(October 1918)
Prussia gasped for breath as he dragged himself along the floor of a filthy trench, leaving a trail of his own blood behind him. The smell of poison gases still hung heavy in the air, while he slowly passed the corpses of vermin and men alike.
He hadn't been ready for this. He wasn't ashamed to admit that. No one had been ready for this. He remembered the first time he had seen and smelled the poisoned gases spilling over towards his unit. Men all around him, gagging, gasping, and dying, and all he could do was watch. It had infuriated him. But nothing could infuriate him more than the fact that he had been expected to use those same deadly toxins on other soldiers himself.
They had fought so hard. Prussia didn't think he had ever fought harder in his life for anything. And the worst part was, he didn't know if they had really been fighting for anything.
"I'll kill that bastard when I get outta here," he muttered to himself, although it was painful to speak. But for Austria, he would spare a few words. Damn moron had dragged them all into this goddamn war. And now they were losing. Badly.
God, he thought. What would happen to Germany if they lost? The thought had crossed his mind, of course, but never so vividly as it was now. Now that it was clear that Prussia had lost his front; that he had failed. Damn, he hated losing.
"And now I'm gonna just die in a pit? In France?" he scoffed. "Screw that." He tried to pull himself upright, to see over the trench, get some idea of what was happening, but he fell back to the ground when the wound in his belly refused to allow him much movement as he had to hold it shut with his hand. He rolled over onto his back and just stared at the sky, totally exhausted. The gases were still clouding his head, so his vision blurred and blinked in and out, or maybe that was just because he was losing blood. And his head felt like someone had split it open with a pickaxe.
"Not gonna end here," he said aloud to no one. "Not gonna end here."
He felt so tired, though. And the light was staring to hurt his eyes, in spite of the fact that the sun was hidden behind a thick veil of gray clouds. But it was still too bright. There were sounds off in the distance, but they seemed of such little consequence to him. After all, they were far away, and he couldn't reach them. He couldn't even move anymore. Maybe if he closed his eyes and rested for a little while…
"Prussia!"
"Huh?"
"Prussia!"
"If that's the goddamn 'choir invisible'," he said. "You better buzz off."
"Oh God," he heard someone say as footsteps started drawing nearer. He tried to sit up to see who it was, but he found that he body was uncooperative. Finally, though he saw a shadow, and then someone standing over him.
"Oh, hey West," he said once he figured out who it was. "Am I hallucinating?"
"No," Germany said. "No, I'm here."
"Figured," Prussia grunted. "If I was hallucinating it would have been a girl, and she would have been a hell of a lot prettier than you."
He couldn't see it, but he could tell that Germany was rolling his eyes. "Just hold on," he said. "I'm going to get you out of here."
"Great, this place sucks," Prussia replied.
"You shouldn't speak," Germany admonished. "Let me look at your wound."
"I ain't stopping you," Prussia said, although he knew he should probably keep silent. Speaking was still painful.
He gave a shuddering cough, and the bitter, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Prussia spat it out, and groaned, while Germany worked to stop the bleeding from the wound in his belly. Shrapnel had torn into him when a shell went off, though he counted himself lucky that he hadn't been any closer to the explosion. He wondered if anyone else from his unit was alive, and then he wondered when his head would stop hurting. God, he was so tired…
"Prussia!" Germany said, shaking him slightly.
Prussia grunted in response.
"We have to go, now," Germany said. "Lean on me, I'll help you walk."
"Don't need your help," Prussia mumbled, but he still let West haul him to his feet. The sudden rush of blood from his head nearly made him pass out, but he managed to stay conscious as he took a few shaky steps forward. Germany slung his arm around his shoulder, and wrapped a supportive arm around his waist while they walked along the trench.
Prussia tried to move his legs, but it felt like someone had filled them with water in place of muscle and bone. He stumbled more than once, while Germany struggled to keep them both on their feet.
"It's alright," Germany said. "We don't have far to go."
