war to end all wars (1/3)
anonymous
February 7 2010, 02:47:31 UTC
Green eyes once spanning the trench closed for a moment, with no guns ringing in the May 1915 sky. Beside him, his men shuffled around and murmured among themselves. Some loaded their guns and capped their bayonets; others ate the poor food they got; the rest were either staring like corpses at the enemy’s side or out across the plane, or in the air for any sign of relief. None had come. None would come.
Optics opened once more and Arthur gave a quiet sigh, adjusting his helmet and his spot. Where he sat had an imprinting in the dirt; it was his spot and his spot alone. He was the one his men turned to for counsel or help. It made sense; he was their Nation and they were his men. They were fighting for the safety and future of Great Britain and its allies, and also for the future of Europe. But this so-called fighting was nothing but a push-push back tactic with no real relevance or aid to the fight.
And being in no-man’s land was wearing Arthur thin.
He glanced to his soldiers and noticed a messenger sprinting towards the trench with the determination of a wolf going in for the kill. Shots rang out from the enemy lines and bullets skidded across the dirty. Men ducked and covered and Arthur had no choice but to do so as well, but he kept an eye on the running soldier. He hopped to the left, leapt to the right, and finally, barely missing a bullet that ricocheted off his helmet, skidded into the trench on his stomach.
In an instant he was swarmed with soldiers asking when reinforcements and supplies would be coming. He didn’t seem to know, but had a frantic look on his face, excitement shining along with something England hadn’t seen in weeks or months: some hope.
The brunette boy, covered in dirt, called out, “Where’s Captain Kirkland? I need to find him!” The soldiers quieted their talking and parted like the Red Sea for the soldier to pass through, a passage leading to England, who sat back up and looked to the boy. “Sir?”
Nodding, England saw him salute and returned the gesture. “Right here, lad. And who are you?”
“Corporal James Smithston, sir. I’ve been asked to pass a message along to you.”
Arthur nodded again. “Alright. I’m assuming from your commanding officer?”
“Well…” James rubbed his neck and glanced to the side as if he were nervous. “Yes and no. He wanted me to tell you, but he got the order from his higher ups all the way to the top, sir. This message is also from Prime Minister Asquith himself.”
The soldiers in England’s unit began to murmur among themselves. They all knew their leader’s identity. Even England’s higher-ups did, and, often, they treated him like he was their higher up instead of the other way around. That didn’t matter, though. For Herbert to get involved, this must have been very serious. Looking James in the face, England waited for him to speak.
Smithston shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t get it myself, sir, because I’ve never really heard of it, but people are saying that…” All eyes were on him. He felt stupid for not fully understanding the statement or how big it would be. England waited with baited breath.
“All I was told is this: ‘The Lusitania is lost.’”
And that was when England knew America’s neutrality was beginning to break.
Re: war to end all wars (2/3)
anonymous
February 7 2010, 02:48:28 UTC
It had been almost two years since then.
And England wasn’t sure why he was reminiscing about that day in the trenches. He had been in and out of the fighting for some time, and this was one of those ‘out’ moments. In fact, he was sitting in Herbert’s office with him, waiting for him and some other men to return. His eyes scanned the window to the outside, looking over a few streets of his country. Then he stared around the office and wondered if America was sitting in the White House at that very same moment.
Bah. He didn’t care.
The last time he saw the boy was when Wilson and Asquith met up and had a meeting. Unlike years in the past, the two representatives weren’t bitter towards one another. The Great Rapprochement in the late nineteenth century had granted them the gift of seeing eye-to-eye - most of the time. England still had a vendetta against America and the grudge wouldn’t fade for another thirty years, although America seemed perfectly eager to become close to England again. Arthur still wanted to hit Alfred every time he teased the older Nation, but Alfred never meant to do much harm. They had an odd relationship, one that in a few decades would be stronger than ever.
Alright, so perhaps he did care. Slightly. For the moment, though, England couldn’t see anything like that with America. His eyes closed as his cheek leaned on his fist, but he opened his eyes soon after when the door opened. The figures coming into the room seemed nervous but excited, like this was a pot of gold. England leaned away from his chair slightly and opened his mouth to speak, but someone roughly handed him a note. “Read it,” he said.
