawn of sa-"
"Will you two shut up?!" China hissed. "We have a small window of opportunity that will close soon if we sit around here and argue all day!"
England turned, glared at America, and replied, "China is right. You need to act mature, America."
"Oh, shut your f-"
"Um, people?" Canada's voice piped up. "Small window of opportunity is going. . ."
England lifted his binoculars, studying the building. The gates were opening to accept a delivery. He turned to America and spoke, "That's our cue." America stiffly nodded, and both pulled out their detonators. Creeping closer to the gate, the two readied to throw their explosions at the gate.
Three, two.. England mouthed.
With a sharp whizz, the explosives flew through the air and attached to the gate. Guards nearby shouted in confusion as the gate suddenly exploded into a ball of smoke and flames. "Go!" America shouted, and the two sprinted past the flaming gate and into the facility. Unluckily, guards spotted them and started to fire. Gunshots echoed throughout the place, England and America diving for cover behind a wall.
America readily fired back, shouting expletives and ducking quickly for cover again. England scanned the walls, searching for the security system. His eyes fell upon the thing, on the opposite wall: out in the open. If England even tried to run to it, he'd be a sitting duck. A sitting duck filled with bullets, for that matter.
"Have you disabled the security system?" Russia asked over the mic.
"Hold your horses," America snapped, glancing at England. "The bastards are firing at us."
"Who would have thought?" Canada snidely remarked, voice fading in and out with static. England tried to focus on his mission instead of being slightly proud that Canada had, in fact, inherited something from him and not France.
America gritted his teeth and fired at the guards once more. "Are you going to do something or not?!" He shouted at England.
"Excuse me?" England hissed shrilly. "Do you have any brilliant plans, stupid b-"
Pushing him roughly aside, America flung something at the adjacent wall in anger. About to bite America's head off and beat him to a pulp, England sat up, only to realize that America's eyes were wide with what could only be described as: "Oops."
The entire wall exploded, sending everyone in the room crashing backwards. Coughing, England tried pushing himself up, only to be pinned down by America, having landed on him in the force of the blast. Blue eyes bored into his, shocked: England groaned and let his head fall back. "Will you stop gawking and get off me?"
"I'm not gawking," America argued, but pushed himself up off England. England sat up and rubbed his head irritably, getting to his feet. Blood stained his gloves, and England sighed out.
"The mainframe is down," he reported over the mic. "In a rather unorthodox way, but I suppose it worked."
Canada's voice faded in. "You two go find France. We'll rig the place."
"10-4, Houdini," America replied, smirking. England rolled his eyes, the two racing down the hallways together. They skirted a wall, ran into some guards, shot them down, and continued running.
"How many bloody hallways are there?!" England growled, heartbeat starting to increase as he worried. America glanced over at him, but (for once in his life) had nothing to say. One could sense the nervousness England's persona emitted in waves.
"You've been at this for ten minutes," China piped up, voice static. "We're running out of time!"
"Just hold on!" England snarled. "We're close, I feel it. Just-"
England and America suddenly were sent flying backwards, tumbling to the ground roughly. Grunting at the harsh impact, England pushed himself up, eyes flickering. Holding his wounded side, he pulled out his gun and stood, facing the newcomer that blocked his path. The figure was dressed in black and wore a mask, covering his nose and mouth: his blonde, greasy long hair was matted and tied back.
England hesitated. Something was... off. He hadn't the time to think as the man hurled something towards him, and seemingly paralyzed, England couldn't move. America skidded to a halt in front of him, and the second the small rope attached to his forearm, the coils rippled with electricity. America cried out as he was electrocuted, falling to the ground in a limp heap.
Gritting his teeth in fury, England leapt over America's body and towards the mysterious figure, firing multiple shots at him. The man dodged and rolled to the ground, leaping to his feet and pulling out his own gun. A bullet scraped England's thigh, making him wince: grunting, England closed in on him and kicked away the gun from his hands.
His own gun tumbled out of his hands as the man dealt a swift and effective punch to his jaw, sending England stumbling back in shock. He sent his foot flying into the figure's gut, making him grunt and hit the wall behind him. Flipping his hair, England breathed out and raised his fists, ready for combat.
Swift punches and kicks were dealt on both sides. The man, incredibly flexible, side flipped, avoiding England's fist and catching his arm. Before he could snap his arm, England pulled out his pocket knife and dug it into the other's shoulder.
Blue eyes flashing with some frightening look, the man stumbled, grip on England loosening. Taking advantage of the sudden hesitation, England flipped, sending the heel of his foot into other's face. He stumbled backwards, mask falling off as he flipped, neatly landing on his feet and turning towards England.
Arthur's heart stopped.
"Francis?"
It was him. He was finally here. He was... alive, and Arthur took a step forward to touch him, to feel his skin- only for Francis to step back warily. Breathing in sharply, Arthur's mouth turned dry, his head spinning in confusion. What the hell is wrong with him? "Don't you... don't you remember me?"
Only then did Arthur suddenly realize how awful he looked, rings under his eyes, black soot covering his face, strands of greasy hair hanging in his eyes. Something was wrong. France wasn't running to him in joy. France had tried to attack him.
Dark eyes stared England down, no flicker of recognition visible. Francis replied in his native tongue, voice gravelly from disuse.
"Who the hell are you?"