Prussia only grunted again. He didn't understand what the hurry was. After all, he would be much better able to walk once he had some rest. But when he tried to say so, Germany shook his head and insisted that they keep going. Prussia scowled, but his eyelids were growing so heavy. If he only slept for a moment…
"Brother!" Germany said, shaking him slightly.
"What?" Prussia groaned.
"Please, you need to stay awake, just a little longer."
"Why?" he asked groggily.
"Your head is injured," Germany said. "So you have to stay awake."
Oh, yes that made sense, Prussia thought. If he passed out with a concussion, he might fall into a coma. And that would be pretty unawesome of him.
"'kay, I'll try," he muttered.
"Keep talking to me," Germany said.
"Oh, now you want me to talk?" Prussia replied. "Make up your mind."
"Just say anything," said Germany. "I can't imagine rambling has suddenly become difficult for you."
"Heh. I dunno." He thought for a minute before asking, "Weren't you supposed to be fighting in Italy?"
"I returned to Berlin some time ago," Germany said.
"Right. So, how was it?" Prussia asked, smirking.
"It was…not what I was expecting," Germany answered.
Prussia gave a small laugh, though pain cut it off.
"And you knew all along," Germany said; it was a statement not a question. "You knew exactly the type of 'fight' I was getting into, and you neglected to mention it."
"Well, duh," Prussia replied. "I mean, come on, your reaction when you actually found those two must have been priceless."
Germany only glared down at him.
"Cute kid, Veneziano," Prussia mused. "Romano's a bit of a handful, though."
"I did not encounter South Italy," Germany told him.
"Count yourself lucky."
"I see."
Prussia sighed. "God," he said. "I remember when it was me carrying you around."
"I remember too."
"But then you got taller."
"Yes."
"That was lousy of you."
"It was not exactly something I could prevent."
"Humph. Lame excuse," he mumbled, though he could barely hear his own words now. He felt like someone had stuffed cotton in his ears and throat. Why was it so important that he stay awake again?
Germany shook his arm slightly to stir him. "Prussia, please, hold on just a little longer," he said, almost pleading now.
"'m fine," he muttered. He couldn't tell if he was moving his legs anymore, or if Germany was just dragging him. He lifted his head, slightly, to attempt to get some idea of their bearings. They were still in a trench, but farther from the noises of battle. They weren't on the front lines anymore. That made Prussia a little angry, being dragged away from the fight like this. He knew that he had lost, but this was just salt in the wound. Which made him start to wonder just how bad things were for them.
"So," Prussia began. "How much longer we gonna hold out?"
Germany didn't answer right away. Prussia knew it was a bit of a loaded question, but he still wanted to know. He had spent most of the war on the front lines, so his information was limited. "Not long," Germany finally answered. "They say the navy has plans to mutiny-"
"Bastards," Prussia interjected.
"-and Ludendorff resigned."
"Heard about that one," said Prussia.
"Yes. Things look bad."
"Well, guess you can't win 'em all, right West?"
Again, he didn't respond.
(March 1938)
Germany walked home through the streets of Berlin to his house, just outside the city. He could have taken a car, he found that today he needed the time to think. Exercise always helped him clear his head.
He was horrified when he saw his written order one of his boss' man had given him. Usually when he boss couldn't even say the orders aloud they were unpleasant, but how could he expect Germany to do this?
"I- I refuse" he said.
"You can't refuse. This is an order from your superior."
Germany froze. There was no way he could do this to Austria. Annex him, and take away his freedom? Austria had helped raise him, for God's sake. He was alive now in part thanks to him. But he couldn't refuse the command. He needed to maintain the order that had been created, at long last after the disaster that was their last war. After that war, well, frankly he hadn't believed it was possible for even him to sink so low. Yes working for France was humiliating enough, but the worst part had been what he had been forced to watch his people endure. They had starved, their money had no value, they were allowed no pride. And it was all his fault.
But things were getting better now. Surely they were. They were ready to fight a war that would restore their place in the world. That… that was worth any sacrifice, even those already made and even this one. Germany believed that. He had to believe that. Didn't he?
