Let's hope England learned some stuff from all those 007 movies.

Warning: Angst, weapons, stuff.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

Against the Clock I

Arthur's stomach was not coping well with the current situation, and he feared that if he spoke, nothing would come out but vomit. Instead, he directed his group, Francis, Gilbert, Lovino, Sadiq, and Yao included, out of the plane, down the slide, and onto the ground.

It took a moment for Arthur to steady his feet, for the flight to America and the flight here had done a number on his legs. He motioned for his group to follow him, not daring to assess the position of the mob, though he could tell from the clatter they were making, that they were already halfway up the hill. Luckily, though, no one could see them from where they stood now on the ground. If they hurried, they would not be spotted and pursued.

Knowing that time was not on their side, Arthur broke into a run, the others following him, until they reached the crest of the hill. He stopped at the top, carefully picking his way down the side until he reached the bottom, by which time he could hear the sound of gunshots and shouting from above.

God, please let this work… he thought as the rest of his group gathered behind him. He turned to them. "All right. This is what will happen. I'm going to look around the side of this hill and locate a secure escape route. If I do, I will signal to you."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "And what will the signal be, ami?"

"You'll know." And he was off.

He ran as fast as he could, despite knowing they were not seen, his mind becoming increasingly fogged with paranoia. Every sense was on high alert, every muscle tense, so that even the snapping of a twig or the squawk of a bird nearby seemed unnaturally harsh.

He reached the edge of the hill after what seemed like ages, the sounds from above pushing him on. Arthur cautiously peered around the hill, eyes surveying the area to and from the airport with great scrutiny. Finally, his eyes locked on a trail that made a wide path around the hill—and the crowd—that led behind a few warehouses which sat on the edge of the runway. From what it sounded like, the mob was too intent on plowing through the guards and securing the plane to even notice his group.

Arthur smiled in spite of himself and turned around, waving his arms over his head. The rest of his group noticed immediately and rushed up to meet him. By now, Lovino was shaking.

"Okay, you see that path?" Arthur indicated with a motion of his hand. "We're going to follow it and end at those warehouses over there. If this works, and if my observations are correct, they won't spot us. But we have to be quick, right?"

"Right!"

"Okay," Arthur swallowed dryly and willed his limbs to cease trembling. "Let's carry on, shall we?"

With a deep breath, he darted out from behind the hill, the rest of his group in hot pursuit. He could hear Lovino resisting as he was harshly being pulled along by Gilbert.

Arthur dared not look up or back. His only focus was on the warehouse ahead of him. As more gunshots rang out, he urged his feet to move faster, and eventually, he was at the wall of the long building, inching over into one of the doors. He quickly found a sturdy box and sank down onto it, trying to catch his breath and slow the sporadic beating of his heart.

He was so absorbed in regaining his strength that he didn't notice the others enter.

Francis was the first in after him, leaning with a hand against the wall, clutching a stitch in his side. Gilbert came in next, tugging with him Lovino, who was trying to pry the Prussian's hand off of his wrist and was shouting, his voice a mixture of indignance and panic. Yao rushed in after them, stopping to stand by the door, his wok raised and ready. Sadiq was last, running in and preparing to sit and rest before he saw Yao, at which point he unsheathed his kilij and took up position opposite Yao at the door, ever the one not to be outdone.

Francis turned to Arthur, coughing a bit to clear his throat. "Angleterre… w-where do we go now?"

Arthur stood, still panting, and walked over to peer out of the windows. "There," he said after a moment. "That truck there, near the luggage belt. We need to get there without being seen. Though I don't see anyone around at the moment."

"Yes, for moment." Yao said. "It not be peaceful for long."

"I agree," Sadiq huffed with a glare at Yao.

"Should we send someone out to see?" Francis suggested.

"Ja!" Gilbert replied, swinging Lovino forward. "Ja, have this one go out. If anyone is out there, he'll take off running so fast, they'll never catch him! Kesesese!"

Lovino squirmed in his grasp, punching him with all his might, but only succeeding in making himself look like a weakling. "Let go of me, dammit! Get your Potato Bastard hands off of me!"

"Be quiet!" Sadiq hissed at them. "And stop moving around so much, it'll attract attention."

Lovino stopped instantly, flashing the man a furious look. Gilbert smirked, still holding Lovino tightly around the wrist so that he couldn't get away.

Arthur stood. "Right, so, me first." He walked over to the doors and pushed them slowly open, peering out to make sure the coast was clear. "Okay, I'll run out. If all's well and we can cross, I'll signal you."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "You will wave your arms again?"

Arthur turned to him with a sarcastic look. "No, France, I'll stand on my head and jump up and down with my ears—of course I'll wave my arms!"

Yao stared at Arthur with amusement. "How disappointing. That would be sight to see."

Arthur gave Yao a glare that made Yao shrink back a bit and turned to the doors. Taking a deep breath as if he were about to dive off a cliff, Arthur ran out of the doors and a little ways down the runway, eyes on the hill. His heart was pounding as he stared, praying that he would not be noticed. When it was confirmed that the mob was too engaged in dealing with the guards, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and looked to his right.

