Chapter 3

He is Alone Even with his Countrymen

November 1812

Another man behind him fell down in the snow, and he didn't get back up.

But Francis couldn't afford to stop for the man. Any dead or injured had to be left behind ―they didn't have the supplies to waste or else they wouldn't make it out of Russia.

Francis looked ahead at Napoleon—Napoleon, the proud and arrogant man who once rode a mighty white stallion, was now reduced to a shivering, spiritless husk riding a donkey.

When his army had first invaded Russia, he had every bit of confidence that Russia would become part of the French Empire. Ivan, however, clearly had other plans. For several months, Francis had chased after Ivan, slowly making his way towards Moscow, but Ivan was smart. His army had burned down their own fields and slaughtered all of the livestock. There was no food for Napoleon's troops in Russia, and thus many of them starved. To make things worse, Russian soldiers constantly attacked them along their path. Francis had to be alert. Ivan could attack at any time and be gone before any of the soldiers could react, leaving dozens dead in his wake.

The trek to Moscow was in vain. Moscow was burned to the ground and there were no Russians in sight. There was little shelter and almost no supplies available for the French troops as previously planned. With the cold weather setting in and supplies dwindling, the frustrated and tired troops were forced to turn back towards Western Europe. They were ill prepared for Russia's strongest ally, General Winter.

Francis helplessly watched as thousands upon thousands of his people died. He could feel his connection to each and everyone of the men severe as they died, many of which were still young and haven't done enough with their life. The cold, hunger, disease, exhaustion, and the Russian's constant attacks took lives every single day.

By now, of the original overwhelming number of 400,000 troops he came to Russia with, only about 30,000 remained, and even that number was falling by the minute.

Francis winced as he heard another man behind him fell, never to get up again.

"General."

Napoleon turned and faced Francis, his pallor ashen and dead from exhaustion and misery. Francis continued speaking.

"We should stop. The day is ending and the men are tired. I'm certain that if we continue, we will only lose more people."

Napoleon contemplated this, grimly glancing at the darkening horizon. Without turning back towards Francis, he replied, "Of course, Francis. You are right."

Napoleon called a halt and a feeling of relief washed over the crowd. Francis ran towards the man, but he knew it was hopeless. His fears were confirmed when he pressed his ear onto the man's chest. Sighing, he stood up and went over to one of the carts and wordlessly helped pitch some tents. He fumbled with the ropes, his hands numb and clammy from the cold.

He continued to do so until someone above him announced,"Sir, some food."

Francis looked up to see a young man, clearly tired and hungry, with a bowl of hot soup made with some moldy bread and potatoes. Francis was glad this man was young and hardy. He would hopefully survive this winter.

Francis waved the boy off. "I don't need it. Save it for someone who will starve otherwise."

"But sir—"

"I insist."

This time, Francis put some of his influence as a nation into his voice to convince his citizen. The young man's eyes widened marginally, before he nodded and proceeded to find someone else to give the soup to. As the boy left, Francis heard a pair of heavier footsteps approach him. A deep voice spoke.

"You should eat, you know."

Francis chuckled and replied, "I do not need to eat, dear Napoleon."

Napoleon sat down next to Francis and forcefully replied, "But you should eat, Francis. Just because you do not need to, it doesn't mean you shouldn't. You are growing thin and tired. You need to eat."

Francis snorted. "Perhaps, but I am immortal as long as France exists. If I can save another mortal man's life with my food, then I would be more than willing to give it up."

"And your horse. And your cloak. And your gloves. For goodness sakes, Francis. You are our nation, you have every right to demand them." Napoleon pleaded.

"I told you. I would readily give—"

BANG!

The boy from before fell without a word, bowl of soup still in hand and dead before he hit the ground. Panic swept through the crowd like a wave.

"It's the Russians!" Francis heard someone scream. "Look, in the trees!"

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Every able man made for their rifle. Francis felt his army quickly descend into chaos. The French, tired, cold, and unprepared, were quick to fall to the Russians, who were dressed in warm fur coats and had the advantage of surprise. There were blood curdling screams and gunshots and men tripping over their fallen comrades. The Russians had immediately began to slaughter the French, stabbing, yelling, and shooting.

There was one specific Russian, who was clearly stronger than the others, who barreled through the soldiers. Francis was instantly on guard and just managed to raise his weapon when the Russian charged him. Francis caught him with his bayonet and struggled to push him back.

"Здравствуйте, Francis."

