Soon Alfred found himself positioned at the front left of the Union army, well away from his commanding officers.
He had never lost sight of Cassy as he changed his position and went against Meade's orders. She was still standing at the front of her army, but unlike him, she was standing at the front of her army. She was ready to march her army into battle, and it looked like she was looking for him, too. Cassy kept glancing around worriedly, like she was afraid someone would come up and stab her.
It wasn't that far-off of a concern, actually. Alfred was also worried about the same thing, too. It would be so simple for a nation to hide behind a building and jump out to stab one of them.
France, England and Russia were all at least acquainted with this civil war, even though they were not fighting in this war. France and England had both sided with the Confederacy, and it was only out of God's grace did Russia side with America. It was only because of Russia that the other two counties didn't start sending troops over here and this war wouldn't become an international war. But that also meant that there were other killers out there, and it makes you worry about being stabbed.
"March!" Meade's voice broke Alfred out of his reverie. He was thankful for it, too. The Confederate army had already started to march towards them, and Cassy was staring at him purposefully, her gun already aimed at him.
Shoot. Alfred though, cursing his incompetence in focusing.
He marched a few feet ahead of his fellow soldiers, aiming his own gun at Cassy, placing his index finger on the trigger. No matter what, he was determined to by the first one to shoot.
Cassy suddenly broke out into a run, and Alfred did the same, He didn't wasn't to seem weak, especially in front of his own troops.
They both ran together at the center of the opening between the two troops, and being the air-headed people they both normally tend to be, forget to pull the triggers on their guns. Their weapons came together with a crash. Cassy, with a weaker-made gun and with less force behind her strike, fell on her bottom and into the slimy mud. It flew up and covered her uniform with a sickening splat.
Alfred, suddenly remembering his gun, aimed it down at the young female country. He was about to pull the trigger, but the he heard a similar sound.
The butt of a musket hit the ground and fell over into the damp ground, mirroring something that happened almost a hundred years ago.
In turn, he heard a general's order to hold fire. He couldn't tell which side said it, though, but it didn't matter. They were waiting to see what would happen.
And then Alfred's mind thought back a hundred years ago, when he was fighting for his own freedom. To was a setting just like this, with a terrible amount of rain pouring down, like someone from high up was crying. But instead of the grey uniforms in this setting, there were redcoats. The roles switched, and in Alfred's mind, he had the gun pointed at him. In a millisecond, he was a hundred years younger. In one awful moment in time, his eyes got better and he didn't need glasses anymore. He had no memories of any other wars, of the separation of his country. In fact, in on second, he didn't even remember that he owned a country; that he was himself, and there was no one else telling him what to do. The only thing he could think of was the problem at hand.
His problem was dressed in one of those dreaded redcoats, and his problem was pointing a gun at him. It was also a man with pale skin and bushy eyebrows that seemed to obscure the light green of his irises. And even though Alfred was much taller than the person who was threatening him, his problem seemed much more menacing.
His problem was England, his older brother, his father-figure, the person who helped him grow up, and the person he was demanding freedom from.
America was disarmed, looking at England with a sense of horror, and thinking that his life was over and his beautiful country would never get on its own two feet. All it would take would be for England to pull the trigger to his gun-aimed directly at America- and it would be all over.
"You...fool," England hissed, clenching his teeth together. America looked down at the tip of England's musket and raised his hand shakily, ready to be shot.
But the England did something that America thought he would never see his brother do: he dropped the musket and fell to his knees. England's hands went to his face and a raspy sob came out of his mouth.
"How could I shoot you?" England cried, along with an onslaught of cuss words.
America just stood there, dumbfounded and at a loss. This was England, for crying out loud! A world superpower...his guardian.
You used to be so tall, was the only thing America could think, knowing that he had won the war.
But for some reason, his winning the war didn't make him as happy as he thought he would be...
...and now a hundred years pass in a millisecond, and America is faced with the same dreadful situation. Except for now the roles have changed, and a new rebel had been added to the equation. She was sitting on her bum, young and foolish, staring blankly at the point on his gun.
He had a choice. Would he let this young, stupid country be? Or should he kill her? He truthfully didn't have anything but bad memories of her, and she was only an enemy who wanted the same land as his own.
But then again, she was another embodiment of freedom, and someone else who attacked injustices. And could he really kill a country? Was he really that heartless?
A long silence followed, and the Confederacy finally opened her mouth.
"I knew you were like England. You take away my people's rights so they cannot even make a decent living. You're nothing but a king without his crown, just like him! And you're not even going to shoot me, are you? You're so weak, just like him!" She laughed and started to get up.
Her word were like ice stabbing into his back. He was like England? He was considered weak?
"No," America said slowly, "I am not England..." He pulled the trigger, determined to show her wrong.
And that was the turning point of the American Civil War.
It's been a hundred years. And man, have things changed. After the Battle of Gettysburg, the Union started to win more battles than losing them, and we got the South back under control. This country has become one, and the world has changed a lot, too. I mean, we've had two world wars...wow...two World Wars...that must be a new record or something...
Alfred then chuckled, remembering that here had been no other world wars in the past.
Today was one of those extremely rare days where he actually sat down and did some thinking. And since today was the hundredth anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg, he had been thinking about the Civil War.
Now how many times did I get shot that day? He asked fondly. After he had killed Cassy, the Confederate army had opened-fired on him, which had led to some...unpleasant business, which had meant that he had been so many times that the Union medics were still taking bullets out of him after the battle had ended, three days later. And not to mention the trouble he got into by disobeying orders.
Yeah, that was pretty bad, Alfred thought, flinching at the memory, but at least I killed her and got my land back...
...thank God England didn't decide to shoot me.
Without thinking, America picked up his phone and dialed a very familiar number. He listened to the phone buzz for a few moments, and then a British accent came through from the other end.
"What do you want, you bloody git? I am too busy to talk right now," and annoyed voice said.
"Thank you," America breathed, recognizing the voice of England on the other end.
"For what?" England asked, still sounding annoyed but a little confused.
For not shooting me when I deserved it. For not being stubborn and taking back your land. For loving your little brother-your colony. For letting me live. Thoughts crammed into America's brain, as if a dam just burst.
"Just...thanks. You wouldn't understand," America answered simply.
"Git," England huffed, "Is this a joke?"
America only smiled, aware that England would never be able to comprehend.
And thank you for becoming my friend.
So, what do you think? I had to rush through it, because I'm going to be really busy in November and I wanted to finish this before I got super-busy.
Please review and tell me what to think, or else I'll kill someone off in my next Hetalia fanfiction!