But if he believed that this new regime was necessary to help his people, why did he hesitate now?
"No," he heard himself say. "I won't do it."
"I see," the other man said in a low voice. His expression darkened as he looked over his round spectacles. Though he wouldn't let it show on his face, Germany felt a nagging fear begin to gnaw at him. He knew this man, the man who had almost unlimited power to root our and stop threats to his boss and the regime. Somehow, Germany thought that should have made him feel safe with him, but he found that there was no other human being he had ever felt more threatened by.
He stepped forward, towards Germany, drawing his gun from the holster at his hip.
Germany shuddered at that memory. For a moment, he had been sure was about to be shot. But he hadn't moved. He couldn't have. He hadn't been dismissed.
The blow to his head had been a surprise, and he had fallen, dazed.
"Weak! Pathetic! Insubordinate!" At least that was all Germany could hear clearly through the ringing in his head and the pain in his ribs where he had been kicked after he fell. He felt sick again.
"That's enough," he heard someone say.
His heart leaped up into his throat when he saw his boss standing before them. He dismissed his subordinate and knelt down to look Germany in the eye.
"Why did you refuse my order?" he asked, gently.
"I- I," Germany stammered. For some reason his tongue wouldn't work.
"Germany," his boss said. "I am trying to help you. You know that don't you?"
He nodded in response.
"Good," his boss continued. "You know that you need my help? I need to know that you understand that. Because I couldn't stand to see you fall again. Couldn't stand to see my people starving in the streets."
"I understand."
"I'm glad," he said as he helped Germany to his feet. "You have come so far from the weak child I found when I first met you. I know it is difficult, but you must trust me. I am the only one who can stop that from happening again. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Then will you carry out my orders?"
"Yes."
It couldn't be right, could it? For his boss' man to hit him like that? Then again, perhaps he had needed it. He needed the lesson. After all, before his boss had come along he had been barely more than nothing. A workhorse for France. His boss had saved him, was continuing to save him. Saving him from being weak, from being afraid, from being the way he had been as a child.
I will never go back to that, he thought. Never go back to being sick, or scared, unable to decide my own fate.
But wasn't he scared now? Being controlled? How was that any different?
It is different, he told himself firmly.
Anything must have been better than that damned "peace" he had been forced into. Losing territory and his colonies had been bad enough, but he could have handled that. What he could not stand was the blame. How could they put it all on him? He didn't deserve all the blame. Did he? Sometimes, it was hard for him to say.
Regardless, the sheer humiliation of all of it was more than he could stand, and it was not what his people deserved. They had wanted the fighting to stop too, but the desire for peace had been thrown in their faces. And that's why he had to trust his boss. His boss was going to help him restore his place in the world, bring back his people's pride. If all that cost was a few hard lessons, surely he could take it. Surely he should take it?
Then why was he so sure that something was very wrong?
Further thought on the subject was interrupted when he arrived at home. He found that the door was unlocked, which concerned him for a moment until he saw he brother lying on the couch, drinking out of a large stein.
"What are you doing here?" Germany asked, though he had a pretty good idea.
"I live here, don't I?" Prussia replied.
"I meant, what are you doing home this early?"
"Oh. Well, you know that last job I got?"
"You got fired again, didn't you?"
"Yep," Prussia said. "In my defense, my boss was gunning for me from the start."
Germany was too tired to go through this conversation yet again, so he simply sat down on an armchair and let himself sink into the soft cushions.
"Not like it really matters right?" Prussia said. "I mean, we're going to war again soon, right?" he asked.
Germany wasn't sure if he should answer. These were state secrets he would be divulging. But, then again, this was his brother. How could he not trust him?
"Yes," he replied after a time.
"Alright!" Prussia said, shooting up. "So that means I go to the front lines, right? No more dumb busywork?"
Germany's first thought was to say no, outright.
