Author's Note- Hey time for another chapter, but before that a quick thank you to mofalle, bookwormally, and guest for leaving reviews. And a very special thank you to Pruhana for betaing this chapter.
Disclaimer- Still don't own Hetalia…or a plane…or Anchorage…
Chapter 11- War, Waterlines, and Paper Flowers
"Before you ask, Alaska is currently sitting on the hospital roof."
California said the moment that America, England, and Canada entered the small hospital room. All three nations looked tired and frustrated after attending the second day of the quarterly UN meetings. California was pretty sure that some of their frustration was going to spill over onto him…when America opened his mouth he knew his prediction was correct.
"Goodness sakes, California." America said in exasperation as he sat down heavily on one of the uncomfortable chairs. "You have been a state for a hundred years…"
"One hundred and fourteen." California interjected with a roll of his eyes.
"And you are the second largest state in the nation…"
"Third." California corrected as he reached for the novel he had been reading.
"Plus you have the largest population of any of the states and you were one of only three states that were technically independent countries prior to joining the union. I thought you of all states would be able to keep track of a practically crippled sibling one hundred years your junior."
As America spoke California couldn't help but shake his head. After some of his recent, brief conversations with Alaska, California had decided to do some of his own research. He had discovered that Alaska had come into existence in 1733, over a century before the Bear Republic of California seceded from Mexico. In fact, the only states which could claim older roots were Hawaii, Vermont, Florida, and the original thirteen. This meant that even though Alaska was the second to youngest state, she was also one of the oldest nation personifications in North America. Unfortunately, California didn't think that bringing up that fact would help him very much in this argument, so he decided to play the 'blame someone else' card.
"Don't blame me. It is not my fault that she can out glare every member of the hospital staff. Plus," California shrugged, "apparently hospital rooms makes her feel claustrophobic."
"It does make sense." Canada commented quietly.
"What make sense?" America turned to glare at his brother, and California was grateful to no longer be America's primary focus.
"That this room is making Alaska a bit claustrophobic. It doesn't have any windows and it is painted white…" Canada tried to explain.
"What does paint color have to do with anything?" America interrupted.
"America…Alfred…" Canada appeared to be stalling was he searched for the best way to state his argument. "People will tell you that freezing to death is like falling asleep. I often wished that was true. In fact, freezing to death is often a very painful process and when…and when most of us that live in the arctic were very young we would freeze to the point death every winter." As Canada continued to speak he stared at the floor so he wouldn't have to make eye contact with the rest of his family. "We didn't actually die of course and Father Winter always tried to make the process of freezing as quick and painless as he possibly could, but it was still a traumatic experience. Waking up in a white room, especially when you are cold and hurting, often brings the memories of that trauma to the surface…" Canada's voice trailed into silence.
"So what do you think we should do next?" England asked quietly.
Canada chewed on his lip for a moment before speaking. "Alaska is, medically speaking, stable. Unless additional natural disasters occur in Alaska, all the medical staff needs to do is give her pain medication. But I don't think the pain relief that she is receiving outweighs the mental stress of being in the hospital."
"Then where should I put her?" America asked pointedly.
"I think you should take her home with you."
The city of Valdez was slowly getting back on its feet. Most of it citizens had come back to the town to salvage what they could save from their homes and businesses as well as be joyfully reunited with their pets. Already there was chatter about rebuilding. The federal government had recognized the people's desire to rebuild their homes and had sent a team of army engineers to help them design a city that would be able to survive another large earthquake.
With his bag slung over his shoulder, Massachusetts to one last long look at the small city and walked towards the gravel stretch of beach that had become the town's airstrip. There was a small bush plane with maple leaves painted on its wings sitting on the end of the tarmac. Massachusetts assumed that the plane must be his ride back to Anchorage.
"Hey, cousin!" A young but tall man hollered as he waved Massachusetts over to the bush plane. Massachusetts raised an eyebrow at the man's words. The state was pretty sure that he had never seen the man in his life. In fact, Massachusetts suspected that if the cheerful man in front of him took the time to shave his beard he would be easily mistaken for a teenager.
"Do I know you?" Massachusetts asked slightly confused.
"I don't think we have ever had the opportunity to meet yet." The tall stranger admitted with a broad smile. "I just recognized you from one of Samantha's photo albums. Plus you look so much like Maine that I knew you had to be a related.
"You still haven't told me who you are."
"Oh, I plum forgot. The name's Logan, Logan Williams. I am the Yukon Territory." The Yukon Territory offered his hand to the state. "Your Uncle Mathew sent me to help get things sorted out. But enough of us talking, we need to get this baby in the air, and get you back to Anchorage."
