As England moved forward though the active war zone, the island nation found himself extremely concerned about the younger country's well being. He might just be entering the front line, now, but he had seen the explosion from the distance... had heard the screams.
In fact, he was still hearing them.
Sure, as a nation, Arthur was very familiar with death, but that didn't mean that he enjoyed it in anyway. Even when he had been living his life as a pirate and had killed remorselessly, the Brit hadn't exactly liked death. He would admit to enjoying killing his enemies, but even at that time, killing and death were oddly separated in his mind.
Thankfully, he had learned from his mistakes from back then, before he had become some kind of monster.
A little ways off, Alfred continued to watch the nation that had no idea what kind of danger he was in.
Pushing the pain to the back of his mind to the best of his ability, Al shoved away from the building. Making sure to keep one arm wrapped around remains of his midsection, in hopes of halting the bleeding at least a little, the American pulled out his trusty, old, 'Colt' pistol in favor of one of the newer, military guns issued to soldiers.
Kissing the barrel for good luck, Alfred then stepped into sight, took aim, and fired.
The bullet was true to it's mark, and America managed a small, triumphant smile as the gunman fell from his perch in the window, landing only a few yards away from where his comrade was positioned.
If his gun shot hadn't caught England's attention, the falling body certainly would.