But then he had no idea why. Of course he remembered the last time he had seen brother in a war, lying in the dirt bleeding to death. Even after he had managed to get Prussia to a field hospital, it hadn't been a certainty that he would make it. Somehow, though, he didn't think that was the only thing on his mind. After all, Prussia was a good soldier, and he would be best used on the battlefield. And that was where he wanted to be, so why did Germany want to refuse him?
Because he was scared? Because when he was afraid, his big brother had always come to help him? And if he went away, he would be alone?
"Hey, West?" Prussia said, rising and walking over to him. "What happened?" He pointed towards the bruise on Germany's temple.
This was his chance. Prussia was handing him the opportunity to find out if this was right or not. If he told him what happened, they could figure out what to do. His brother could tell him if this was wrong.
"I fell down some stairs," Germany said. "It's nothing."
Prussia sniggered. "Nice one, West. So what kind of battle plans have you worked out?" he asked eagerly.
And then the chance was gone. That was for the best, Germany thought. Prussia would never be objective in this situation. And this was his business anyway. Prussia would have enough on his mind soon anyway.
He couldn't tell him everything, but he did tell him a few details. Prussia seemed excited about the whole thing. Germany was less sure, after the horrors of the last war. But this is necessary, he told himself. It is necessary. It has to be…
(April 1945)
Prussia ran through the shattered streets as flashes of heat and sound accosted his senses. He had to shield his face as pieces of debris flew up and hit him, but still he kept running, and shouting.
"Germany!" he cried. "Dammit! Answer me!"
Another bomb drowned out his last cry. By now, the streets were deserted as people had either sought cover, or missed their chance for good. But still, his brother was nowhere to be found. Had he already found someplace to wait out the bombing? Why not come back to their shelter? He should not have been too far away.
Finally, Prussia saw a figure, kneeling amongst the rubble that had been the square where they had shopped for groceries, once.
"West!" he shouted, but no response came. "Come on! Get to a shelter, you idiot!" he cried, running towards his brother. The noise had subsided for a moment.
As he got closer, he saw that Germany's shoulders were shaking, and that he was…laughing? He was in the middle of the ruined square, laughing like a madman.
"West?" Prussia said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Germany started for a moment, and stopped laughing. "Brother?" he said. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you!" Prussia exclaimed. "Hurry up! Those bombers are gonna come back, and I am way too awesome to get blown up!"
But Germany didn't move. "It's over isn't it?" he said, softly. "Finally over?" He started grinning, and then began to laugh again.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Prussia tried to pull Germany to his feet, but to no avail. "If you don't move your ass, I am leaving you here! I swear to God, West!"
"He's gone, you know," West said.
"Who's gone?" Prussia questioned.
"He got me into this," Germany continued, like he hadn't heard. "Got us into this. He told me it was right, necessary. I shouldn't have listened, should I? But I was so tired of watching people starve. I couldn't pay. I never could have, but people were still dying. Although, I guess that didn't change, did it? Why did he leave? He told me I needed him. He made me believe I needed him."
Prussia slapped him. "Snap out of it! You're gonna get us both killed!"
"I wanted to kill him myself, sometimes. But I couldn't. God, I was so weak. I am weak. He made sure I knew that. But then, why leave?"
"Germany, come ON!" This time, Prussia pulled harder, but then Germany suddenly pushed back, with a panicked look on his face.
"Don't touch me!" he shouted, before sinking weakly to his knees again. "I'm trying, I'm trying. Please, no more."
Prussia looked, horrified, at the crumbled man before him. He had never seen anyone look so… defeated. He didn't want to believe that this was his brother; that something had caused this in him.
He kneeled down, trying to meet Germany's vacant eyes. "We have to go, West," he said. "Please, let's go somewhere safe."
Germany's eyes seemed to click into focus. "Safe?" he murmured.
"Yes." This time, Germany let his brother take him by the arm and lead him away. Prussia could still hear the bombs going off, and see the clouds of dust rising from the rest of the city, but they had some time before they were in immediate danger. Still, he quickened their pace as much as he could.
