Arigatou ありがとう
War 戦争
"The stronger one's patriotism is, the more often they end their lives in a tragic way." - France, Hetalia: Axis Powers
London: Early 1944
Ian Kabra's fingers are cold.
The cigarette feels suddenly much too thin in his hands and, if he were to tighten his fingers around it ever so slightly, he feels that it would crumble to ashes without a sound.
He has been seeing a lot of ashes lately.
"You don't look the type to smoke."
A large shadow appears next to him, having clearly just stepped out of the loud pub roaring from behind them. He has broad shoulders and too-bright eyes and an old brown overcoat, and he is so distinctly American that Ian starts to feel ill.
Ian rolls the cigarette with his numb fingers, watching the sparks drop to the ground. He hears jazz music echoing in his ears, and it sounds so wrong and yet completely right for all of the same reasons. "That's banned, you know," he speaks out, his breath fogging up the air in front of him.
The American fellow laughs a little, bitterly and cacophonously. His eyes shine like bullets through the darkness. "We ain't in Germany anymore," he replies, his voice gruff but not rude. He shakily takes out a cigarette from his worn coat pocket, lights it, and stuffs it in between his trembling lips, chapped and pale. Unlike Ian's, his cigarette looks sturdy and tasteful and something that Ian could never have.
Never in his life did he ever think that he would find the look of a cigarette tasteful, but war has changed his mind, because he has quickly come to realize that he has never been able to get what he has always wanted.
"Need a new one?" his companion asks, his voice coming around the stick in his mouth.
Ian sighs shakily, letting his crumpled cigarette fall from his fingers and down to the ground. He doesn't have the heart to step on it. "Yes, please."
He takes his haven from the other man's fingers and lets it light up the night. Almost in a resigned manner, he lets the object dangle from the corner of his mouth, the smoke mixing in with his breathing.
"You're a depressing sort of person, you know that?" the American speaks up, glancing at the young Englishman from the corner of his eye. Although the two were surely close in age, they seemed to be worlds away; the Englishman resigned and thin, the American bitter and yet still with a certain spark in his eyes.
'These Americans will never give up, will they?' Ian thinks, not without dry humor. "I apologize," he replies stiffly, the smoke thickening his accent more than usual. "I wasn't aware that I was the only one who was fighting in a war."
The American barks out a laugh, his cigarette almost falling out of his mouth. "Wasn't aware that I was the only one who thinks we're going to win."
'We,' Ian thinks bitterly, pressing his lips a bit harder around the stick in his mouth. 'Where was 'we' when we Brits were getting bombed back in '40?'
Seeing the Englishman's desolate expression, his American companion claps him hard on the back, almost knocking the thin man over. The cigarette falls from his lips. "Aw, come on now." The larger man tries to sound good-natured. For as long as he has been in London, (and he has only been there for just ten days) he has quickly come to realize that the Brits have seemed to have lost a certain spark in their eyes since the war started. With the Americans having officially entered the war, the young man would have thought that the Englishman next to him would have looked at least a little bit grateful for the extra help that his fellow Americans were offering, but the fellow just looked as if the Germans had just bombed his city. (And they had- many times.) Still, it had quickly become apparent to the usually boisterous American that he would have to act just a little bit more hopeful and cheery than usual, if not for himself, than for his fellow British soldiers; they were allies after all. "It's not so bad. Now that we Americans are here, the war will be over in no time at all. You'll see."
The young man next to him just scowls, although whether that is because of the fact that his cigarette is no longer usuable, or because of his ally's words, neither is quite sure.
The young Brit isn't sure how to properly respond to the other man's words. A part of him wants to yell, of course, because 'where were you Yanks four years ago, eh?' But another part of him, well... he isn't quite sure what the other part of him wants to do.
He isn't sure of what exactly he wants anymore.
So, with a resigned sigh, he just settles with an, "I hope so," and lets it go.
"I'm a fighter pilot, you know," the American suddenly says, breaking the oh-so-beautiful silence that his companion had been worshipping. He sends the other man a sharp grin, half proud and half sheepish. "I've always liked flying, ever since I was little. When we finally entered the war, I knew what I wanted to do right away. There was no other job for me."
"Soldier?" Ian asks gruffly, not pleased with the change in conversation but also not particularly annoyed by it either.
His companion gives out a genuine laugh, his eyes sparkling with something that the Americans only seem to have these days. "I ain't a soldier, Englishman. I'm a pilot. There's a huge difference, you know."
'No, there really isn't,' Ian thinks, and he finds himself just a tad sad about that fact.
"Either way," Ian drawls, "soldier or pilot, you fight all the same."
"That's true," his companion allows, shrugging. "We're fighting a common enemy, but we're not all fighting for the same reasons. I mean, just look at the Chinese and the Russians. They don't particularly like us Americans, or even you British folk, but we're all generally fighting the same enemy- the same war."
"I find a flaw in that theory," Ian replies frankly. "We might be fighting in the same war, Sir, but we aren't fighting the same enemy."
"Really? Enlighten me." The American's eyes sparkle playfully. Much to Ian's irritation, the American seemed to find it humorous how he was starting to get a rise out of him.
'I won't back down,' Ian thinks, frowning darkly. 'Especially since he took away my cigarette.'
"Who are you fighting for?" Ian starts, glancing at his companion out of the corner of his eye.
