The Effects of War
Woah, a historically accurate fic? Amazing. This was really interesting to write. Quite a challenge, actually. =]
COMMENTS ARE LOVE. Srsly, please. Comment. Concrit is mucho appreciated!
DO NOT OWN HETALIA.
Title: The Effects of War
Author: fallenxembers17
Characters: Turkey, HRE, mentions of Germany, Austria, Greece, Poland, and Lithuania.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1245
Warnings: War, some language, slight racism and religious-hate, neither or which are my own personal ideals.
Summary: Turkey reminisces on a small blond-haired, blue-eyed boy that took him completely by surprise. Battle of Vienna, 1683.
The Effects of War
Turkey was not usually a man to reminisce. He lived for the moment - fighting, loving, drinking, fighting Greece... He was not the type to drift off at meetings, to allow his mind to wander. Yet he stared at Germany at a meeting to debate Turkey's admittance to the EU, mind wandering. He was such a stiff, stern man - yet, softened by the years and a certain idiot's influence. As he watched the big blond man be bullied into doing yet another stupid thing, he wondered where the strong, fierce, prideful little boy had gone. That boy - small, blond, but oh so tough - had completely blindsided Turkey... his mind fought to recall the exact year and conflict, pushing past centuries of bloody history. Ah, there it was. The Battle of Vienna, 1683. Ottoman conquest. Good times, Turkey thought distantly.
He had expected an easy win. He was, after all, the Ottoman Empire. You don't get to be an empire by being weak. He had easily secured Vienna thanks to some brilliant tactics. He had starved the city. So, it stood to reason that even the combined forces of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and the Holy Roman Empire wouldn't stand a chance against him.
And yet, there he was, being beat up by a little kid, a freak, and a nice-guy.
What?
The Commonwealth's army had come charging in on their horses, which he had expected. They were prepared to fight like madmen, which he had also expected, since religion was such a touchy topic among the Europeans. His army was strong, despite having marched so far. What neither he nor his bosses could have expected was the sheer size of the cavalry and the brains of their leaders/
The ground thundered with their charge as they swept in, the front featuring an unusually serious Poland and a determined, fierce looking Lithuania. Of all things, that should have tipped him off - the Commonwealth pair weren't the most violent he had known - but the ease of Vienna's capture had him overconfident. He heard the men ordered to prepare for an onslaught at the front, and he trotted forward atop a blood-red horse, carrying the standard. At that point, taking everyone by surprise (he could practically hear that stuffy Austrian gasping, even as he starved) the cavalry split into two, each being led by a nation. The two armies encircled his forces - strong, ready forces - and then attacked.
Turkey had cried out at the sudden loss of life - the ferocity of the attack was beyond anything he had known in a long time - and then suddenly was yelling at a much closer pain as an arrow from the front pierced his shoulder. He looked up and felt his blood run cold along with his army. There, advancing rapidly, was thousands of infantry, bearing the standard of the Holy Roman Empire, all led by a bright child atop a dark horse. They were marching straight into the hole created by the cavalry's pincer attack.
Briefly, Turkey was able to appreciate the military genius behind the attack.
And then the carnage of war was upon him, as Turks and Germans and Austrians and Poles and Lithuanians all started falling. Turkey was distinctly uncomfortable with the number of his own that were falling. The screams of horses resonated in his ears, and what ground could be seen was dyed red. But all that Turkey could really see was that child - all blond and blue and black - sitting atop his horse triumphantly. Ignoring calls to retreat, Turkey roared a challenge to the boy, who was unmistakably the Holy Roman Empire himself, and charged forward on his horse.
Swords already out, the two met in a clang of metal. The boy was strong - really, really strong, fending off Turkey's attack with relative ease. Turkey's vision was dyed as red as the ground, obscuring the boy's features, but only serving to infuriate him even more. The arrow in his shoulder was forgotten.
Turkey was shouting, now, vulgar and largely incoherent things, and the blond boy took it all silently, blocking and parrying without emotion.
“How dare you, you bastard?! You little white Christian bastard, how dare you stop me from taking Vienna?!” The words came out bitter, harsh, biting, broken. A part of him knew that his outrage wasn't justified, that it should be the other way around, but he didn't care.