It seemed an eternity before they reached their shelter. It was already crowded, but they managed to find a corner to themselves. People seemed to instinctively avoid them, which was fine as far as Prussia was concerned. He helped Germany sit down, then fell beside him.
"Wish we had some beer," he said, trying to grin.
Germany didn't respond.
"West, we'll get through this," Prussia said.
"No, we won't."
"Don't say things like that."
"Why not? It's only the truth." Germany looked away. "I'll take whatever they have in store for me. I deserve it."
"What do you mean you deserve it?" Prussia said. "I was just as much a part of this as you were."
Germany gave a joyless smile. "No, brother, you weren't. You fought in battles. You didn't see what I did." He drew his knees to his chest. "Oh God. I'm a monster."
"No-"
"I let my government murder my own people!" he yelled. No one around them seemed to notice. "I should have stopped it! I should have at least tried! But I didn't. I… Damn it, I was afraid! I should have…but…damn it!"
Prussia tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but Germany shrugged him off. "West, talk to me. What happened?"
"I was so scared. I…I never said anything."
"About what?"
Instead of speaking, Germany started to unbutton his shirt. He let the fabric fall away from his shoulder, and his back, revealing a collage of purple and faded yellow bruises, intertwined with red marks and scars. Some were from battles. Some obviously weren't.
"They hurt you?"
Germany nodded.
"Bastards!" Prussia yelled, shooting to his feet. "I'll kill them myself!"
"Prussia, please," Germany said softly. "Sit down."
Although he didn't want to, Prussia complied, rage building in his chest. Why didn't he know? Why didn't West say anything to him?
"He—my boss never actually ever did it himself," Germany began. "It was always someone else. I got the worst of it from Himmler, actually. I guess that really isn't too surprising. But my boss…he always stopped them. And he told me that was why I needed him. I don't know how, but he knew. He knew how afraid I was. Of being weak again. Like I was when I was a child. I… he used that, mostly. Until I did anything he said. God, I wanted to stop so badly." He buried his face in his hands. "I hope they kill me."
"No. No you don't," Prussia said, though he was trying to reassure himself as much as West.
The brothers sat there in silence, listening to the bombs going off in the surface. Neither spoke. Neither could think of anything to say.
Until the booming stopped. Then Germany said, "I guess it's time."
"Yeah," Prussia said. "Let's go face the music."
(June 1948)
Germany sat in his room, staring blankly at the floor.
"No! Please, you can't do this!"
They were all there. France and England gave him dirty looks. America looked confused, like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Russia just stood there, with his vacant smile. And his brother… Prussia stood beside Russia, the large nation's hand clamped over his shoulder. Prussia's wrists were handcuffed in front of him.
"West," he said. "It's okay."
"No!" he cried again, but two soldiers held him back when he tried to run forward. That was when Russia had led his brother away.
"NO!"
He was alone.
He looked at the bed, immaculately made, the corners of the sheets precise. Part of him half expected Italy's coppery head to pop out from underneath the covers, like it had used to. But no, that would never happen again.
"Get out!" Italy shouted, his voice holding more anger than Germany had thought possible from his former ally. "Get away from us!"
He was alone.
In some ways, this was worse than if the Allies had just killed him. At least then he wouldn't have the guilt clawing at his insides everyday. He had been expecting another Treaty of Versailles, but that did not seem to be the case either. They all seemed more preoccupied with other things. Dealing with Russia, rather than dealing with him, seemed to weigh much more heavily on all of their minds.
And now, Berlin was under siege, again. Again, it was Russia's doing. He seemed convinced that the entire city should belong to him, since it was in Russian controlled territory. He had already blockaded the city, preventing any supplies from coming in, and any people from coming out. His people were going to starve, again. And again, he was powerless to stop it.
There was a knock at the door, which startled him. He hadn't been expecting any visitors. Without really thinking, he walked to the door and opened it.
"Hello?" he said, force of habit driving him.