His heart jumped into his throat as he saw another mob charging onto the opposite side of the runway from the airport terminals, weapons brandished and shouting with rage.

With a startled yelp, Arthur darted into the warehouse again, barely able to gather his words as the others looked curiously at him.

"They're… they're coming…"

"What!" Lovino shrieked, going stock still and paling considerably.

"From where?" Sadiq asked, raising his kilij. Beside him, Yao lifted his wok.

Arthur pointed. "There… over there, from the city."

Lovino's eyes widened as he peered out the windows, and he actually looked as if he were clutching Gilbert's arm. "Oh well… we tried, didn't we?"

They all looked at him scathingly.

Arthur straightened up and struggled to stop the rapid beating of his heart. "We can't just give up. If we go back to the plane empty-handed, we might as well all shoot ourselves because we'll be dead anyway."

Lovino frowned. "That makes me feel better, bastard."

"Well, it's the truth!" Arthur walked over to one of the windows and peered out cautiously. "They're nearly here… and they've spotted us. Damn! If only we had a bit more time, and then I could figure out the safest way to get across!"

"That makes me feel a lot better, bastard."

"Shut up, Romano!"

Arthur's eyes flew to the window again. "Oh, God, er… okay, think, think, Arthur! You've done this before!"

Francis raised a curious eyebrow. "You have, ami?"

Arthur growled. "Of course I have. Now, shut up, I'm thinking."

A few moments passed, all the while the crowd approaching nearer and Arthur peering anxiously out of the windows.

Then finally, "Aha!" Arthur turned back to them, a commanding gleam in his eye. "All right. To make this work, we'll have to split—"

"Again?" Lovino sputtered in horror.

"—Turkey, Prussia, and Romano, you go out first."

"Why me?"

Arthur glared at Lovino. "Because you're one hell of a good runner. Besides, if I let you come with me, you'll only get in the way." He nodded to the albino. "Prussia will help you."

Lovino looked as if he was about to faint with fright, but Gilbert had a firm grip on his wrist. "Ja, don't worry. I'm an awesome guardian. You'll be safe with me, kesesese!"

The group of three gathered in one corner while Francis loped up, a leering smile on his face. "Does that mean I get to come with you, amour?"

Arthur pushed him away, wiping his hands on his pants afterward. Who knew what sorts of diseases the Frog had from sleeping around? "Yeah, yeah, but don't dwell on it. If you get in my way, I'll bloody bowl you over."

Francis smirked. "I wouldn't mind that, cher. Although it seems to me by not sending me off you are starting to warm up to me~" He winked, though his face was a bit paler than before.

Arthur ignored that for the sake of reserving his punches for the rebels.

Yao joined them a moment later, his wok hefted in one hand and grimacing. "It's going to be long run to make it across to truck. I'll try best I can to keep you safe."

Arthur nodded. "Good, then. Though I doubt you'll have to do anything but just run." He turned to the other group, Lovino now trembling and Sadiq eyeing Yao evenly. "You guys will run out first and lure the mob away from us. With them thinking that you're the only ones that were in here, I'll be able to sneak out with my group and get the truck."

Sadiq broke his challenging gaze with Yao to raise an eyebrow. "And when we cannot run anymore?"

Arthur frowned. He hadn't thought of that. Perhaps his strategic mind had worn out over the years after all, though he didn't like to believe it. "Uh, right… loop around all the warehouses and get to the truck. I'll have it driven close enough for you to get on. I believe we can all fit on it if we try."

Lovino scoffed, finding his words, his voice still trembling. "Che, not with the Potato Bastard's big head…"

Gilbert frowned and gave Lovino's wrist a rough yank. "Did you just insult my awesomeness, Tomato-Eater?"

"N-no… oww, dammit, bastard, ease up!"

"Shh, Romano!" Francis hissed anxiously.

"He started it, dammit!"

"Shut it, will you?!" Arthur whispered harshly, assessing the approach of the mob through the windows. "Twenty meters and closing." He turned to Gilbert, Yao, and Lovino. "You'd better leave now before they can catch up."

"Bien sûr, ami." Francis muttered, motioning for the rest of his group to leave. "Go."

Gilbert exited first, pulling Lovino along with him, much to the excitement of the charging crowd. Yao went last, bullets ricocheting off of his wok as he effectively blocked the gunfire. Arthur straightened, surveying the rest of his group. Sadiq and of course… Francis. Well, this would certainly test his physical strength as well as his mental. He quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt, still splattered with Lennox's blood. He could practically feel Francis's eyes on him the whole time, but forced himself to ignore it. He looked the shirt over for a moment, wanting desperately to toss it because of the blood stain on it, but he eventually decided to keep it. After all, he may need it.