England was a bit wary at first. It was just a stupid letter. But he wouldn’t have been called to the scene if it wasn’t important. As he opened it, he scanned the letters within with no interest at first. But his eyes slowly widened and he leaned forward in anxiety as he read it all over again in doubt. “Who - who received this?”
“Room 40. Hall is planning on revealing the note in a few days.” England looked up at Asquith, who leaned against the wall. “We received it in January, and it’s finally been uncoded.” England stared at the note again and moved to hand it back to his Prime Minister. However, he shook his head and held up a hand. “Arthur,” he spoke with a quiet tone, “Hall would like you to accompany him so you may explain it to Alfred.”
He planned to reject the idea. He planned to say that he was busy or he had plans or he just flat out refused to talk to the American about this. But without skipping a beat, England nodded in agreement.
The date was set for February 19th, 1917. And in April of the same year, an outraged America declared war on Germany.
Re: war to end all wars (3/4)
anonymous
February 7 2010, 02:49:40 UTC
(oops. turning out to be four. orz)
Standing in the waiting room outside of the meeting hall, England fiddled with his tie. He scowled and stared down at the rubrum rug under his feet and ignored the people passing by. He had already greeted them all. Now all there was to do was wait for him to arrive.
It was an odd feeling. He wasn’t exactly nervous, but he wasn’t sure what he would do. Would America turn and walk out on his declaration? Would they join forces? That was the plan, at least, and the meeting had been arranged for England and America to talk with their leaders and find out the next course of action. Arthur never thought that they would be there, especially with how the war was turning out.
The door opened and in with a small gust of wind came Woodrow Wilson and Alfred F. Jones.
Instead of the silly smile on his face, the latter had a neutral, almost calm, expression. He turned and greeted a few of England’s notable figures and smiled at them, nodding and talking about something. But he looked tired. He also looked like he might have been crying, but maybe it was just England’s eyes playing a trick on him. He was already in his uniform, but England wasn’t sure which branch he would help in. He would probably go to the trenches, just like his boys, since that was thought to be the most ‘effective’ way to get back at the Germans.
The blue eyes of Alfred looked and met with Arthur’s green eyes, and a wild grin came to America’s face. England wasn’t sure what to make of it. He only knew that he was a bit taken back and his cheeks warmed slightly as America strode over. There was confidence in his stride and strength in his step, strength that seemed to grow with every fight and every battle. The two of them would soon see how strong the young Nation would become in the next decades.
Before he was even stopped, England folded his arms and was already putting up his defenses. “You’re rather late,” he spoke with a sarcastic tone.
America glanced up at a nearby grandfather clock, obviously oblivious to the joke. “Nu-uh,” he protested, pointing at the hands. “It’s three thirty, and - ” Then he blinked and laughed, catching on. “Oh, haha! I get it. You’re hilarious.” He saw England roll his eyes and he put his hands on his hips, a smile tugging to his lips. “Well, I’m here!” he said.
“As I can see.”
“Gee, what’s crawled up your ass and died?”
England would have snapped back that trench warfare wasn’t exactly pleasant, even when the fighting wasn’t happening, but someone called America and England over for a meeting. The man closed the door and America nodded to him as he left. “Well, I doubt Wilson is gonna wanna wait for us,” he commented as he gestured for the two of them to head over to the meeting room. “Come on! Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Wait,” England protested as America began to leave. He turned around and raised a brow, and England frowned. Why he was even asking was beyond him. He didn’t really care, did he? “Are you … are you alright?” he asked. The boy had been spared an attack on his soil, but England knew the pain of innocent people dying. He also knew how protective he was of his states, especially of Texas. He watched as America’s face fell slightly.
Quietly, Alfred scoffed. “Please, England. I’m fine.” As he turned back around, he paused, then glanced over his shoulder, and finally turned around to face England again. His small smile was sad, like mustering it was painful, and England noticed that America’s eyes were not only red like he first believed, but he looked tired as well, like he hadn’t really slept well in some time. He struggled with his words. “… Truth is, I don’t know what I am. I can’t say that when my boys and I get there that we’ll go on some killing rampage.”