Turkey's shouts became less and less frequent as he was forced to pay more attention to his opponent. The boy - he would not call him by his true name, he would not acknowledge this spit of a nation, would not acknowledge that this spit of a nation was beating the Ottoman Empire - was as talented as he was strong and Turkey was beginning to bleed heavily. He snarled, and the sound was animal-like, vicious, and Turkey had the slight pleasure of seeing the boy's emotionless mask break for a moment to allow fear to seep through.
In the end, though, not even fear held the boy at bay, and soon enough Turkey was knocked off of his horse with a sword tip against his throat.
For the first time, the boy spoke.
“Go. Home.” His voice was high, breathless, but in it was the evidence of a massive backbone inside that little body.
Turkey had been so shocked that he could do nothing but comply.
Ottoman forces had pulled a swift retreat, taking heavy losses the entire way. He trailed behind them, slumped over a new horse, lost in his mind.
He had lost.
He had lost.
He had been sure that even then, the stuffy aristocrat and the freak and the nice-guy and that damned boy were celebrating. He had been sure that they watched him - him, the Ottoman Empire, bearing military might and Islam - leaving in shame, and that they were sure he would never come again.
If they had been thinking such things, they would have been right. The Ottoman Empire weakened not much longer, and then finally broke apart. He was reduced to just Turkey.
The boy was long gone now, replaced by the softer man in front of Turkey, and he couldn't help but wonder where the boy had gone. A part of him had respected him - his determination, his strength. That same part of him wondered if it was for the best that the boy had stopped him. Had stopped him from making all the people in the room his. From making them disappear. His gaze shifted to Greece, who was napping contentedly, and smiled. Not such a bad thing at all, perhaps.
And then Greece woke up and started glaring daggers at him, and Turkey's thoughts backtracked rapidly.
Belatedly, he realized he was still smiling.
History Lesson: “At the Battle of Vienna (1683), the army of the Holy Roman Empire led by Polish King John Sobieski decisively defeated a large Turkish army, ending the western colonial Ottoman advance and leading to the eventual dismemberment of the Ottoman empire in Europe. The HRE army was half Polish/Lithuanian Commonwealth forces, mostly cavalry, and half Holy Roman Empire forces (German/Austrian), mostly infantry. The cavalry charge was the largest in the history of warfare.” - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Roman_Empire
Much of the military details and tactics and such were conjured by me. Yay for artistic license? Other sources:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Vienna
http://www.thenagain.info/WebChron/EastEurope/ViennaSiege.html
COMMENTS ARE LOVE. Srsly, please. Comment. Concrit is mucho appreciated!
DO NOT OWN HETALIA.
Title: The Effects of War
Author: fallenxembers17
Characters: Turkey, HRE, mentions of Germany, Austria, Greece, Poland, and Lithuania.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1245
Warnings: War, some language, slight racism and religious-hate, neither or which are my own personal ideals.
Summary: Turkey reminisces on a small blond-haired, blue-eyed boy that took him completely by surprise. Battle of Vienna, 1683.
The Effects of War
Turkey was not usually a man to reminisce. He lived for the moment - fighting, loving, drinking, fighting Greece... He was not the type to drift off at meetings, to allow his mind to wander. Yet he stared at Germany at a meeting to debate Turkey's admittance to the EU, mind wandering. He was such a stiff, stern man - yet, softened by the years and a certain idiot's influence. As he watched the big blond man be bullied into doing yet another stupid thing, he wondered where the strong, fierce, prideful little boy had gone. That boy - small, blond, but oh so tough - had completely blindsided Turkey... his mind fought to recall the exact year and conflict, pushing past centuries of bloody history. Ah, there it was. The Battle of Vienna, 1683. Ottoman conquest. Good times, Turkey thought distantly.
He had expected an easy win. He was, after all, the Ottoman Empire. You don't get to be an empire by being weak. He had easily secured Vienna thanks to some brilliant tactics. He had starved the city. So, it stood to reason that even the combined forces of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and the Holy Roman Empire wouldn't stand a chance against him.
And yet, there he was, being beat up by a little kid, a freak, and a nice-guy.
What?
The Commonwealth's army had come charging in on their horses, which he had expected. They were prepared to fight like madmen, which he had also expected, since religion was such a touchy topic among the Europeans. His army was strong, despite having marched so far. What neither he nor his bosses could have expected was the sheer size of the cavalry and the brains of their leaders/
The ground thundered with their charge as they swept in, the front featuring an unusually serious Poland and a determined, fierce looking Lithuania. Of all things, that should have tipped him off - the Commonwealth pair weren't the most violent he had known - but the ease of Vienna's capture had him overconfident. He heard the men ordered to prepare for an onslaught at the front, and he trotted forward atop a blood-red horse, carrying the standard. At that point, taking everyone by surprise (he could practically hear that stuffy Austrian gasping, even as he starved) the cavalry split into two, each being led by a nation. The two armies encircled his forces - strong, ready forces - and then attacked.
