Eight Men [fanfic]
Title: Eight Men
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: R
Characters: Finland, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Prussia, Poland, America, Russia
Genre: Dark, History, Friendship, Drama
Pairings: SuFin, DenNor, GerIta, LietPol and hinted others
Warnings: Violence, extreme sexual situations, dark themes
Summary: August 1945. While the humans debate the proper end to the Second World War in Potsdam, the nations are already in Nuremberg, trying to decide what to do with Germany, Bulgaria, and Finland. For eight of them, Allied and Axis alike, this has just been the inevitable conclusion of history.
Chapter: Seven (Part 3 of 9)
Rating: R
Characters: Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Finland, Sweden, Karelia
Warnings: Intense violence.
Summary: January 1949. The Winter War rages on and Finland must use every tool he has, or lose himself
Eight Men
Historical Notes
Kollaanjoki - One of the first steps of Soviet Russia's expansionist policies into the Baltic arena was to request that states bordering the Baltic set up army bases for the Soviet Army. Finland was the only one of the counties approached that refused to do so, and so the Soviet Union declared war on Finland in December 1939. The Winter War continued until March 1940, when both the Soviet Union and Finland declared an interim peace before resuming hostilities.
Chapter 2: That Which Is Strong
January 1940 - Kollaanjoki, Pogostantie, Finland
Finland trotted through his land, racing the waning light. The waiting and traveling was never as bad for nations, but Tino could have used some of the boring quiet that the humans experienced. His heart still pounded with the bitter excitement of his recent murder. Flashes of color and noise percolated in his brain, nothing concrete. The deaths of those poor men were just going to be another bloody finger print on the history page.
He slid to a stop on a snowy hill. Up and down the street, humans fought. For a second Finland just savored it. No. Not savored it. He did not enjoy the death and pain. But the human desperation, the striving, the belief that NO, THIS LAND IS NOT YOURS, filled his blood stream and relaxed his muscles unconsciously. He was a sovereign land. He would remain that way.
In explosions of snow and ice, Tino's position had been discovered. He thrust himself to one side, sighting on the dark coats forging through the snow. Not on his land. Rolling back his gun snapped up. Briefly he realized that his bayonet was between his teeth, and he could taste human fluid on the canvas wrapping. Then the world became about conserving bullets.
Men fell. They did not surround him, but Finnish shouts indicated that they saw their nation under fire. Tino breathed in air thick with gun smoke and thin with cold. One quiet moment. A breath. The coldness in his lungs burning though his nose. His fingers took the trigger, and dropped the first man. The second one went down, her shots flying wide.
The rest of the company converged for a second. Over a roll in the landscape, a band of his people appeared. They were in the open. A tank or aircraft could come upon them at any moment. They fell upon the Russians. Breathing sharply, Tino grinned to himself. To borrow from Germany's brother: that was awesome. He stood, holstering his weapon, and taking the bloody knife from his teeth. The metal claimed some of his lips permanently, and they stung in the freezing air.
Sparing a smile, he wished that time would stop in this triumphant moment of red and white, as the light of the westering sun glared balefully off snow. However, they had a town to win back from the Russians. Tanks had already penetrated the roads, and were pushing the men back against the lake. The group split, and ran, Tino's pair heading for the high ground of the church tower. Someone passed him a sniper rifle, which he traded for his hand gun without a moment's thought.
The airplanes in tight formation buzzed overhead, leaving bombed ruin in their wakes. The cloud of ice particles confused the group of Russians that were to the right, and they made it to the door with a burst of speed. Tino jumped up the stairs, trying not to wince as his boots struck the walls. This was not the right way to do things. He should have been in place hours ago, waiting.
Oh well, you did what you could. Finland stopped for just a second, listening at the door of the old bell tower. No one. It was one of the tallest buildings still standing. He eased his way around the door, sticking to the shadows. The small room had been built mainly for the gently swaying ropes. No one was going to be ringing the bells now, sadly.
Narrowing his purple eyes, Finland gazed upward. The great bronze shadow of the bell climbed among the green shades of the rafters. All that metal meant a greater chance of a ricochet, but he would have the vantage of two windows, and any holes he could knock in the tiles of the roof. On the other hand, the rafters were far above his head. If he could fly, maybe the decision would have been easier. However, he could not. Settling in the wooden corner, he slipped the barrel between the slats of the tall window.
Orders were to hold the street. He could do that. The other brigade was ready on the other side of the lane of ice churned muck. Shots rang out, and the Russians who the Finnish fighters had snuck past began fighting the other half of their group. In the dark blues and purple leeching everything away to gray, Tino watched, waiting for his shot.
Mostly, it was waiting. He did not really feel the cold, but the stiffness of lying concealed stole into his bones. He was a nation. He could not freeze to death. Or at least, if he did, it would not matter a few minutes later-there!
Darting from doorway to doorway, one of the Red Army's women came towards Finland's sights. Wait for it. Wait. She collapsed with no more noise than the wasps' whisper sting of the bullet. Fingers steady, Tino counted his ammunition, and pulled the slide. No one had noticed. Sad, to be ended like that in a cold street, on strange land. By a strange land. Perhaps she had been planning nothing more than going to her unit and huddling over soup for a little warmth and respite.
