Dammit, America!

Warning: Violence, weapons, fight scene, gore, mentioned Nichu, potential character death.

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

"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."

—Confucius

Divide

Yao stood in pristine formation, hair short and body covered in black. The wind on the back of his neck was so foreign, yet he cherished it. He may never get to feel it again.

He was standing among the soldiers in one of the museum's second stories. He barely breathed, as it seemed the others were attempting to do, and his eyes once again darted down to the Archives, in front of which stood a phalanx of guards, among them Alfred. For once the man was completely still.

Yao cleared his thoughts… or at least tried to. The breeze whispering over his nape reminded him of Kiku's lips and fingers. Soft, and inviting were those lips, and dainty but strong were the hands. He wished with everything in him that the man could be here, standing beside him instead of in those tunnels, but then he wished that he wasn't. So many things could go wrong, Yao could see them now, playing out in his head like a tape roll. He had been around long enough to pinpoint potential flaws in plans and formations, and from the look of things now they were going to be in for a very bumpy ride.

Of course he had informed Red of this, and of course she hadn't listened.

"Someone needs to monitor the avenue," Red insisted with more than a hint of annoyance. Yao simply stared at her hopelessly. He was getting nowhere with her. "I don't care how it concentrates the Resistance in mostly one area—we need everyone we can get at HQ. Your mission as part of Team Alfa is to take out anyone surrounding it and keep all other Organization fighters away. Yes, Ivan and Francis will converge on the site, but HQ is a rat's nest of guards, and if back up is called by the Council, they will be directed there. This site is invaluable to us and it will be the center of our entire mission. As so, we will require most of our forces to be present there. Scouts will be posted in some of the taller buildings to make sure no one tries to ambush you, and you will have Evans keeping eyes and ears out as well. Aerial attacks will not be possible because of your close proximity to the Archives and everything inside it. If it's safety you're worried about during war, don't include yourself in it."

Throughout Red's entire condescending speech, Yao had been close to slapping her. Alfred's insolence as a young nation was bad enough, but now a state was telling him how war worked? He would have laughed if his and everyone else's lives hadn't depended on this mission. Risk had its place in wartime, but it was a joker card that, depending on the game play, could make or break the players. One had to know when to indulge in risk and how best to utilize it. Then again Red may just be acting difficult for the simple fact that she detested him, which, compared to all of her other dislikes, was not very surprising.

Either way, he was still pissed.

Her father may die because of it, Yao mused, eyes projecting forward once more. Kiku may die. Everyone could.

Arguing with Red, however, was not an option. She was the head of the entire operation, and it would have been unwise to push her lest he be put in a worse position than he already was. But he had given his opinion and advice regardless. Now all there was to do was to wait and see how the tides would turn.

Yao had no idea what the signal was that would announce the start of the coup, but he had an earpiece so he assumed it would be given over the channel. He waited and listened, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. It would not do to panic, not even when he knew Kiku to be somewhere in the tunnels waiting just as he was, waiting for Todd and Dan to disable the defenses. But Todd was positioned a mile away. In battle, it could easily have been ten. I should have told him I loved him, Yao thought ruefully. He should have taken Kiku's hand just as he had done before, whispering it to him before he kissed him on the cheek. If his intuition proved to be correct, he would never again see that adorable blush trail across Kiku's face, nor those wide brown eyes, demure just for him. The last he had seen Kiku all he had done was squeeze his hand. It seemed almost neglectful now.

Somewhere in the distance—Yao presumed a mile or so away—gunfire sounded. At first Yao thought nothing of it, instead attributing it to the start of the morning drill on the Ellipse. He was in the midst of wondering just how long the drill would continue before the coup began when a blast of static assaulted his ear and settled enough for him to hear a voice.

"Now," was all it said, too short and quiet to hear exactly who it was.

But Yao chose not to wait to confirm like he knew he ought to; Kiku was somewhere down in those tunnels, and if the coup had truly begun then he had only so much time before the man was crushed by a tunnel collapse or dismembered by an explosion. Anything he could do to ensure that Todd could reach the database he would gladly commit to, even if it was against his better judgment.

He wasn't the only one to retrieve his knife and stab the man next to him. The Resisters that had been placed with him had heard the signal themselves and set to killing off as many Organization soldiers as they could. Yao yanked his blade out of the man he'd attacked and was nearly met with another to his throat before his reflexes kicked in and he made a neat cut just below the man's Adam's apple before the other's below could fall. Even with blood spurting from his throat, the soldier continued to come at him, and Yao had no other choice but to stab him until he had so many leaks he could do nothing but collapse facedown in his own mess.