“You’d better not hesitate when it counts,” England unintentionally snapped.
“I won’t, I won’t,” America sighed. “I just … don’t really know what I’m doing. The whole world has never really fought, right?” He saw England shake his head.
Re: war to end all wars (3/4)
anonymous
February 7 2010, 02:51:23 UTC
America glanced at the door with a frown. He was upset. He wanted to find Germany and punch him in his blue-eyed face one hundred twenty eight times, once for every person who died on the ocean liner two years ago. He wanted to punch him for trying to bribe Mexico with the telegram. He might even ruffle up Mexico a little bit. But going in and slaughtering Germans? Not what he had in mind, especially in unknown territory.
England stepped forward and stood at America’s side now, staring at the door as well. “It took you bloody long enough to get here,” he commented. “You’d better not be contemplating running away.”
“I’m not!” he cried, almost offended. He looked at the door again, and a small smile came to his face. “We’re gonna win this one, England,” he spoke, glancing to the man beside him. “You and me. I can feel it.”
Uncertainty clouded England’s emerald hues, but he nodded anyway. “If you say so.”
“I know so.”
His almost naïve confidence was an unexpected breath of fresh air for England. He had been tired. His men had been tired. And finally, this young fool was joining in the fight. Americans were outraged at the boat’s loss, and England knew his own people were as well. It was ironic, that a ship connecting an English city with an American city had sunk, yet England felt the connection of the UK and the US slowly getting stronger.
He, too, smiled slightly, albeit wearily. The fighting had been bloody and tiresome and England had begun thinking that no help would arrive, that America was truly, as Wilson had said, too proud to fight. But maybe fate was on their side, and maybe they truly would win the Great War. That would certainly be a nice thought.
“Well,” Arthur asked, “shall we?”
“Duh!”
The two walked towards the door and as they opened it, America grinned down at the shorter man coyly. “I’m kinda like a hero here, aren’t I? Maybe you should call me that from now on: America, the Hero!”
England hit America’s shoulder with an eyeroll. “Git.”
But in the darkest part of his heart, England couldn’t help but agree. This boy, this young, independent, strong, foolish Nation was the one who was relieving his men, relieving his country, relieving him. Although he wouldn't give America the pleasantry of admitting that, he watched as the boy entered the room and smiled to himself.
Optics opened once more and Arthur gave a quiet sigh, adjusting his helmet and his spot. Where he sat had an imprinting in the dirt; it was his spot and his spot alone. He was the one his men turned to for counsel or help. It made sense; he was their Nation and they were his men. They were fighting for the safety and future of Great Britain and its allies, and also for the future of Europe. But this so-called fighting was nothing but a push-push back tactic with no real relevance or aid to the fight.
And being in no-man’s land was wearing Arthur thin.
He glanced to his soldiers and noticed a messenger sprinting towards the trench with the determination of a wolf going in for the kill. Shots rang out from the enemy lines and bullets skidded across the dirty. Men ducked and covered and Arthur had no choice but to do so as well, but he kept an eye on the running soldier. He hopped to the left, leapt to the right, and finally, barely missing a bullet that ricocheted off his helmet, skidded into the trench on his stomach.
In an instant he was swarmed with soldiers asking when reinforcements and supplies would be coming. He didn’t seem to know, but had a frantic look on his face, excitement shining along with something England hadn’t seen in weeks or months: some hope.
The brunette boy, covered in dirt, called out, “Where’s Captain Kirkland? I need to find him!” The soldiers quieted their talking and parted like the Red Sea for the soldier to pass through, a passage leading to England, who sat back up and looked to the boy. “Sir?”
Nodding, England saw him salute and returned the gesture. “Right here, lad. And who are you?”
“Corporal James Smithston, sir. I’ve been asked to pass a message along to you.”
Arthur nodded again. “Alright. I’m assuming from your commanding officer?”