Biting down on his tongue, Finland banished those thoughts. An active imagination was a curse. If he was going to pass his time making up stories, couldn't they be about big shy Viking boys getting rescued from the clutches of vile monsters by unassuming heroes?
That one brought a chuckle to his lips. Sweden had been terrifying back then. So serious when the world was new and bright and young to them all. And that glare! If he had been shy back then, when children are too young to be really shy, he had hidden it so well.
The noises of battle drifted from below, as Finland waited, trying to focus his attention on the street. Three more casings joined the first one. Quiet descended, brushed with purple. For an instant, the sunset glowed brightest orange. Finland closed his eyes. No more. No more. They had held the street. Please let them have held the street. He'd take the surrounding area if he could. But just the street would be a bonus. Voices from below.
"Suomen tasavalta, kaikki on hiljaista!"
"Uusia tilauksia!"
"Eh, entä nukkua?"
"Mitä sota olet taistelevat?" [13]
Tino chuckled along with the other two at the bottom of the stairwell, as he eased his way back from his look out point. Sleep. What a beautiful concept. A dream granted to those few walking corpses out of Germany and England's horrifying novels who survived the first six weeks of endless winter. Oh god, his hands were cramping horribly, and his back felt like one frozen sheet. Crap. He hoped that his new orders did not involve a large amount of agility.
Leaning on the stone wall, for a second, he watched as the wishful thinker set up a radio. "Uusia tilauksia minulle?" [14]
With a soft laugh, the companion, lounging in the doorway stretched. "Kyllä, herra Väinämöinen. Katu on turvallinen. He tarvitsevat sinua uuteen vankilaan. Joukkue toi ryhmä Neuvostoliiton poikia ja yksi 'erityinen' ihmiset." [15]
Double crap. Tino grit his teeth. Please let the captured Soviet nation be Azerbaijan. He could reason with her. In the worst case scenario it would be Belarus. Swallowing his worry, he felt about the city for the prisoners' holding building. An old brick building that had once housed a garage was teaming with people, and-Oh, damnit. Karjala just did not leave well enough alone!
Trying to keep his smile bright for the sake of the humans, he ran into the snow covered street. Frost and tank warmed snow had warred together in the afternoon. Under the evening freezing, the cracks in the white blanket had turned into icy ridges of gray. To think, normally some industrious person would have swept the street clean in the morning, before going in and having a strong cup of coffee, and a quick piece of buttered bread. Maybe some cheese-No, Tino! It's time for-Arrghh! Watch it!
He skidded around a watch patrol. The apology hung in frozen air on a fine mist long after he had barreled by. Leveled by the numbness of the day's activities, the young guardsmen stared after their country. One laughed, high and thin. It broke into crystal shadows among the darkness of the clouded sky, where the coldest tactician on the field waited.
Finland tried to ignore this. His people knew Kenraali Talvi. They were prepared. Another, lighter angle to the nearest side street. Here it was quiet. Almost untouched. Lines of solemn brick buildings that had survived civil war and planes dropping bombs and cold marched sedately down the street. To the right an old place that Tino had once known as a brewery, and once known as a school house, and now knew as a temporary prison, waited with two guards. He came to a halt before them, saluting politely, before fixing both with his most intimidating scowl. It probably was not very good. Tino rarely practiced the expression, after all.
"Olen tästä nähdäksesi Karjalassa [16]," he began, trying to be polite. It was much better to be polite. Plus, that way he would have a more time to think about exactly how he was going to confront his county about going against his direct orders.
The guards nodded understandingly. "Älä ole huolissasi. Hän on sisältä vaalea." [17]
Oh good, Tino thought, trying not to make a face. Karjala and Berwald. One running into danger she shouldn't be in, and the other too wounded to traverse the kinds of distances that he must have to travel from the hospital to the city so quickly. What was a nation to do? His fellow lands had to do what he ordered. It was his country.
Pushing open the door, and trying to get his ideas together, Finland walked into the old garage. Dim candle lights greeted him. The windows had been boarded up, but the lights had been taken out. Either for the whole district, or something had happened to the mains. It was not as though Esti's planes would be bombing tonight.
Beyond the candles, a seething mass of humanity lurked. Most of them remained on the floor, while those who were guarding them appeared alert even after the long day. Tino let out a cold breath. It was still warmer in here than it was out there, but sleeping on the smooth concrete would be very unpleasant for these prisoners.
Without any luck, he searched for Karjala's blond curls, or the flash of her knitted cap. About to call out for her, Tino turned, and nearly ran into the wall of Berwald's chest. The sudden bump, and Finland's high strung feelings at the moment caused him to physically jump back in shock, and then stare upward. Which only gave him the opportunity to see the harsh face in candle light.
"Yearhh!" Clutching the cross at his throat, Tino willed his racing heart to subside, even as Berwald quickly shuffled back towards the shadows he had been occupying. "Sorry, sorry. You just loomed suddenly. What are you two doing here?"