Moving Alaska from the hospital to America's old country manor was significantly more complicated than America had expected. This was primarily because Alaska insisted on leaving the hospital under her own power. It was a plan that had been vetoed when it became clear that the state couldn't walk across the tiny hospital room without the risk of passing out. The medical staff had insisted that Alaska be pushed out to the car in a wheelchair. Alaska had been uncooperative during the process and it had taken both America and Canada to get her to stay seated.
The situation was further complicated by the fact that England and Japan had chosen to fly home this morning. They both had good excuses: England was returning home so that he would be present for the christening of his queen's newborn son, and Japan was preparing to host the Olympics later that summer. Still, American though begrudgingly, they both have waiting to fly out a half day so they could have helped get his grumpy, injured state back to the house. Fuming, America pressed his foot into the accelerator.
"America, would you slow down!"
"What?" America glanced over at his twin sitting in the passenger seat.
"You are driving like a maniac."
"I am only going 25 over the speed limit that is…"
"It is a dirt road and you are going 75 km…I mean miles per hour!" Canada glared.
"Fine." America put his foot break. "Spoil sport." He muttered under his breath. As the car slowed Alaska gave an exasperated sigh. "I heard that. Don't make me turn this car around."
Virginia sighed and glanced at her shopping list again. America had done his best trying to predict a list of things that Alaska would need when she left the hospital. Unfortunately, he was a male and thus did not understand all of a woman's needs, which was why Virginia was standing in the middle of Macy's Department store staring at racks of assorted bras.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" The sales clerk asked kindly.
"Only if you can magically tell me someone's bra size." Virginia said flatly.
"Sounds like you have a story." The clerk said, rising an eyebrow.
"My sister got released from the hospital this afternoon. Unfortunately, her clothing did not survive the earthquake that landed her there in the first place," Virginia let her eyes scan the rows of colorful underwear, "which brings me back to the current situation."
"Ah," the clerk said not knowing how else to respond.
"I am pretty sure that she is an A cup, but I have no clue what size her ribs cage is. Plus she has some busted ribs, so she will probably not want to wear anything too restrictive."
"Well, we do have a relatively new product that might be perfect. It is called a sports bra." The clerk explained cheerfully and showed Virginia to the correct rack. Virginia bought five of them hoping that they would fit. But even if the bras didn't, it wouldn't be too big of deal. It wasn't like Alaska was going to be going out in public anytime soon and even if she did, Virginia mused to herself, it was the 60's, so who would notice?
With the last of what Alaska would require purchased, Virginia left the department store weighed down with bags. Checking her list again, Virginia decided it was time to go to the grocery store. If America was going to care for the injured state, he was going to need something more substantial than hamburgers and soda to feed her.
Massachusetts almost didn't recognize Anchorage when he flew in. It had only been a week, but the city now looked so alive. Homes were now filled light. Cars and trucks drove on repaired streets. Broken buildings were now sorted piles of rubble. A temporary air traffic control tower sent up from Oklahoma was directing planes through the busiest airspace in the world. Somehow, the Yukon Territory managed to maneuver their small plane through the chaos and landed the bush plane at a long gravel pad. Yukon taxied the craft and cut its engine next to mechanic's shed.
"Hey Bert," Yukon shouted down to the man who came out of the shed. "Is this a good place to park?"
"I think it will be as good of place as any. All the normal spots have already been claimed." The man said as he wiped the grease on his hands off on a towel. "You planning to head out again tonight?"
"Nope, I am done for the day." Yukon shook his head and climbed out of the cockpit. He walked to the back of the plane and pulled out a box of supplies he needed to secure the plane.
"Great." The man commented before heading back into the shop. "I will let people know that they can park behind you."
Yukon busied himself with the task of securing his plane for the evening. He put wedges underneath the wheels and secured the propeller. He then tied the wings down to stakes in the ground. Once the territory was completely satisfied that his plane wasn't going anywhere in his absence he grabbed a duffle bag and started to walk away. Massachusetts noticed the Canadian Territory leaving and jogged to catch up.
"Wait, where are you going?" Massachusetts asked, slightly out of breath.
"To Samantha's apartment, you silly goose. Where else would we sleep?" Yukon said with a touch of humor.
"I don't know, in the military barracks or something." Massachusetts shrugged. "Anyway don't we need keys to get into Alaska's apartment?" As Massachusetts spoke Yukon pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and gave it a quick shake. "How did you get those?"
"Where do you think that I stay when I come and visit Anchorage? Samantha thought it would be a good idea for someone else to have a set of her keys in case of emergencies."
"I guess the planning paid off."
Alaska's apartment was about two blocks northwest of the bush plane airport. From the outside the small apartment complex was pretty nondescript. It had basic wooden siding painted brown, a black roof, and a few empty flower beds in front. The front steps were cracked and broken, but otherwise it looked like the building had weathered the earthquake well.
