The journey to Stuttgart was long and perilous, as Ludwig had to hike up and down the rocky slopes of the Austrian alps and then head through the dense woodland of south-west Germany. His sweaty hair stuck out into all directions like a miniature haystack, instead of its usual slick, combed-back look; and his eyes had a dazzled, crazed expression about them, caused by his exhaustion, sleep deprivation and even mild dehydration. The constant variations of altitude and weather conditions, as well as having to keep his hand on his holster at all times were driving even the German's inhuman physique and willpower to their limits.
When he entered Germany and kept going north, not infrequently did the German, walking at his brisk pace, suddenly hear voices and have to stop. There were more British, American, and even some French remnant forces in these forests than the German would've liked. A few kilometers from Stuttgart he even had to single-handedly defeat a five-man British patrol he almost literally bumped into.
After over a week's journey, he approached a ravine and clearing that clearly matched a ravine and clearing printed on his rather large map of Southwest Germany. He was close to the Stuttgart city limits. Once the sun fell, he crept through the smoldering ruins of the bombed city, avoiding the swarms of foreign troops sitting around make-shift fires and waiting to receive rations from their soup kitchens. The German wove his way through surreptitiously, sticking to the shadows like a nightwraith. His ears being his guides, he approached the fighting zone where bullets were flying like drops during a rainstorm, and artillery shells were falling constantly onto the west side of the river, despite it being nighttime. After a lot of stealthy searching Ludwig finally encountered a few Austrian soldiers who saluted him smartly and pointed the German to their leader, Roderich.
Roderich and the rest of the Austrian and German troops in the area were manning defensive positions on the west bank of the river Neckar. Germany had to swim through the mucky river because all the bridges were either blown up or mined. As he emerged, soaked to the bone in the cold liquid from the slow-flowing river, Ludwig shook his head to dry it and then combed his hair back with his large hands. He inspected the fortifications that the Germans were manning, and shook his head at the sloppy trenches, shooting stations in teetering and tottering, crumbling homes, and bunkers built out of heaps of rubble. Ludwig's expression turned very grim and his eyebrows formed a v-shape when he looked at the frightened, hungry and grimy soldiers who were all running low on ammunition and morale. Most brightened up at the sight of their beloved war hero and commander-in-chief, many believing that the man had superpowers and would practically win the war himself. In a make-shift, underground bunker made out in some dim apartment building's basement, Germany and Austria finally had the time to sit down on a set of two wooden crates and a dining table, and discuss things, their faces and surroundings illuminated by a single, faltering lightbulb. A German soldier entered quickly, smiled at his commander, and handed him a dry uniform before leaving. Ludwig shamelessly unbuttoned his sticky, soaked and sweaty uniform coat and slipped on the brand-new, ironed military shirt with all his ornate medals in place.
"Long time no see," Roderich began, while looking at his Germanic friend from underneath his glasses, taking a swig of water from a small flask, but Germany cut him off abruptly.
"No time for this, Rodi," said Ludwig, while buttoning the shirt up, "Tell me, how's the situation, and keep it brief. I should be up on the surface, helping the soldiers out."
The Austrian gazed blankly at the concrete wall in front of him which crept with shadows while the German slipped out of his wet trousers, blushing a little, and quickly hopped into the dry, new pair and buckled up his belt. "Well, Ludwig, it's not going too well. Our soldiers are tired, we're running low on ammo, and worst of all, America's forces are on the move, supporting Arthur and his army of rum-swigging idiots. Worst of all, I can hardly even concentrate on the war anymore because of - "
The iron door which separated the basement bunker from the staircase and upper floors burst open and in hopped a small, handcuffed man in tattered clothes, his arms and legs chained and his eyes red from crying, thick tears swimming down his cheeks.
"Let me gooo," he wailed, sniffling and clumsily tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind his ear, "I'm like, totally sick of being in this stinky cellar!"
Austria buried his face in the palms of his hands and rubbed his temples slowly. "Because of him," he finished, and kept massaging his forehead.
"You're here too, Mr. Muscle?" asked the Pole, grimacing at Ludwig in a rather unmenacing way, "I thought you were with your, like, totally ugly Italian boyfriend. That guy has, like, no sense of style. Well, neither do you, Black-Boots, but - "
"I see," Ludwig said to Austria, "I'm not surprised you look half-crazy, Roderich. But I have an idea of what to do, to give us time and space to fight this war."
The Austrian opened his eyes and glanced hopefully at the German. "I'm sending you off with him, Roderich."
"What?" the Austrian and the Pole said in unison.
"Well," Ludwig began, his hand supporting his broad chin, "you, Roderich, would take a breather from the war and you'd be my messenger. I want to let Italy know that I'm fine."
"And, like, where do I come in?" Poland demanded, one of his eyebrows raised.