“Well…” James rubbed his neck and glanced to the side as if he were nervous. “Yes and no. He wanted me to tell you, but he got the order from his higher ups all the way to the top, sir. This message is also from Prime Minister Asquith himself.”
The soldiers in England’s unit began to murmur among themselves. They all knew their leader’s identity. Even England’s higher-ups did, and, often, they treated him like he was their higher up instead of the other way around. That didn’t matter, though. For Herbert to get involved, this must have been very serious. Looking James in the face, England waited for him to speak.
Smithston shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t get it myself, sir, because I’ve never really heard of it, but people are saying that…” All eyes were on him. He felt stupid for not fully understanding the statement or how big it would be. England waited with baited breath.
“All I was told is this: ‘The Lusitania is lost.’”
And that was when England knew America’s neutrality was beginning to break.
Reply
It had been almost two years since then.
And England wasn’t sure why he was reminiscing about that day in the trenches. He had been in and out of the fighting for some time, and this was one of those ‘out’ moments. In fact, he was sitting in Herbert’s office with him, waiting for him and some other men to return. His eyes scanned the window to the outside, looking over a few streets of his country. Then he stared around the office and wondered if America was sitting in the White House at that very same moment.
Bah. He didn’t care.
The last time he saw the boy was when Wilson and Asquith met up and had a meeting. Unlike years in the past, the two representatives weren’t bitter towards one another. The Great Rapprochement in the late nineteenth century had granted them the gift of seeing eye-to-eye - most of the time. England still had a vendetta against America and the grudge wouldn’t fade for another thirty years, although America seemed perfectly eager to become close to England again. Arthur still wanted to hit Alfred every time he teased the older Nation, but Alfred never meant to do much harm. They had an odd relationship, one that in a few decades would be stronger than ever.
Alright, so perhaps he did care. Slightly. For the moment, though, England couldn’t see anything like that with America. His eyes closed as his cheek leaned on his fist, but he opened his eyes soon after when the door opened. The figures coming into the room seemed nervous but excited, like this was a pot of gold. England leaned away from his chair slightly and opened his mouth to speak, but someone roughly handed him a note. “Read it,” he said.
England was a bit wary at first. It was just a stupid letter. But he wouldn’t have been called to the scene if it wasn’t important. As he opened it, he scanned the letters within with no interest at first. But his eyes slowly widened and he leaned forward in anxiety as he read it all over again in doubt. “Who - who received this?”
“Room 40. Hall is planning on revealing the note in a few days.” England looked up at Asquith, who leaned against the wall. “We received it in January, and it’s finally been uncoded.” England stared at the note again and moved to hand it back to his Prime Minister. However, he shook his head and held up a hand. “Arthur,” he spoke with a quiet tone, “Hall would like you to accompany him so you may explain it to Alfred.”
He planned to reject the idea. He planned to say that he was busy or he had plans or he just flat out refused to talk to the American about this. But without skipping a beat, England nodded in agreement.
The date was set for February 19th, 1917.
And in April of the same year, an outraged America declared war on Germany.
Reply
Standing in the waiting room outside of the meeting hall, England fiddled with his tie. He scowled and stared down at the rubrum rug under his feet and ignored the people passing by. He had already greeted them all. Now all there was to do was wait for him to arrive.
It was an odd feeling. He wasn’t exactly nervous, but he wasn’t sure what he would do. Would America turn and walk out on his declaration? Would they join forces? That was the plan, at least, and the meeting had been arranged for England and America to talk with their leaders and find out the next course of action. Arthur never thought that they would be there, especially with how the war was turning out.
The door opened and in with a small gust of wind came Woodrow Wilson and Alfred F. Jones.
Instead of the silly smile on his face, the latter had a neutral, almost calm, expression. He turned and greeted a few of England’s notable figures and smiled at them, nodding and talking about something. But he looked tired. He also looked like he might have been crying, but maybe it was just England’s eyes playing a trick on him. He was already in his uniform, but England wasn’t sure which branch he would help in. He would probably go to the trenches, just like his boys, since that was thought to be the most ‘effective’ way to get back at the Germans.