He met a pair of bright blue eyes, just a few inches below his own. "Hey, Germany," said a boisterous voice. "Mind if I talk to you for a sec?"
"America?" he said, "What are you doing here? Wait, how are you here?"
"It's called airlift," America said, grinning. Germany, still dumbstruck, opened the door and let him in. The other nation looked around the house. Most of it had been ruined in the bombings, but part still stood. There was still a kitchen, and an upstairs bedroom, and a parlor, where they now sat.
"What did you want to speak to me about?" Germany asked. Honestly, he had no idea what business America could have with him.
"Well, uh…hold on a sec," America said, hand rummaging through the pockets first on his pants, then his bomber jacket. "Ah-hah! There it is," he said triumphantly, drawing out a slightly crinkled envelope. He handed it to Germany.
"What is it?" he asked.
"A letter. Prussia asked me to give it to you."
Germany stared at him. "You are giving me a letter from my brother?" he said, voice laced with disbelief.
"Yeah. Don't tell the other Allies, though. They'd probably have my head if them found out," he said, grinning. "But, you know, I kind of owe Prussia one, since he helped me with my revolution and all. And," he said, his tone softer, "I don't know. It just didn't sit right with me. The way we just handed him over to Russia like that. I mean, I probably should have done something more about it, and I'm sorry. But he asked me to give you this, so I figured it might help a little bit."
Germany didn't really know what to say in response, so he simply opened the letter and began to read. It took him a moment to decipher his brother's messy handwriting. But he took some comfort in the fact that it was undoubtedly his.
"Hey West,
So, if you're reading this, I guess Russia got his way. France gave me a heads up about what was going on, with Russia taking control of half the country. Not sure he meant to, but whatever. Point is, if I have to go with Russia, just know that I want it that way. Maybe it will satisfy him long enough to buy you some time to recover. Bastard has his sights set on all of Europe, and guess who's in the front of the line?
But, if anyone can stand up to him, I know it's you. You've always been tough, West, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And I am awesome, so I would know. You just need a little time to pull yourself together. If I can give that to you, well, maybe it will make up for before. Now you better frame this next part, because I am not repeating it. Ever. Okay, here it goes: I messed up. I should have seen that you were hurting, during the war. Maybe even before that, I guess. I was so obsessed with making sure you were safe from the rest of the world, I didn't pay attention to what was going on right under my nose. I'm sorry. I tried to protect you, and I failed.
But that won't happen again. I've got another shot now, and I'm taking it. So don't get all emotional and stuff. And take care of yourself while I'm gone. The house had better be fixed when I come back, by the way. And I am coming back. It might be a while, but I know you could never last without my awesomeness around.
Anyway, I guess I'm done. So, yeah. See you 'round, little brother,
Prussia"
The weight of his brother's words hit him like a fist to the gut. Germany started fingering the cross-shaped medal at his throat. Prussia had given it to him. After his first war. After he had become a nation. God, that seemed so long ago. Germany wanted so badly to respond to the words in the letter; to tell Prussia that it wasn't his fault, and that he had nothing to apologize for. He wanted to say that without him…without him Germany didn't think he would have made it even this far. But Prussia wasn't there. So his words went unsaid. Instead, he looked at America, and simply said, "Thank you."
"Don't mention it," America replied. "So, how've you been? No, wait, stupid question," he said when Germany raised an eyebrow at him. "I saw what happened to your house, outside."
"Yes, the damage was extensive," he replied, stiffly.
"I could help you fix it."
"What?"
"Sure," America said, smile returning in full force. "I mean, my boss said we should help Europe rebuild, so I figure that means helping you too, right?"
"I…don't know what to say."
"A 'yes' would be a good start."
Germany was truly dumbfounded. Was America actually offering to help him rebuild? How could he do that? After such a terrible war that he was responsible for. The other Allies seemed to want to make sure he never had a military or industry again. Could America actually want to help him?
America checked his watch. "Hold on a minute," he said. "I've got another surprise."
"America, what are you talking about?" Germany asked.
