The train ride wasn't too long; Feliciano was able to occupy himself by watching the passing scenery, or chatting with the other soldiers. However, the general cheer of the morning dissipated into fear of first combat. As they were getting off the train each soldier got handed a standard issue rifle by the General. When it came to Feliciano's turn the General just looked him up and down and sighed.
"Feliciano, right? Since you're a bit weaker than the others, we have given you the grand task," He reached behind him and picked up the flag of Italy on a pole. "Of holding the flag of Italy at the front of the charge." Feliciano took the flag and the General had a strangely pleasant smile evident on his lips. Feliciano smiled politely back and started to move towards the other soldiers, when the General caught his arm. "You'll be at the front with me. And don't stop, no matter what." Feliciano nodded.
And so he did. He marched on with the others just behind the General. He continued to march on when he stumbled into the line of fire, into explosions and death. He continued to march on when the General fell lifeless in front of him. He continued to march on when there was no one else left to fall. He continued to march on until he walked head first into a very tall muscular man. He looked up, blinked a couple times, realised this was the enemy, and ultimately dropped the flag in fear.
"Uwah! Please don't hurt me, I'm a virgin and virgins aren't fun to shoot! You're German, right? I have relatives in Bavaria, so please don't shoot…" He babbled his plea at the German who looked amusedly at this small Italian who could also speak German somehow. The soldier barked back at his own General.
"Sir, we have a straggler, what should we do with him?"
The General seemed disinterested, not even looking in their direction. "Just put him on a train to Zossen. They seem to be lacking in men."
The soldier nodded.
A few hours later Feliciano found himself yet again hopping out of a train. This time in a different country, with different clothes, and for a different purpose. He was roughly pushed through a gate and heard a deafening sound of the gate being locked shut behind him. Finding himself in a compound with other men wearing the same uniforms, Feliciano concluded he had been put into a Prisoner of War camp. Just like Lovino. How could he find Lovino when he was a prisoner? At least he didn't have to fight or anything. He surveyed the area. He wasn't quite sure if Germany was known for its freezing winters, so for his own health he decided to ask.
"Oh, excuse me, are winters cold here?" Feliciano looked inquisitively at the only two men who actually looked like they could carry a conservation. Although both of them looked weary, they both shared a mutual determination for one reason or another. The one with bushy eyebrows looked up and jabbed his partner, who had slightly longer hair and a stubble.
"Oi, you know Italian right?" Eyebrows spoke with an English accent which Feliciano could only describe as downright posh.
"Ah, it is alright. I speak English too." Feliciano explained, switching to English. "I was just asking if the winters here are cold?"
"Oui, my friend. Why do you ask?" So the one with a stubble was French.
"I just don't fair well in winters, that's all." Feliciano was devastated. What if his illness came back?
"Why do you say that?" Eyebrows pulled Feliciano out of his thoughts.
"Hey, don't ask personal questions, Kirkland."
"You were about to ask the same thing."
"Was not. I was obviously about to ask this fine young man for his name, like a proper gentleman would do."
"I am a proper gentleman!" Eyebrows took Stubble by the collar and Stubble just smiled and raised his hands in surrender. Feliciano smiled. They seemed as close as Antonio and Lovino. He wondered how long it would be until he got to see either of them again.
"So, what is your name?" The Englishman and Frenchman settled their differences and Stubble got to ask his question.
"Feliciano, but you can call me Feli. What is yours?"
"Well, I'm Francis, and my friend here—"
"More like acquaintance." Eyebrows scoffed. Francis rolled his eyes.
"My acquaintance here is—"
"Arthur."
"Stop interrupting me!"
"Not until you stop being such an arrogant child."
"What did I ever do?"
"You existed. And anyway, you're upsetting our new friend."
"I'm upsetting him?" Francis' voice grew sharper.
Feliciano felt like he needed to intervene. He raised his hands.
"Ah, um well is there a doctor I could speak too?"
Francis turned away from Arthur to look at him. "Why do you need a doctor? Are you ill?"
"I thought you said we weren't asking personal questions?"
"Shut up and let the man speak." Francis gestured to Feliciano and Arthur grumbled under his breath.
"Um, I did have a illness but—"
"aN illness," Arthur corrected. Francis smacked him around the back of his head.
"Give him a break, it is his second language,"
"Fourth, actually." The Italian seemed to impress the other two with this information. "Grandpa taught my brother and I English and German because he thought it come in useful, and Spanish because he said it was the language of... love? I think that is what he said."
"And how old are you?" Francis appeared doubtful.
"21."
"Wow, who knew. Maybe you should start learning some languages, Arthur. You're what? 26 now? He's 21 and he knows four."
"Oh shut up, frog. So what was this about an illness?" Arthur decided to change the subject.
"Ah, yes. I had a really bad one a few years ago. It has gone now but the doctor said I should keep out of the cold just in case it comes back."
"What's the illness?" Arthur wanted to help this poor Italian. He looked weak enough as it is.
Feliciano thought for a second. "Ah, sorry, I do not know it in English."
"What is it in Italian? I could translate for you." Francis suddenly remembered he could speak Italian.
"*Tubercolosi polmonare."
Francis' eyebrows knotted together, then his face rested in sad realisation.
"I see. I'm sorry and I hope you made a full recovery."
Feliciano grimaced at painful memories.
"What? What is it?" Arthur didn't want to be kept in the dark for much longer.
"Pulmonary TB." Francis explained.
"Oh." Arthur was frustrated. He was frustrated that the military were so desperate that they let in a poor, well educated young boy with a possibility of getting TB. One of the worse kinds too. He wanted this war to end soon; so more young men like Feliciano, like Alfred back in the states, could never experience the hellish world of war. He knew it was too late for his Canadian friend Matthew.
"So where is this doctor you were speaking of?"
A bell rang before anyone could answer Feliciano's question.
"It is lunch now, then work in the fields. I do not think you will have time to speak to him for today." Francis explained.
Feliciano nodded. "Are the lunches nice here?" He looked slightly hopeful.
"It's no cuisine but I guess you can decide for yourself. It's actually pretty nice."
The three of them started to walk towards the dining hall.
"I think only you can say that Kirkland, having no taste and all. In my experience, it tastes incredibly bland."
It was just as Francis described. Feliciano didn't mind though, he was able to make a few more friends during lunch and work. The work was tedious, but every time an officer looked away Feliciano would stop working completely and make some sort of silly face behind his back, making the others laugh. The whole camp saw Feliciano as their younger brother and treated him kindly. The cook would even put an extra bit of meat on his plate, or sprinkle a bit of sugar on Feliciano's porridge in the morning. The cook's reason for this was that Feliciano looked too thin. Nobody complained. Nobody picked on Feliciano and he was fed three times a day. Feliciano liked it here.
*This is pronounced two-bur-co-law-si pul-mon-ah-ree
There you go, another chapter. I'm getting really excited for this story now, and I hope you are too.
As you know, this is a companion fic and I am planning on doing a FrUk one too, as well as a PruCan one and an AmeriPan one. Please tell me if I should do so, thanks.