Turkey had cried out at the sudden loss of life - the ferocity of the attack was beyond anything he had known in a long time - and then suddenly was yelling at a much closer pain as an arrow from the front pierced his shoulder. He looked up and felt his blood run cold along with his army. There, advancing rapidly, was thousands of infantry, bearing the standard of the Holy Roman Empire, all led by a bright child atop a dark horse. They were marching straight into the hole created by the cavalry's pincer attack.
Briefly, Turkey was able to appreciate the military genius behind the attack.
And then the carnage of war was upon him, as Turks and Germans and Austrians and Poles and Lithuanians all started falling. Turkey was distinctly uncomfortable with the number of his own that were falling. The screams of horses resonated in his ears, and what ground could be seen was dyed red. But all that Turkey could really see was that child - all blond and blue and black - sitting atop his horse triumphantly. Ignoring calls to retreat, Turkey roared a challenge to the boy, who was unmistakably the Holy Roman Empire himself, and charged forward on his horse.
Swords already out, the two met in a clang of metal. The boy was strong - really, really strong, fending off Turkey's attack with relative ease. Turkey's vision was dyed as red as the ground, obscuring the boy's features, but only serving to infuriate him even more. The arrow in his shoulder was forgotten.
Turkey was shouting, now, vulgar and largely incoherent things, and the blond boy took it all silently, blocking and parrying without emotion.
“How dare you, you bastard?! You little white Christian bastard, how dare you stop me from taking Vienna?!” The words came out bitter, harsh, biting, broken. A part of him knew that his outrage wasn't justified, that it should be the other way around, but he didn't care.
Turkey's shouts became less and less frequent as he was forced to pay more attention to his opponent. The boy - he would not call him by his true name, he would not acknowledge this spit of a nation, would not acknowledge that this spit of a nation was beating the Ottoman Empire - was as talented as he was strong and Turkey was beginning to bleed heavily. He snarled, and the sound was animal-like, vicious, and Turkey had the slight pleasure of seeing the boy's emotionless mask break for a moment to allow fear to seep through.
In the end, though, not even fear held the boy at bay, and soon enough Turkey was knocked off of his horse with a sword tip against his throat.
For the first time, the boy spoke.
“Go. Home.” His voice was high, breathless, but in it was the evidence of a massive backbone inside that little body.
Turkey had been so shocked that he could do nothing but comply.
Ottoman forces had pulled a swift retreat, taking heavy losses the entire way. He trailed behind them, slumped over a new horse, lost in his mind.
He had lost.
He had lost.
He had been sure that even then, the stuffy aristocrat and the freak and the nice-guy and that damned boy were celebrating. He had been sure that they watched him - him, the Ottoman Empire, bearing military might and Islam - leaving in shame, and that they were sure he would never come again.
If they had been thinking such things, they would have been right. The Ottoman Empire weakened not much longer, and then finally broke apart. He was reduced to just Turkey.
The boy was long gone now, replaced by the softer man in front of Turkey, and he couldn't help but wonder where the boy had gone. A part of him had respected him - his determination, his strength. That same part of him wondered if it was for the best that the boy had stopped him. Had stopped him from making all the people in the room his. From making them disappear. His gaze shifted to Greece, who was napping contentedly, and smiled. Not such a bad thing at all, perhaps.
And then Greece woke up and started glaring daggers at him, and Turkey's thoughts backtracked rapidly.
Belatedly, he realized he was still smiling.
History Lesson: “At the Battle of Vienna (1683), the army of the Holy Roman Empire led by Polish King John Sobieski decisively defeated a large Turkish army, ending the western colonial Ottoman advance and leading to the eventual dismemberment of the Ottoman empire in Europe. The HRE army was half Polish/Lithuanian Commonwealth forces, mostly cavalry, and half Holy Roman Empire forces (German/Austrian), mostly infantry. The cavalry charge was the largest in the history of warfare.” - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Roman_Empire
Much of the military details and tactics and such were conjured by me. Yay for artistic license? Other sources:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Vienna
http://www.thenagain.info/WebChron/EastEurope/ViennaSiege.html