"Welcome to Samantha's humble abode." Yukon said motioning Massachusetts to enter. "If you are tired, I've put some clean sheets on the hide-a-way bed in the office. If you are hungry then there are some canned food and army rations in the kitchen. We even have running water if you want to take a cold shower or use the toilet."
"How did they get the water up and running so quickly? Last week the engineers said that most of the water lines had been snapped in half." Massachusetts asked while he carefully tried not to step on anything.
"They are still broken."
"Then how…"
"Did you notice all of the garden hose all over town?" A smile warmed the territories voice.
"Yes, now that you mention it…"
"The people of Anchorage are using the hoses to provide running water to the community until the ground thaws enough to put in a new set of pipes. The water pressure leaves something to be desired, but it gets the job done." Yukon shrugged. "Anyway, there was a hole in the roof in Samantha's room and most of her books are in a soggy mess, so I am going to be in the other room to see what can be salvaged. But really, make yourself at home."
Canada promised to stay long enough to get Alaska settled in America's house before heading home. The state was now comfortably settled in one of the guest rooms, but America wasn't particularly willing to let his twin go. It quick led them into a quiet argument.
"America, you have fifty states. Fifty personifications who are at your beck and call, I have twelve. One of those personifications is really suffering from the effects of the tsunami, two of them are in Alaska helping with the relief effort, one is currently deployed in Vietnam and another one is threatening to secede. I need to be home." Canada tried to explain. "I need to take care of my own people first, and I know that Alaska is no longer in danger."
"How?"
"Because I have seen her at her worst." Canada said a sad smile on his lips.
"So you really are leaving."
"Yes, yes I am." Canada said, then he gently slugged his brother on the shoulder. "America, don't look so glum. It is not like I am going to drop off the face of the planet. I am just across the border and I will only be a phone call away."
As America watch his twin walk out of his home, he couldn't help but feel a little bit betrayed. America took a deep breath and shook of the feeling. He couldn't afford to pity himself. No, he was the personification of the United States of America, the strongest nation on earth. It didn't matter that at the moment he felt overwhelmed. It didn't matter that he was still dealing with splitting, earthquake-resulted headaches. The only thing that mattered was the fact that the world needed a hero, and America was determined to step up to that role.
America hated being short handed, but he couldn't help it at the moment. California was still in the hospital and America suspected that it was as much due to the race riots he was experiencing as to the tsunami damage. With California out, Texas was currently in Vietnam dealing with the war. Oklahoma was pulled from oil production to keep an eye on the state of Texas and Florida took over Texas's space race responsibilities. Then there were all of the states being pulled from their normal jobs to help with the Alaska humanitarian and rebuilding acts. Colorado, Oregon, Hawaii, Massachusetts, and Pennsylvania, were all focused on getting Alaska functional again. There was also the major flooding in North and South Dakota. The twins were too sick to do much more than crash on Minnesota's couch.
State responsibilities were not the only thing America was trying to shuffle. He was also trying to figure out how to fly the much-needed supplies to and from Alaska while providing the military in Vietnam with all the air support they required. His new favorite solution was to use a newly developed jet cargo plane called the Starlifter to transport supplies from the continental U.S. to Alaska. America was in the middle of the calculations to see how many planes would be needed for the job when he noticed that Alaska was glaring at him.
"Alaska, I am kind of stressed out right now, so if you have something you need to say you probably should just spit it out."
"You know, you can't use C-141 for that mission right?" Alaska replied as her fingers played with the trim of the afghan she was wrapped in.
"Oh really?" America smirked, "why shouldn't a plane with three times the flight range and nearly twice the capacity of the next best aircraft?"
"For one thing it is not a particularly smart to use an aircraft which is still considered experimental for a major humanitarian mission in a remote location. There is simply too much risk that the plane could experience unexpected mechanical fault or pilot error. The second reason is that the C-141 Starlifter is a jet cargo aircraft."
"Which is a problem, why?"
"Only two, maybe three communities have paved runways large enough to land these types of aircraft. All the others have airstrips, but they are mostly made of gravel, ice, or dirt. I am sure that you have seen the reports about what happens to jet engines when they suck up that type of debris."
"Why don't you summarize things for me, then."
"Results of tests on jet engine performance in less than ideal conditions, that I had clearance to read, make it pretty clear that trying to take off and land on Alaskan airstrips would lead to engine failure in an unacceptable number of aircraft caused by a combination of erosion of the engine fan blades and the clogging of internal engine components." Alaska said her eyes slightly shut as though she was reading something on the back of her eye lids. "If you would like a more detailed report, then I am going to need to take a look at the performance reports for the particular aircraft."
"Can you back up your argument?"