The blue eyes of Alfred looked and met with Arthur’s green eyes, and a wild grin came to America’s face. England wasn’t sure what to make of it. He only knew that he was a bit taken back and his cheeks warmed slightly as America strode over. There was confidence in his stride and strength in his step, strength that seemed to grow with every fight and every battle. The two of them would soon see how strong the young Nation would become in the next decades.
Before he was even stopped, England folded his arms and was already putting up his defenses. “You’re rather late,” he spoke with a sarcastic tone.
America glanced up at a nearby grandfather clock, obviously oblivious to the joke. “Nu-uh,” he protested, pointing at the hands. “It’s three thirty, and - ” Then he blinked and laughed, catching on. “Oh, haha! I get it. You’re hilarious.” He saw England roll his eyes and he put his hands on his hips, a smile tugging to his lips. “Well, I’m here!” he said.
“As I can see.”
“Gee, what’s crawled up your ass and died?”
England would have snapped back that trench warfare wasn’t exactly pleasant, even when the fighting wasn’t happening, but someone called America and England over for a meeting. The man closed the door and America nodded to him as he left. “Well, I doubt Wilson is gonna wanna wait for us,” he commented as he gestured for the two of them to head over to the meeting room. “Come on! Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Wait,” England protested as America began to leave. He turned around and raised a brow, and England frowned. Why he was even asking was beyond him. He didn’t really care, did he? “Are you … are you alright?” he asked. The boy had been spared an attack on his soil, but England knew the pain of innocent people dying. He also knew how protective he was of his states, especially of Texas. He watched as America’s face fell slightly.
Quietly, Alfred scoffed. “Please, England. I’m fine.” As he turned back around, he paused, then glanced over his shoulder, and finally turned around to face England again. His small smile was sad, like mustering it was painful, and England noticed that America’s eyes were not only red like he first believed, but he looked tired as well, like he hadn’t really slept well in some time. He struggled with his words. “… Truth is, I don’t know what I am. I can’t say that when my boys and I get there that we’ll go on some killing rampage.”
“You’d better not hesitate when it counts,” England unintentionally snapped.
“I won’t, I won’t,” America sighed. “I just … don’t really know what I’m doing. The whole world has never really fought, right?” He saw England shake his head.
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England stepped forward and stood at America’s side now, staring at the door as well. “It took you bloody long enough to get here,” he commented. “You’d better not be contemplating running away.”
“I’m not!” he cried, almost offended. He looked at the door again, and a small smile came to his face. “We’re gonna win this one, England,” he spoke, glancing to the man beside him. “You and me. I can feel it.”
Uncertainty clouded England’s emerald hues, but he nodded anyway. “If you say so.”
“I know so.”
His almost naïve confidence was an unexpected breath of fresh air for England. He had been tired. His men had been tired. And finally, this young fool was joining in the fight. Americans were outraged at the boat’s loss, and England knew his own people were as well. It was ironic, that a ship connecting an English city with an American city had sunk, yet England felt the connection of the UK and the US slowly getting stronger.
He, too, smiled slightly, albeit wearily. The fighting had been bloody and tiresome and England had begun thinking that no help would arrive, that America was truly, as Wilson had said, too proud to fight. But maybe fate was on their side, and maybe they truly would win the Great War. That would certainly be a nice thought.
“Well,” Arthur asked, “shall we?”
“Duh!”
The two walked towards the door and as they opened it, America grinned down at the shorter man coyly. “I’m kinda like a hero here, aren’t I? Maybe you should call me that from now on: America, the Hero!”
England hit America’s shoulder with an eyeroll. “Git.”
But in the darkest part of his heart, England couldn’t help but agree. This boy, this young, independent, strong, foolish Nation was the one who was relieving his men, relieving his country, relieving him. Although he wouldn't give America the pleasantry of admitting that, he watched as the boy entered the room and smiled to himself.
Yes. This would be their victory. Together.
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Thank you so much for writing this! Now I shall have a better time reading for the history test! Thank you so much! It inspired me by a lot!
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