Francis desperately stabbed at the Russian with his bayonet, who easily side stepped the blade.

"I am surprised that you still haven't made it out of Russia."

Francis took a whack to his leg before replying, "Well, I could get out of your hair faster if you would leave me alone, Ivan."

Francis's bayonet barely grazed Ivan's arm, only causing a small tear in the fabric of his thick, woolen jacket. Francis glared up at the taller man and spat out his next words.

"You know it's cowardly to attack a retreating enemy."

Ivan elbowed Francis in the side, who stumbled a bit. Ivan smiled and replied, "Hm, I suppose that is the perfect way to describe you."

Ivan caught Francis in a choke hold.

"I shall enjoy slowly killing you, Francis."

Francis angrily rammed his head into Ivan's and shouted back, "Well, I do not plan to die here! I am the mighty French Empire, so I will not fall!"

Ivan staggered back and grinned in response and replied, "I beg to differ."

With that, Ivan slammed his boot into Francis's stomach. Francis crumbled, his breath knocked out. But just before he stood up again, he felt cold metal go through his chest.

Time froze. Ivan was smiling cruelly and Francis was in a state of shock. All that Francis could feel was cold. Then Ivan yanked his bayonet out of Francis's chest and time resumed. Francis's world exploded in pain, but not a single sound left his lips. He dropped to his knees and fell forward into the slushy snow. He painfully gasped for air and his eyes lost focus as if he were a fish out of water. Ivan chuckled and kicked Francis in the ribs for good measure.

"This is what you get for thinking you could defeat me."

=a=a=a=a=

Francis lay bleeding out on the ground. The snow around him was stained red and brown from blood and dirt. There were dozens of dead bodies on the ground.

Soldiers were hurriedly milling around, helping those who would live and bandaging small wounds. However, those who were dead or whose wounds were too large were left on the ground. Francis was among them.

Francis desperately wished to go home. He wanted to see the streets of Paris and the halls of Versailles again. He wanted to walk through the fields and grapevines and the cottages in the countryside. He wanted to taste fine wine and feel the sun on his skin. He wanted a bath and new clothes and to be able to sleep without repercussion.

More than anything though, he wanted to see a friendly face. He wanted to see sweet Manon and to chat over dinner with the Vargas brothers. He wanted to see Matthieu and Alfred, and how much they have grown over the years.

However, in the snow, in the middle of Russia, his hopes of doing so were quickly dwindling. Maybe he might get captured by Ivan and he might never see the light of day again. Maybe he might freeze in the Russian tundra indefinitely. Or maybe he really will die, despite being a nation. Francis couldn't help but feel alone, despite being surrounded by his fellow countrymen. He was tired. He was miserable. And he was very, very cold.

As Francis closed his tired, cloudy blue eyes, it started snowing.

Yooooo. I'm back with another France one, but from the flip side. I had particular fun writing this one, except that it turned out much shorter than initially planned.

Once again, thanks to bubblesodatea for betaing. Make sure to check out her works! (Bubble: YEAH DO THIS FAM i'm HIP AND COOL)

I already have a few more chapters that are handwritten. And I'm so sorry for the long delay. That's why this story is permanently labeled as complete, afterall!

Translation Notes (Sorry for any errors, this is from Google Translate):

Здравствуйте - Hello

Historic Notes:

Napoleon was the emperor of France following the French Revolution, so during the early 19th century. He campaigned for France to become an empire by taking over multiple countries, such as Prussia, Spain, and Austria-Hungary (albeit Spain defeated France).

General Winter is not just a Hetalia thing. It is a legit name for the Russian winter.

Napoleon's invasion of France was from June 24 - December 14, 1812. It is widely considered to be one of the most fatal campaign's in history, as of the some 422,000 men who invaded, only 10,000 came out alive. This was in part due to the cold (the French did not anticipate the potential weather), exhaustion, famine, and attacks by the Russians.

The Russians, in order to fight the French, used the scorched Earth policy, which is basically where everything in an army's path is burned down. This left Napoleon's force with no food or supplies along the way. Most of Moscow was burned down and abandoned by the Russian forces in order to prevent Napoleon from capturing Russia's capital, and they constantly hit-and-run the French army.

The image of Napoleon mentioned at the beginning of the story is a rather famous painting called Napoleon at Saint-Bernard Pass. It was painted by Jacques-Louis David. (The mule image is also a legit painting, but it is ridiculously hard to find a picture of the painting)