"You, you little verdammtes Teufel, will be babysat by Feliciano. I can feel it in my bones that what he needs right now is a duty to attend to, and some human company. I'm sure he wouldn't mind having a little dummes Huhn like you chained to his wall, complaining all day and all night."
The Pole scratched his nose with the iron chain links which bound his arms together and after a while, said, "Well, anything is, like, better than this shitty cellar."
"I can't leave Stuttgart, Ludwig," said Austria, "I just can't leave you to fight this on your own."
"I'll be fine," the German assured him, the corners of his mouth twitching into what looked like a very unconvincing smile of reassurance. "I'm really worrying about Italy and I just want him to hear news from me. I'll write up a letter and you'll deliver it to him, Roderich. And, just think about it – you'll finally get this bloodsucking mosquito off your back," he said, pointing to the Pole.
"Hmmmm," the Austrian considered the proposal for a minute, and then promptly agreed, slamming his hand against the table. "Yes, I'll do it. We'll get rid of Feliks, and you'll get your letter delivered. But once I'm done, I'll return to Stuttgart as fast as possible, I swear," the Austrian promised.
"Very well," Ludwig said. "Start packing for your journey, you should set out tonight, a few hours before dawn."
"I'll take one of our motorbikes and drive down through Germany and Austria, so I can get there in as little time as possible. And you – " he pointed a finger at the pouting, teary-eyed Pole, "if you say a word during the journey, I'll have you gagged up and you won't be able to talk or eat for the entire trip. Am I making myself clear?"
"Whatever," Feliks rolled his eyes, and the chains on his handcuffs rattled as he shrugged his shoulders.
"Gut," Ludwig said, and he and Roderich left the bunker, locking the obnoxious Pole inside.
.
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Later that night, after the Austrian had been strapped into the leather seat of the BMW R75 motorcycle, and Feliks was chained securely to the small sidecar, Ludwig was, at last, alone with the soldiers. The pale, shell-shocked, blue-eyed faces looked up at him as if he were a demigod at the least. The Oberleutnant, who had been commanding the German troops, approached him and showed him a carefully-sketched map of present Stuttgart.
"Here, Herr Deutschland, are their artillery stations, here are their main infantry nests. From here they bombard us at night, and from here at day," he said, pointing to different red-marked "X" shapes which the map was full of. "Herr Deutschland, the troops are few, and weak. We are horribly outnumbered. There are four of them to each one of our soldiers!"
Ludwig stared at the map silently for a few minutes, frowning slightly as he often did when concentrating. Most of the able-bodied soldiers had gradually amassed around him and the Oberleutnant, anxiously awaiting the words which would spill from the German's mouth.
At a speedy – but far from confusing – pace, Ludwig spoke loudly, "We will have two Panzerfaust teams on the roofs of this and this building," he said, pointing to the map as everyone around him followed the movements of his gloved fingers, "and they will strike at the two largest cannons. We will have three strike teams of divers swim up to their frontline shooting stations and bunkers and disable them with all the Stielhandgranate-43 we can amass. Meanwhile, on this side of the river we shall form four sniping stations, with the best marksmen armed with Gewehr 98 rifles with scopes. They will provide cover fire for the stormtroopers. The remaining infantry will set up a diversion, for there is something hidden a few streets away which you might not be aware of. A friend of mine, a deceased military enthusiast who lived on Postwiesserstrasse has a World War I era A7V tank in his basement, with modernized machine guns and a mounted cannon which he built himself. The infantry troop must find the house, retrieve the tank, man it and drive it across the Necker to lead an attack. It is amphibious and thus no bridge shall be necessary. I hope this answers all your questions, soldiers. We strike united, Germans and Austrians under the flag of our beautiful Germanic country. At 4:13 AM sharp, with the first rays of sunrise, our cannonade begins. In a few hours, meine Männer, we make our last stand."
The men around him cheered, saluted and scattered to form brigades and arm themselves with the remaining arsenal. The Oberleutnant nodded at Ludwig, something telling him that maybe, just maybe, the plan could work, and they could drive the British and Americans out of Stuttgart. It was risky, dangerous, but at the same time so ingeniously planned by none other than Germany himself.
Most men wanted to catch at least an hour's worth of sleep before their attack, and thus the entire line of defenses went silent, the distant rattle of machine gun fire and the rumble of cannons not disturbing the sleep of the seasoned veterans. Ludwig closed his eyes, but did not find peace – instead, his usually-rational mind could think of nothing but Feliciano – and the German's heart beat twice as fast, suddenly reminded that it still has one reason to keep beating indefinitely. And it was the best reason there could ever be.
Love.
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Hello, readers! Firstly, I want to thank everyone who's been reading and reviewing :D it means the universe to me. Secondly, sorry for the long wait.. Just finished all my finals and I'm getting back to writing. Not sure how long this story is actually going to be, but mini-spoiler you can be expecting some US/UK action in the upcoming chapters. Cheers! :D