He tied the shirt around his waist, now clad in only his white undershirt, a pair of black slacks, and trainers. It was an odd sort of shoe wear, but he thanked God that he had chosen them instead of the more uncomfortable dress shoes. Surely those would have slowed him down.

Francis locked eyes with Arthur for a few seconds, a somber expression on his face. Confused, Arthur stared back, raising one large eyebrow. At last, he realized and nodded, Francis also dipping his head in turn.

This may be the last time they would ever safely talk to each other again.

He snorted. Yeah, like never talking again to Francis would bother him.

Arthur turned, gesturing for Francis and Sadiq to squat down behind the boxes. They all did just in time. The mob came, guns blazing and blades brandished around the corner and outside the warehouse. They all waited for them to pass by, then slowly got up. Sadiq darted over to the door and peeked out. He turned to them.

"Gone,"

"Let's go," Arthur said, sticking his head out of the door and looking both ways before deeming it all clear and broke into a run toward the truck.

He could hear the sound of shoe-clad feet clicking against the runway. Arthur didn't bother to look back, assured by the heavy breaths coming from behind him.

Arthur could clearly hear the mobs around the back of the buildings and on the hill beyond. By the sound of it, the closest mob was nearly three-quarters of the way around the warehouses. Arthur pushed himself, making himself run faster, blood roaring in his ears, his strength ebbing faster than ever before…

Soon he found himself gasping for breath, speed-walking the last few paces to the truck, placing a hand on the side, hunched over, breathing with difficulty. From the looks of it, Francis and Sadiq weren't faring so well either. Francis—who was unsurprisingly right behind him, no doubt wanting to get a good view of his backside—put his hands on his knees, gasping. Sadiq had locked his hands behind his head, pacing around and huffing.

Arthur could never remember being so tired. They were countries, not normal humans. They couldn't tire so easily after such a short time, just like they couldn't be killed by humans…

His heart lurched as he realized something, but before he could think more on it, Sadiq glanced behind him, his hand going to his sheathed kilij and said, "They're coming,"

"Oui, cher," Francis said. "We don't have much time."

Arthur straightened and said, "Right, I'll drive."

They all rushed to the truck, Arthur opening the door—"Oh, thank God, the keys are still in the ignition."—and buckled up, starting the truck just as Francis slid into the passenger seat.

"Turkey is in the back. Just in case the mob catches up, he'll defend the tank from bullets."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "With just his kilij?" The Turkish sword was pretty thin.

Francis shook his head. "He picked up a bit of scrap metal along the way. It looks strong enough to stop the rounds."

The Briton nodded and shifted gears. "All right, let's see how fast this thing can go…"

He pressed the gas, turning the truck around with jerky precision, not having driven a car since before the Uprising. Francis was thrown back in his seat with a cry, and Arthur thought he heard Turkish swears drifting from the back of the truck.

Arthur pulled them around to the front of the last warehouse, reversing so that the rest of his group could jump on and he could take off when they came around the corner.

The shouting got closer, and Arthur could feel his hands gripping the steering wheel more firmly, his palms covered in a nervous sweat.

Then, from his side mirror, he saw the rest of his group emerge; Lovino in the lead, Gilbert struggling to keep up with his frantic pace just behind, and Yao running backward with surprising speed, blocking bullets with his now dented wok.

Francis stuck his head out one of the windows and yelled, "Vite! Vite, amis! Get on the back!"

Arthur felt the truck dip a little with the new weight thrown onto the back, and Francis turned to him, nodding. "Allons-y, Angleterre."

Arthur faced forward and pressed on the gas just as the mob came around the corner and a few meters away, shooting and yelling with rage. "Here we go!"

And the truck shot off across the runway. Arthur didn't pay attention to the debris that littered the pavement as he went. All he was worried about was getting the hell out of there unscathed. It was only when Francis shouted, "Watch out!" that he knew he should have been paying better attention to what lay on the ground.

Arthur swerved sharply, barely missing the sharp bit of scrap metal that surely would have popped the truck's tires. Just as he was breathing a sigh of relief, though, a fierce uproar came from the back of the truck. But he didn't have time to stop and listen.

Finally, Francis stuck his head out of the window again. "What?" He was silent as he listened, the cries becoming more frantic as he did. Then he leaned back in and turned to Arthur with wide eyes, his face pale. "It's Romano… he's fallen off."

"What!" Arthur was so shocked that he slammed on the brakes, throwing everyone in the truck forward. There was a protesting din from the back where no doubt the others had hit their heads rather harshly on the fuel tank. Arthur ignored them and looked into his side mirror, uttering a yelp of horror as he saw Lovino lying sprawled on the ground, cursing and holding his injured shoulder. And behind him, the mob was gaining ground, weapons raised and ready to take a captive for survival.

Translations:

Bien sûr-Of course

Vite-Quickly

Allons-y-Let's go

A Word From the Writer: Nu, Romano! He can run hella fast be he can't hold on for shit. What will happen to him? Who will save him? Why am I talking like some movie announcer?

Just ignore me and read on, my dears!