Yao wiped some blood from his eye, his whole face feeling sticky with it, and he nearly jammed his knife into a Resister that had come to defend him. The man was young and wide-eyed, and Yao suddenly felt insulted.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, still brandishing his dripping knife.

The Resister glanced at him, nearly jumping at the sight of the weapon covered in red. "I-I… protecting you, sir."

Yao swept out an arm and shoved him away. "Go protect someone who needs protecting, báichī."

Yao heard him begin to protest, but he ignored him, opting instead to kick an Organization soldier busy with another Resister in the back of his knee. The man gave a startled yelp and he barely caught himself before his face could smash into the floor. Yao didn't give him time to look around and see who had felled him. He straddled the soldier, foot to either side of the man's shoulders, snatched him up by his hair, and slit his throat. Just like a pig, Yao observed as the soldier gurgled and retched blood, the fluid rushing out of him in waves. Humans we may be, but in the end we can all die like pigs. And this soldier had been a fat, ripe one overdue for slaughter. It was easier, Yao found, for him to compare the soldiers to pigs as he killed them. Pigs were raised for one purpose, killed as a necessity, and if allowed to live they would devour every last morsel of food. Except it wasn't food the Organization would devour, it was the world.

The Organization raised their soldiers, conditioned them, sent them to slaughter. It was either oblige the slaughtering or become livestock themselves. No doubt the Overlord had already bred more pigs to take their places. As long as he had his army and his power, everyone else was expendable.

The amount of blood was incredible. The Resisters had been instructed to use their knives before their guns in order to save ammo, and now pools and smears of blood turned the floor red. It was almost impossible to tell whether Yao was walking over a lake of blood if anything else. An Organization soldier flew at him but slipped and fell into the fluids of his comrades. Yao decided that it would be wiser to use a gun than a knife from then on to prevent further spillage, and he planted a bullet between the soldier's shoulder blades to keep him trapped on the ground and writhing as he died. There was no need to waste anymore ammo than needed, and as far as Yao was concerned they deserved a slow death.

As soon as Yao had fired his weapon, a flurry of gunfire broke out, as if he had given the Resisters permission. Before, the Organization troops had been too overwhelmed and surprised to devote the time to reaching for, loading, and aiming their guns, and even in the midst of a gunfight they were just as strapped for time. A few managed to reply with their own volleys, mostly experienced shooters who managed to take out some less seasoned Resisters, and all at once some mutual understanding seemed to be reached and the remaining Organization troops rushed down the steps.

"Wait," Yao ordered as some Resisters moved to follow. The Chinaman walked over to the window and saw the soldiers flood the street below only to regroup and move bodily past the museum and out of sight. Across the road, the guards that had surrounded the Archives were gone, save the bodies that littered the front steps, either having disappeared inside or altogether retreated. Alfred was nowhere to be seen. Except the Overlord would never allow them to retreat. He frowned. Something was wrong here. Damn Red.

Feet shuffled awkwardly across the room. "Sir?" one Resister ventured.

Yao didn't reply. Instead his eyes traveled down the street as far as he could see, and he could hear what, if his ears could be trusted, sounded like tank treads rumbling over crushed asphalt. So, Team Bravo was coming. But how long would it take them and what forces would they bring with them?

And, more importantly, where was Alfred? He was supposed to have taken out the guards in front of the Archives and left a squadron of Resisters in their place before taking a small group of men and scouring the place for the Core wherein the Overlord was assumed to be lurking. Alfred was gone, as planned, but where were his forces? Had they been chased off? Had they been taken out?

"Sir?" a Resister prompted.

Yao didn't say a word, suspicion beginning to permeate his mind. He turned to them. "We are going down to street. Have your weapons out and ready."

The Resisters stared at him as if he had just sprouted a fifth limb. "B-but, sir, the plan was—" one began.

"I know what the plan was," Yao cut in, starting at a brisk walk toward the stairs. A few steps down and the men were still staring after him. "But it seems we have problem. Half of our team is gone, and I don't know why. Half of you stay here to keep guard and other half will come with me to investigate."

Yao didn't wait for a response. He kept going down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and when he reached the bottom he was pleased to see that his orders had been followed. He led the way through the ruins of the museum, with its shattered glass, looted artifacts, and rubble-blocked halls, out onto the steps. He peered up at the sky, empty but for gray clouds blocking out the sun. It would snow soon. His eyes traveled up and down the stretch of massacred asphalt, wrecked buildings, and smashed pavement several times before he was forced to conclude that Alfred's troops had truly vanished. Trust Alfred to go running off on a tangent without informing anyone. It was truly predictable. Anger coiled within Yao at the thought that Alfred was behind all of this, that it would be his fault if Todd couldn't reach the database in time to save Kiku, or Matthew, or Arthur, or anyone down in the tunnels. They would all die because of his reckless decision, and Yao promised himself the next time he saw Alfred he would wring his neck.