He grins at him, brightly and largely. "Justice," he replies immediately. "Freedom and liberty and justice for all." He winks with that American charm of his, and Ian, for some reason, finds it just a tad bit refreshing. "I'm fighting for my family, my friends, my country, the nations of the world that need me." He looks up at the sky- 'Keep smiling through!' "So, really, I'm not fighting anyone in particular. I didn't come into this war wanting to get revenge on the Italians or the Japanese or even the Germans, I came in knowing that it was the right thing to do."
"The right thing, huh...?" Ian breathes out, stuffing his trembling hands in his coat pockets. His fingers are still cold. Since the start of the war, he has often wondered exactly what was right and what was wrong, and he has come to realize that it doesn't really matter.
People die either way.
"You lose someone in this war yet?" the American suddenly asks, and Ian starts to miss the bitter taste of smoke in his mouth.
"No," he replies stiffly, and they both know that he has.
"My girl's in France," the pilot goes on, looking a bit nostalgic. "She's French. Met her a few years back, before the war started. She's working for the Resistance."
"Be quiet," Ian suddenly says sharply, close to punching the other man. "Don't say anymore."
'Careless talk costs lives.'
The other man grins crookedly at him, as if he knows exactly what he had been thinking. "It's already cost one, I'm afraid."
The revelation hits the Englishman like a brick.
The American stubs his cigarette out and steps on it with his foot, as if he were also stepping on some particularly nasty memory- a beautiful one that hurt greatly to remember. "She was a beautiful one. Red hair, green eyes- she looked more Scottish than French." He laughs, and there is just the slightest bit of hurt in his eyes and, for some reason, that impacts Ian more than if the larger man would have broken down sobbing. "I guess that's why no one ever really suspected her- she used everything to her advantage." He sends his companion another grin, his eyes looking at something Ian could not see. "She was wonderful- clever. Extremely smart." He glances at the Brit and, for a few moments, they seem to come to a sort of sad understanding.
For just one painful second, Ian's eyes hold a flash of something different- something other than bitterness- and he sees an American spy with too-bright green eyes and a too-large smile, but then it is gone as fast as it had come.
He lets out a shuddering breath, and the American offers him another cigarette.
"Hamilton Holt," the pilot introduces.
'There is no place for love in war.'
The Englishman glances at him tiredly, but lights the cigarette. "Her name was Amy Cahill."
'But I know we'll meet again, some sunny day!'
a/n. Okay, crap, that sucked.
(Amy is the girl Ian was talking about and Sinead was the girl Hamilton was talking about. Sinead somehow seems somewhat French to me, and I've wanted to write about her being in the French Resistance for a while.)
Historical Notes:
-The lyrics 'Keep smiling through,' and 'But I know we'll meet again, some sunny day!' are part of the wartime song 'We'll Meet Again'. It was one of the most famous songs during the time of WWII, meant to be a sort of hopeful and yet also nostalgic song, seeing as many soldiers went off to war, and never again returned to their loved ones. It was made famous by British singer Vera Lynn, who was, like, extremely famous during this time period, and sang dozens of other wartime songs during it. They're all really pretty and nostalgic, and I spend a little bit too much time listening to them these days.
-1940: The incident that Ian is talking about is the Battle of Britain, which was the name given to the air campaign that the Luftwaffe (German Air Force) waged against the United Kingdom from summer to autumn. The objective of this whole thing was to see who was to gain air superiority over the Royal Air Force. It was full of aerial bombing, and lasted little over three months. It was the first major defeat of the Germans, seeing as they failed in destroying Britain's air defences and getting the country to surrender. Britain was pretty impressive during this whole thing, and I can't do the whole thing justice in this tiny historical note. Nevertheless, it definitely wasn't a good situation for the British.
-The United States didn't officially enter WWII until December 8, 1941, after Japan attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.
-Smoking ran rampant back during this time, and it was entirely acceptable. Still, the Nazi party was officially against it, and actually ran one of the first anti-smoking campaigns. That didn't mean that the Germans still didn't find ways to smoke, nevertheless.
-Jazz was banned in Nazi Germany, but, obviously, a complete ban of the music was impossible. It was persecuted on the grounds that it was 'nigger music' and 'below German moral standards' and 'degenerate', but that didn't stop people from listening to it, because you know humans and their fondness of rebellion. There was also the fact that it was foreign and of African-American origin. The Jewish and African-American communities during this time had a sort of empathy for each other, seeing as they were both kind of outcast from the rest of society, and both groups had a link with each other through jazz, which just increased the Nazi's rage towards it. Still, jazz found a way into the country, and it was popular with the German counter-culture, nonetheless.
-'Careless Talk Costs Lives' was the slogan of a series of British propaganda during WWII, depicting images of people giving away secrets in everyday situations, like in a restaurant or in the bus. It's probably the most famous WWII propaganda slogan, warning people that spies could be lurking anywhere. (And it's a good slogan, I think, and of good reason.)
-WWII lasted from 1939-1945, although some conflicts in Asia that are commonly seen as becoming part of the war had been going on earlier than 1939, so, really, the start of the war differs, depending on your perspective and where you get your information.
(And I could go on and on about this time period and about the other details of this war, like the French Resistance and the Axis and Allied Powers, but I won't because I'm sure you all are tired of all of these historical notes, and I'm a little tired of writing them, even though I quite enjoy doing so.)