It turned out that Alaska could. Ten minutes later Alaska handed America three sheets of papers listing references on jet engine performance. They included everything from aircraft manuals to accident reports. Each came with their official reference number and date of publishing.
America scanned through the documents in shock. He had always known that every state had their own special abilities, their own unique skill set that helped to build that helped make the United States incredibly vibrant. He had just found Alaska's strength, the only question now was how he could exploit it to give the United States an edge in the Cold War.
Massachusetts awoke to the sound of the sizzling of a frying pan. For a few moments he was convinced that that he was dreaming. After all, he hadn't slept in a warm bed for days and he it felt like an eternity since he had had a good, hot breakfast. Then Yukon poked his head around the doorway and convinced Massachusetts that he was actually awake. If he had been really dreaming there would have been a hot chick instead of the Canadian territory.
"You hungry?"
"Do you really need to ask that?" Massachusetts asked his stomach rumbling.
"Apparently not. Let me rephrase that, how many steaks do you want?"
"Honestly, I think I could eat a moose."
"Hm, don't think that I have a full moose but I may have the next best thing."
The Yukon Territory ducked back out of the door before Massachusetts could reply. Massachusetts shook his head in bemusement, then took the few moments of privacy to examine his surroundings. It was clear that things had been shook up by the quake. Books, government papers, and maps were scattered across the floor. Most of the furniture where askew and there were places on the wall and pictures and hunting trophies use to hang. Many now lay broken on the floor. In contrast with the fur and bone, the room was also decorated with flowers. There were tissue paper flower glued onto the trim of the wooden furniture, flowers were stitched into the quilt, dried flowers shaken loose from the pages of books.
Massachusetts stomach rumbled again and encouraged him to leave the study to search for the kitchen. He didn't have to look very hard. His nose led him to the place where Yukon was cooking steaks. The Canadian territory already had a stack of hot meat waiting of Massachusetts on the table. Mouth watering, Massachusetts dug into breakfast, but he paused when he realized he didn't recognize the taste.
"What type of meat is this?"
"Moose." Yukon said with a wave of his spatula. "Sorry it is a bit raw, but it was still mostly frozen when I pulled it out of the ice box."
"Where did you get moose meat?"
"From the ice box and I believe that Samantha shot this moose this past summer." Yukon said turning off the burner, and bringing his plate over to the table.
"Alaska hunts?"
"Of course, and she is a good shot." Yukon said as he chewed thoughtfully. "Not as good as Canada, but still a pretty good shot."
Sometimes Alaska wished that she would just keep her mouth shut. If she had, she wouldn't have been handed a stack of top-secret reports about the space program. At this point, if she hadn't been so weak that she couldn't even walk under her own power, Alaska really would have considered hijacking one of America's planes and flying it back home. At least in her own house she could suffer the pain of this disaster in peace.
Alaska scanned one of the fifteen thick engineering reports America had brought for her 'entertainment' when her eyes started to blur with exhaustion. In frustration, she threw the report on the table. The noise caused America to look up from his own pile of paperwork. He looked over at her, head cocked to one side and inquisitive expression on his face. It made Alaska want to chuck the report at him.
"If you are going to insist on having me sort through this paperwork, can you at least get me a cup of coffee?" Alaska said sourly.
"You are not allowed to have coffee." America explained, repeating what he had said every time Alaska had asked for her favorite beverage. "The doctor said no caffeine while on medication."
"Then I will ditch the meds." Alaska replied in exasperation, as she let the fingers of her casted arm knead her temples. "Honestly, how do you expect me to stay awake without my coffee?"
"I think you are supposed to sleep." Virginia's tone made it clear that she was putting an end to the argument. The other state emphasized her point by placing down a tray of food and medication on the coffee table.
"Sleep is overrated." Alaska mumbled as she poked at the bowl of canned tomato soup with the edge of her grilled cheese sandwich. Internally she was shaking her head. Why couldn't everyone else realize that she was facing this disaster the only way she knew how…by moving forward.
Historical Note- Last week a reviewer commented that they didn't know what a teletype was, because communication in the sixties will be important in future chapters I thought I would take the time to explain thing here. First the teletype, the best way to thing about these systems is the prototype of email. Basically a person would sit at a typewriter and that message would show up on the receiver's typewriter. Second communication technique is phones. Unlike today there were only landlines available and long distance phone calls were very expensive, but I figure that countries would have the funds to call when needed. The telegraph remained a useful communication technique if phone calls are too expensive. The final method of communication is radio. HAM radio were the cell phone equivalent of the day.
End Note- Hey everyone. Enjoy everything so far? If so, drop me a line. If not, let me know how to improve.
Next Chapter-As the World Crumbles- A relatively small tragedy in Alaska causes the state to go through a major emotional breakdown. As Alaska's condition deteriorates America calls England and Canada for help.