The tank sounded closer now, and the Resisters were looking toward him for orders. It didn't matter if they wanted to come with him or not; they had to, by Red's orders. Yao needed to be protected, and, as much as Yao hated the order, he now knew how to manipulate it to suit his own needs. Now he had troops that would do whatever he said and go with him wherever he went.

The whole portion of avenue was completely silent. Not even a bird chirped. The tank was still not in sight, but now he could hear gunfire loud and sharp, though still distant. Despite wanting to murder him, he decided that he may want to contact Alfred to be sure if he was still alive and to tell him to send some of his men up, wherever they were, to assist in the defense of the Archives. But no sooner had he touched his fingers to his earpiece than a bullet whizzed by his hand.

He spun around to see that the Organization troops had never truly run away. They had been hiding. And now Yao was the one being ambushed as his small group of eight Resisters were shot down before they could properly retaliate. And it was no surprise. The opposition soldiers were shooting all at once and from everywhere. It was nearly impossible to target one without the risk of being shot by another. Yao watched in horror and shame, whipping his weapon out and squeezing out two rounds that may or may not have struck their intended targets, but his entire guard was dead, and those in the building above were being dutifully dispatched by Organization troops that had infiltrated it, who were now staring out of the windows at him and aiming the barrels of their guns down at him. Yet Yao braced to fire another round. He was just as soon yelling as he was shot in his gun arm, the weapon flying out of his hand and skittering across the cratered road. Within moments, three Organization soldiers surrounded him.

Yao kept his head down, heart racing, a million thoughts of what he should do next running through his head. One soldier bent down to grab him from behind, and Yao instinctively struck out with his elbows, shoving the butterfly swords he'd place there earlier through his black sleeves and back into the man attempting to seize him. He caught the soldier in the gut, and the man reeled, wheezing, as the other two struggled to subdue the now evasive Yao. But the Chinaman was fast and limber, effectively avoiding them until the forgotten man he had stabbed shuffled up behind him and stuck a blade through his thigh.

Yao cried out and his leg locked up, useless with the pain shooting through it. He faltered and went down on one knee, trying with everything in him to get back up again. He came close, but one of the other soldiers produced his own knife and drove it into his pelvis. After that, Yao dropped to the ground and did not attempt to get back up.

One of the men did the work for him, snatching Yao up by his wounded arm, making him shout. His butterfly swords were wrestled from him, his hands were bound, and a gun was pressed to his temple. His earpiece was ripped from him and crushed by a black boot. Just one look told him that the soldiers knew exactly who he was.

"You will be coming with us," one said with a self-satisfied little smile as he and his comrades wrenched him around the building and through the crowd of identically smiling soldiers to a waiting helicopter. There was a gray spiral insignia stenciled crudely on the side with lettering as red as blood.

Translations:

báichī-idiot

A Word From the Writer: Phew! That was a writing marathon! These chapters may seem short, but trust me they took forever to write. Stretching out battle scenes without including the same shit every time takes some calculation... that and I tend to get distracted by people, cats, food, general smutty fangirl thoughts, those little news thumbnails at the bottom of Bing every time I go to search something, GAH! Anyway, here it is. China's naturally a little peeved that America could just take off without telling him anything, which is something he would totally do, seeing as he's so hellbent on killing the Overlord that he may have forgotten the plan entirely. Nice. So what does Yao get? Captured. Well no, shot, then stabbed, then captured. And China was in extreme kill mode the whole time, whoa. I didn't mean to write him all violent and ftw and shit but I was running on three hours of sleep and staring at a computer screen for that long makes you lose your focus. No, literally the words on my screen began to run together, and more than once I had to get up and take a walk around my house to shake off the drowsiness. And of course then I would get stuck petting my cats for ten minutes or rifling through my cabinets for food and by the time I got back to writing I'd want to write some smut. It's getting really bad. I'm going through lemon withdrawals.

All righty then. Now I can rest... or write some smut. How this got finished and posted today instead of Sunday can be mostly attributed to the fact that I promised myself I could write some lemon afterward. And now I will. THANK GOD.

You can try to tell me that I can post as late as I want, but I'll always take due dates for these chapters way too seriously. But procrastination is a whole other story... I have a rough draft for a research paper I've barely researched due by the end of next week that I have yet to start. Finish it late Thursday night? Probably. XD