Hetalia - "Iron Sky"
Title: Iron Sky
Authors: qualapec and ghostofthemotif
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: PG-13 for WWII dogfights and war imagery
Summary: Belarus was fighting for her life, for the lives of her sister and brother. War may have weakened her body, but her reflexes were sharpened and laid iron over her core. - Belarus in a WWII dogfight with Germany.
Notes: Written as a collaborative project for the halfamoon community challenge, celebrating the women of fandom.
Belarus knew through the sound of guns, engines, the percussion of bombs and the silence as planes deadened, dropping from the sky. She knew that he was there.
They always knew when their own kind was on the battlefield with them. There was some force, perhaps the same higher power that claimed their bodies in the first place, that drew them to each other through smoke and gutter mud. She snarled as she caught sight of a silver glint over her head, the sound of a German engine thundering in her chest and the twinge of shared magic, long forgotten by the younger nations.
She banked left, drawing them away from the heat of the clash.
Her instincts had been right. Seconds later he barrel rolled, slowing his speed and falling after her.
Clinically speaking, he was a brilliant pilot, and she knew the Soviet planes were disadvantaged in combat capability - especially speed.
Germany fought for luxury, for breathing room.
Belarus was fighting for her life, for the lives of her sister and brother. War may have weakened her body, but her reflexes were sharpened and laid iron over her core. The fierce solitude with which she fought was her element - days of knitting, embroidery, and humming along with Ukraine’s soft voice while she braided her hair were far behind, lost in the fray… and in that moment, she would not have it any other way.
She narrowed her eyes as his plane sped by to her right, almost locking wings. There was a moment of exchanged glances. His face, the way he flew, was calculated and guarded when he should have been on the offensive. There was the steely resolve of a soldier on both parts, but with a stroke of disgust she knew his heart wasn’t in it.
He was about to fall into another barrel roll - the German planes were too fast for their own good, when air supremacy meant getting behind your opponent. She had him in her sights. She fingered the trigger, tasting blood, smoke, and fired.
Germany’s plane angled away from her shot, but the layer of cloud cover they cut into in the same moment made him misjudge the needed distance. His maneuvering wasn’t enough. There was a deceptively mundane sound, almost like the amplified tone of a coin dropped on tin. She’d made a hit, presumably along the wing, but the clouds were too thick for her to judge for sure. Certainly it had not been enough to take him out of the battle.
She shifted, pulling right and then back, needing to climb. Gaining altitude, she came out above the line of camouflaging grey, surveying the conflict that had drifted slightly south. He was somewhere below. She could still feel that thrum that beat nation into her pulse.
And then she caught a hint of red through the grey and a brief moment of triumph was instantaneously spurned into caution by instinct. The plane beneath her was unmarred, and Germany’s had been---
Without taking time to consider it, she dived.
Beside her, though the film of clouds, Germany rose.
All it took was a small movement of her hand, not any different than the twist necessary to tie her brother’s scarf, not any different than the curve of her fingers as she lifted a cup of her sister’s tea, and the slope of her wings changed direction and bit into the side of Germany’s plane.
The sound that followed was a far cry from that coin dropped on tin. It was a screech, all in the same second that her eyes locked with the blue of Germany’s. She was watching when a spattering of blood flecked across his face.
Resolutely, Belarus wrenched her stare from his and faced forward to focus her attention on the danger still presented by the turmoil of planes below. It wouldn’t be crashing so much as gliding, but she would not be able to remain airborne long.
She needed to land, and she was out of this fight, but Germany was going need a parachute.
Authors: qualapec and ghostofthemotif
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: PG-13 for WWII dogfights and war imagery
Summary: Belarus was fighting for her life, for the lives of her sister and brother. War may have weakened her body, but her reflexes were sharpened and laid iron over her core. - Belarus in a WWII dogfight with Germany.
Notes: Written as a collaborative project for the halfamoon community challenge, celebrating the women of fandom.
Belarus knew through the sound of guns, engines, the percussion of bombs and the silence as planes deadened, dropping from the sky. She knew that he was there.
They always knew when their own kind was on the battlefield with them. There was some force, perhaps the same higher power that claimed their bodies in the first place, that drew them to each other through smoke and gutter mud. She snarled as she caught sight of a silver glint over her head, the sound of a German engine thundering in her chest and the twinge of shared magic, long forgotten by the younger nations.
She banked left, drawing them away from the heat of the clash.
Her instincts had been right. Seconds later he barrel rolled, slowing his speed and falling after her.
Clinically speaking, he was a brilliant pilot, and she knew the Soviet planes were disadvantaged in combat capability - especially speed.
Germany fought for luxury, for breathing room.
Belarus was fighting for her life, for the lives of her sister and brother. War may have weakened her body, but her reflexes were sharpened and laid iron over her core. The fierce solitude with which she fought was her element - days of knitting, embroidery, and humming along with Ukraine’s soft voice while she braided her hair were far behind, lost in the fray… and in that moment, she would not have it any other way.
She narrowed her eyes as his plane sped by to her right, almost locking wings. There was a moment of exchanged glances. His face, the way he flew, was calculated and guarded when he should have been on the offensive. There was the steely resolve of a soldier on both parts, but with a stroke of disgust she knew his heart wasn’t in it.
He was about to fall into another barrel roll - the German planes were too fast for their own good, when air supremacy meant getting behind your opponent. She had him in her sights. She fingered the trigger, tasting blood, smoke, and fired.
Germany’s plane angled away from her shot, but the layer of cloud cover they cut into in the same moment made him misjudge the needed distance. His maneuvering wasn’t enough. There was a deceptively mundane sound, almost like the amplified tone of a coin dropped on tin. She’d made a hit, presumably along the wing, but the clouds were too thick for her to judge for sure. Certainly it had not been enough to take him out of the battle.
She shifted, pulling right and then back, needing to climb. Gaining altitude, she came out above the line of camouflaging grey, surveying the conflict that had drifted slightly south. He was somewhere below. She could still feel that thrum that beat nation into her pulse.
And then she caught a hint of red through the grey and a brief moment of triumph was instantaneously spurned into caution by instinct. The plane beneath her was unmarred, and Germany’s had been---
Without taking time to consider it, she dived.
Beside her, though the film of clouds, Germany rose.
All it took was a small movement of her hand, not any different than the twist necessary to tie her brother’s scarf, not any different than the curve of her fingers as she lifted a cup of her sister’s tea, and the slope of her wings changed direction and bit into the side of Germany’s plane.
The sound that followed was a far cry from that coin dropped on tin. It was a screech, all in the same second that her eyes locked with the blue of Germany’s. She was watching when a spattering of blood flecked across his face.
Resolutely, Belarus wrenched her stare from his and faced forward to focus her attention on the danger still presented by the turmoil of planes below. It wouldn’t be crashing so much as gliding, but she would not be able to remain airborne long.
She needed to land, and she was out of this fight, but Germany was going need a parachute.