"All right, men," Prussia was saying as he walked past each and every soldier, who were all in a straight line, their postures straight, their attention facing forward. Each had rifle in their hand and a sword in their holsters. They were prepared to face anything.

Prussia's long cape flowed marvelously behind him. He adjusted his black hat as his little yellow feathery friend Gilbird flew around it happily. His deep wine-colored eyes each of the men carefully, looking for any flaws. Of course, this was the Prussian army. What could possibly be wrong about them? They were all skilled at fighting and had great instincts. Yes, Prussia thought he had the best army out there.

"You have all been training for this moment," Prussia continued, his voice echoing in the room. "This is France we're fighting up against, but I need you to fight with your true strength nonetheless. We are Prussian; we are the best! France is trying to take that title away from us. Es gefällt mir nicht; I don't like it. Let's show him who the awesome ones really are, ja?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" his soldiers all replied automatically.

He smirked and nodded. "Very good. Today is the day we show France he chose the wrong person to piss off."

And so the army was on it's way. All were alert, expecting for the French to ambush them, take them from behind perhaps. Prussia led them, thinking that things were going quite smoothly. He walked alongside the Duke of Brumswick, who was the Prussian commander-in-chief. Prussia knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help feeling over-confident about this. From what he knew about France already, it was hard not to underestimate him. He was too flamboyant, too worried about his looks. What damage could he do against the all-mighty-epicly-awesome Prussia, really?

They were wrong about an ambush. In fact, as they marched they saw the French army in the distance. They were waiting for the Prussians. As they got closer, he saw France standing in the middle of them all with a smug look on his face. He didn't understand why France looked so confident until he got a good look at the French soldiers. They were all well-built, fit, and looked like bloody killing machines. Their weapons seemed to be greater than those the Prussians wielded. For the first time, Prussia felt screwed.

France saw the troubled look on Prussia's face and laughed softly to himself. That's right, Prussia, he thought to himself, satisfied. You've finally let your arrogance get the best of you.

Prussia glared at France, saw the expression on his face. France was mocking him. "Soldiers," Prussia said to his army.

"Men," France said to his.

The two former allies' eyes locked on each other's as they said the next word in perfect unison.

"Attack."

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The fight went on longer than expected. Eventually, it was the French who had left the battle field. Still, this didn't make the Prussians feel any less defeated.

Prussia sat on the ground on his knees, breathing heavily and drenched in persperation. He took off his coat and unbuttoned the first few buttons help him cool off. He winced whenever he tried to move his leg. Apparently he had been wounded by a Frenchie. The pain was the last thing on his mind, though. He had failed his men and humiliated himself in front of France, who he had now proclaimed as his life long enemy, right next to Austria.

He got out his tattered leather diary and his writing set that he brought with him. He began a new entry:

20th of September, 1792

Dear Diary,

Damn France. Damn him to the depths of hell! We're in his country right now. Valmy, to be more exact. He has just made me feel like a complete idiot, and that's not an easy thing to do. I have completely underestimated him. Holy Rome was right; France is getting outta control. Holy Rome was right about another thing too; the look in France's eyes. They did show intentions to destroy. Me. Obviously Bonaparte has made France forget who the hell his friends are. No, not even. I should have realized it. That was an alliance. Nothing more, nothing less. Nations allied with one another go against each other in different wars sometimes. That's all we were...all we ever were...

I must go now. People of my army are wounded, as well as I. I've been stabbed by one of the soldiers' blades in the leg. My men know nothing of my wound. I fear they wouldn't give a damn if they knew anyway. I have failed them, anyway. This is what I deserve for being a horrible leader, ja? In any case, I should at least tell one of the doctors. I'm getting a bit light headed due to how rapidly I'm losing blood. But I vow, that as soon as I'm healed, I will make my army stronger. I will become a better leader. I must. Faliure is not an option. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that this war must end in the defeat of my former friend France.

-Prussia

A soldier came up to Prussia a few moments after Prussia had finished writing. "Are you feeling at ease?" he asked.

Prussia looked up at the young soldier. "Yes...fine..." he managed to say, before he finally fainted due to the blood loss.