Switzerland—Der Türst [Switzerland's neutrality in World War II, 1939-1945]
Switzerland thought they could have a peaceful time, after everything that happened, and for twenty years, it seemed they had it. Until the horn blew again, echoing through the shaking mountains, announcing his coming...
"Oh, crap, not again..." Switzerland whispered.
Brother, brother!, Liechtenstein screamed, running into his arms for protection and comfort. On the outside, he looked calm and collected, but inside..., not that much. Because the Türst leaving his den to go hunting is nothing but bad news.
"We're neutral! We're neutral!" He shouted to the wind.
And a laugh was the reply. Did neutrality mean something to anyone those days? Not for the Türst, that was sure. He was unleashed and he would stop at nothing, nothing at all. Hear him laugh, drunk with power, glad to see the cattle die of fear, too terrified to produce milk ever again!
"OUT OF MY WAY!", he heard him shout, above the barking of his hounds.
Yes, a sensible advice.
He grabbed his little sister and turned to the right.
But Austria had already encountered the Türst and gladly joined his pack.
Go South, quick!
And he encountered Veneziano rising his right arm to his new master.
Their only hope was turning left.
And right when he thought they would be safe, he found the Türst's banner waving at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Was this what rabbits felt, moments before the pack tore them apart?
"OUT OF MY WAY!", the hunter cried again. But there was no escape!
And so they inevitably encountered the Türst face to face. His dogs surrounded them, flashing their fangs. His black steed, with eyes red like Hell's flames, snorted, making Liechtenstein bury her face in Switzerland's chest. He wished he didn't do that, because, that way, she would notice his heart racing, and he wanted her to believe he knew what to do to get them both out of this alive.
They were neutral..., he thought, clinging to that idea.
Still mounted on his horse, the Türst took something from his saddlebag and dropped it at Switzerland's feet.
Banknotes of different currency, ingots, nuggets—wedding rings, teeth, jewelry...
Switzerland and the Türst exchanged a look. The former understood. He calculated the value of those things with a quick glance and, doing his best so his hands didn't tremble, he handed him a good amount of Swiss francs.
The hounds didn't tear him or Liechtenstein to pieces. The Türst counted the money and nodded, apparently satisfied. He whistled at his hounds. Then, they took their racket somewhere else.
The Türst never hurts those who don't oppose him; he likes it when they make things easier for him.
Switzerland avoided looking at himself in the mirror in the next months. In case he saw a hound's face looking back at him.