"Just wait," he replied, grinning from ear to ear, like a child at Christmas. "Come on, let's go outside." He shot up off of his chair, and dragged Germany out the door with him. They stood in the yard, America's eyes trained up at the sky. Germany followed suit. For a while nothing happened. Then he heard the engines of planes drawing nearer. For a moment, he flinched, memories of bombs and fire flooding through his head, but there was no booming sound or rumble of the earth. Instead, he saw the sky fill with little parachutes, floating to the ground.
When one got close enough, America grabbed at it. "Check it out!" he exclaimed, showing Germany what was in his hand. It was… a chocolate bar?
"What's going on?" Germany asked.
America grabbed another bar from the air and shoved it in Germany's hand. "Well," he said, taking a bite of his own chocolate, "you know Russia's trying to take all of Berlin. Well, me and the other Allies thought that kind of sucked, so my government decided it would be awesomely heroic to airlift supplies into the city! That's what all those planes are," he said, pointing up. "Britain has planes up there with mine, and even New Zealand and Australia are helping. How wild is that?" Then he added, "The chocolate bars on parachutes were my idea. Pretty cool, huh?"
"America," Germany said. "I…I don't know how to thank you." Was this really happening? Was there really a chance for him, for his people? For the first time in a long time, Germany began to feel a sense of hope return.
"Tell you what," said America. "First, you promise no more starting World Wars. You know, 'cause they kind of stink. Second, Russia's getting really powerful. Like, really powerful. And I want you to promise to help me stop him."
"Yes," Germany said without hesitation. "I can promise that."
Author's Notes
Longer chapter, this time around. But, hey, the World Wars were kind of a big deal.
World War I: World War I began with the assisnation of Archduke Ferdinand, of Austria by a Serbian. So, Austria declares war on Serbia, Serbia calls in their ally, Russia, Austria calls in Germany and then the rest of Europe gets pulled along through a complex web of alliances that people have written several books on. Crazy times. Anyway, in 1918, Germany pretty much fell apart internally, and finally Kaiser Wilhelm II abdicated and Germany surrendered. The Treaty of Versailles was then signed, in May of 1919, ending the war, and putting almost the entire cost of the war on Germany's shoulders through huge reparations, which were also designed to stop Germany from ever being able to wage a major war again (we all know how well that worked out). Germany's economy collapsed, it's currency lost almost all its value, and poverty was rampant.
This, arguably, created the kind of climate in which Hitler and the Third Reich were able to rise to power, preying on the desperation of the German people. Hitler's subordinate in the story, by the way, was Heinrich Himmler, who founded and ran the SS and the Gestapo, and was arguably more extreme than Hitler himself in his beliefs.
World War 2: Started with the Nazi's invasion of Poland in September of 1939. The European front was won by the Allies in 1945 (though America was still fighting Japan on the Pacific front). The Kingdom of Prussia was formally dissolved by the Allies in 1947, and Germany and Berlin were split into four zones, controlled by France, England, the Soviet Union, and America respectively. Two power blocs (Russia in the east and the other Allies in the west) quickly emerged and Germany was literally caught in the middle.
Split of East and West Germany: After the two power blocs emerged, Germany was effectively spit into two countries: Communist East Germany controlled by the Soviet Union and Capitalist West Germany controlled by the other allies. West Germany (the Federal Republic of Germany) was formally made a country in 1949, though it did not recognize East Germany (Germany Democratic Republic) as a separate country until later. Note: East Germany and Prussia were not the same thing (a lot of former Prussian territory is now Polish) but that's what artistic license is for.
Blockade of Berlin: In 1948, the Soviet Union attempted to take control of all of Berlin, which was in the Soviet controlled territory, by blocking off all supplies from the city. The other Allies responded by airlifting supplies into Berlin (and yes, the chocolate bars on parachutes actually happened.) This was part of America's Marshall Plan, a plan which gave billions of dollars to help Europe rebuild after the war, including West Germany, against the Soviet bloc. The blockade was lifted after 11 months.
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