It surely slows you down when you have to research a lot. I now know that. Of course, this is a historical fanfic, but there might be some not intended historical inaccuracies. And no, I don't own Hetalia, bla bla. We all know I don't.
xXx
Again, the Netherlands was stuck in the building. His general didn't let him fight.
There had been rumours about Dutch uniforms being smuggled to Germany, but he never had the desire to do something about it. After all it was just a rumour and back then he believed the Germans weren't likely to attack him.
How wrong he was.
He thought he was prepared on this war, but really, he wasn't. Yes, his army was mobilised and yes, they'd built guard posts close to the borders, but his people weren't trained as soldiers. They were trained… to build posts.
It was all so frustrating! He had sent both his minister of Foreign Affairs and minster of Colonies to England, so they could, in his name, discuss with the Allies about what to do about Germany. He had forbidden the contribution of pamphlets, grounded the German citizens in his country, but really, it didn't matter. What he did was of no importance.
"Sir, we lost contact with Zutphen and Deventer."
"Keep trying," he answered, staring at the map. If he only knew where the enemy actually was, if they were going south or north or straight forward, how fast they moved, with how many battalions they were.. so many questions and there were no answers at all.
He could hear the planes, flying over them. Normally they would go to England. He never really bothered about the planes. The morning was still barely waking up, but they were already at full battle. His people were shooting at the planes, trying to hit the engines and the parachutists. It was useless. They were with too much.
It was around eight a.m. when Headquarters got another message.
"The Germans managed to cross the IJssel by Westervoort, sir," one of the generals told him. Some groaning could be heard, but the Netherlands didn't say anything. He was at a loss for words.
Some time later, the same general reported Zutphen fell in German hands as well.
"Tell them to blow up every single bridge that crosses the Maas," the Dutch nation demanded, still staring at the map. Just like the IJssel, the Maas was another river, a natural barrier who even kept the Romans out of the area twenty centuries ago. Unfortunately, these were different times; Romans were not Germans and unlike in the past, the rivers weren't impossible to cross.
It was his strong and weak point at the same time. The rivers. He had thought they didn't need that many soldiers at the riversides, because the rivers were a barrier their selves. It was another stupid mistake. A miscalculation. One of many.
The Netherlands glanced at the door; he wanted to get out, he was of no use when he just sat here, waiting. He was not a princess they had to protect! He had more fighting experience than a whole battalion, including the general leading that battalion.
He had fought countless of nations, had thought out fantastic plans and strategies and yet they kept him here. Babysitted by some soldiers.
Little did he know both his ministers and army's leaders had been talking behind his back. About how strange he acted lately, as if he didn't care. He'd been so indifferent about the German spies, the rumours about the smuggle of Dutch uniforms, the continuous threats of Germany. The Netherlands was supposed to be the nation that was great a few centuries ago; an empire, the Dutch empire, one of the biggest at one point. Almost ruler of the seas.
And now? Now he was just any other country, desperately clamping to his neutrality until Germany himself opened his eyes. They couldn't trust this new Netherlands. It was all for his own safety. And theirs.
A young soldier came in, somewhat nervous and avoided the nation's stern look. The Netherlands looked at him as he was a hawk, a hawk looking that just found it's prey. "Yes?" he snapped.
"The Germans.. " the young man started, clearly not wanting to get on Netherlands' bad side. "They've crossed the Maas."
Ten seconds passed. Then the Dutch nation stood up abruptly and marched to the door. The soldier passing the message had clearly not been expecting it, as he only could stumble a weak 'sir' when the man opened the door. There were no soldiers on guard. Good. He wanted to see it with his own eyes. His government was nuts. They couldn't lock up their own nation that easily.
He stared at the sky, a sky filled with planes, high in the air, ready to drop the German parachutists. He could hear the noise; the noise of the approaching of a terrible, upcoming war. The soldier who brought the news had caught up with him and tried to force him back to the building, but he shook him off.
"You can't expect me to go back and do nothing!" he shouted, losing his calmth. "It's my country, my land, my people and I'm not that much of a bastard to let my people die on their own!" At this point he honestly didn't care about how strange this must be for any human who didn't know about his 'secret'.
He saw how the parachutists got closer and closer to Dutch ground; he demanded the man's gun and ran off with it. The parachutists, while hanging in the air, were helpless and an easy target for them to shoot. Unfortunately they were forced to wait until they were fairly close the ground so they would have a greater chance on escape.
He heard one of his generals shouting at him, but ignored his orders and followed one of the airplanes that recently dropped off quite a few German soldiers. He didn't feel anything when his first shot went straight through the head from a young, blonde man. In this war the men didn't choose to be in the army. The one he shot was forced to become a soldier for the Third Reich. The man he just killed was maybe a father, a teacher, or a writer, even.
He'd killed an innocent being. That didn't stop him for pulling the trigger once more, though. It was the Dutch dead or the Germans dead, and he obviously chose for the latter. Sometimes violence really was the only answer in order to survive.
xXx
"Good day, am I talking with France?"
"You are. I wanted to inform you, Pays-Bas," the man answered. Again, the Netherlands thought he was sounding worn-out, exhausted even.
He nodded, then realised it wasn't really effective. "Ja?"
"I've sent a general your way and he's making a lot of progress." A small chuckle could be heard; it was the first laugh the Dutch nation heard since the invasion. It was actually nice to hear. "They should arrive at your southern borders tomorrow morning..."
"I see." He hoped France's troops would be on time. There was so much confusion. His generals had told him, that although they'd shot down a lot of soldiers, around eight thousand parachutists managed to get down safely. German trains were currently riding into his country by Venlo, a city near the German border, undoubtedly full of even more soldiers.
The Germans had attacked the airports; Valkenburg was the first to fall. Although their airplanes got damaged badly, they were with too much for the fighting Dutch to win over. They surrendered after a few hours. However, the Netherlands had given orders to attempt a recapture; so far he'd only heard reports about how the entire village of Valkenburg got involved with it.
His other airport, Ypenburg was located near the Hague. Most countries used one particular city for their ministerial activities; their capital. He'd preferred to split it. Amsterdam was his capital, the Hague was for politics. Of course Germany knew that and had sent most of his troops to Ypenburg. Although they had captured it pretty soon, it was Dutch property again in the afternoon.
"Netherlands, I'm talking to you," France's voice came through the phone, sounding somewhat impatient.
The Dutch nation, who had been daydreaming, snapped out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"Nothing important," the Frenchman responded. "Don't let him win."
With that, the man on the other side of the line hung up on him. The Netherlands sighed. He wasn't used to be at war. There had been peace in his country for more than a century. He didn't have any experience in modern wartime; something he would pay a high price for.
Germany had something done that hadn't been done before. It was the biggest airborne operation in history so far. The newspapers told the Dutch people around thousand soldiers were shot; seventy airplanes were too damaged to function normally. In truth, more than eight thousand German parachutists had set foot on Dutch ground.
And that.. was just a tip of the iceberg.