The glasses titled in the firelight, as though considering the question with all the seriousness and force of law. "Was on p'trol, 'nd Ukrine 'nd 'er men were captur'd. W' hadta come here, fast. Y'doing alright?"
Tino discovered that without his knowing he was rubbing the patch of skin between nose and forehead. He pulled the hand away, distractedly pacing. "Yeah. Yeah. It's been a long day. I meant for you to stay put and heal a bit. And Karjala-,"
"B'tween th' two'f us, we han'led th'Ukraine," Berwald defended their stupid actions. "Y-Y' wandered 'round th' battlefield w'th y'shoulder shot t'Hell," the mumble thickened, "'nd a bloody unif'rm."
Finland would have shot back that he was perfectly within his right, if not for the intrusion of an old memory. The first time the phrase 'shoulder shot to Hell' had entered Berwald's lexicon had just been, well, funny. Finland snickered. "Sorry, wait, go-I was just remembering, that day Lithuania shot me, and we both looked at the hole, and I said 'I'll be darned, those silly guns can shoot straight [18],' and you said-,"
"Str't t' Hell," the elder chuckled. "Least y'r not tryin' t' tell me that y'll be fine 's long 's y' have y'r horsie."
"Midnight Violent Rose was a fantastic creature," Finland defended his choice in mortal mount seriously. "She killed more than one hundred Poles, and defended me against Lithuania himself," looking at the door, he thought of bodies, tanks and guns. War had changed so little. "Wish she was still around."
Sweden nodded, before looking at the shadows in the high empty rafters. "Y'have Hanat'mago."
That was true enough to tweak a small smile from the edges of Finland's mouth. "You said her name wrong, Su-Berwald. Anyway, you shouldn't be up and about, and Karjala should be at a hospital somewhere, and-,"
The interruption of his building rant startled Tino. Berwald rarely interrupted, but now he had done so twice in five minutes. This time at least, he merely shook his head in a definitive way. The sharp gesture was enough to at least give his smaller neighbor pause.
"Oh? You think you know better than I do what your limits are, huh?" Finland snapped when the head shake was followed by resounding silence.
A startled blink, and then the softening of the mouth that represented a grin. "W'll, yeah," relaxing into the shadowed wall, Berwald crossed his arms, giving Tino a shrewd glance through his lenses. "Y' should be inna hosp'tl. But," shadows moved in a shrug, "no time. Gonna see Yekatrina?"
Finland breathed out. Another day had flown past, hadn't it? Now was the waiting. For the next round of bombings, for the next surge. For whatever came next. The idea of sitting down and talking, even if it was to the Soviet Ukraine, seemed nice. But how could he do that when her men had burned down his villages, and killed his people? When she had violated his border? When she and Russia knew that he would never be part of their house again, and they did not tell their bosses?
He wished that he could say that this was not like the old days. He wished that he could say that there had once been a point when they were all upstanding, decent people. When nations could sit down and drink in quiet piece together, while the humans continued to mess things up for them. No. Every war had been bitter. Every fight had been serious. Tino had spent nearly fifty years hating Poland for trying to rule Sweden. The rest of the time, his feelings had been less vitriolic, but still negative. They never were just special people, who could only understand one another. They were always special people who could only understand themselves, if they were lucky. Very lucky.
For tonight, though, maybe he could make it slightly more peaceful for his humans by doing what Berwald suggested. He drew a friendly smile on his face, and was pleased that it did not hurt his cheeks. "That sounds great."
Together, the men moved from soft candlelit shadows to the brighter light of many more tapers and a few flashlights in the possession of Finnish guards. The prisoners were all sitting on the floor, mostly patching each other's wounds, or trying to get some sleep in. Tino nearly whistled. There were well over two hundred packed in here. Some were dying, of course. Before the morning, there might be as few as 180 to move.
Ukraine was easy to spot. While there were women's brigades in the Red Army (a piece of nonsense that Tino would never countenance, he was sure. Russia just shoveled solders to the front without any thought for how they might be more useful in other capacities than cannon fodder), there were none in this batch of prisoners, and Katyusha's agricultural tracts made, well, a unique noise as she moved around her men. At first Tino had assumed that she was reassuring them, but he noticed after a moment that she was sorting her soldiers. When she stopped next to one boy probably missing a lot of bits, the nation stood, and signaled. A Finn with long bright corkscrew curls nodded, and the Ukraine helped the young human hobble over to the knot of other Soviets with the worst injuries.
Striding through the ring of guards, and into the prisoner's camp, Finland made certain that his mouth was formed into a stern frown. "Karjala, what is going on here?"
Still clutching her incongruous rifle, the sweet faced girl turned her purple eyes on him, her eyebrows hooking into automatic worry lines. "Well, um, Ms. Yekatrina wanted to get her wounded some help, so I thought I'd let her tend to the badly injured ones. You know what happens to their people happens to our people." [19]
Tino had heard stories from Hungary about what was going on in Poland. The Soviets were giving far worse than they got. Why should he let them have some medical help? Really, their lives were nothing to him, and for each man that died, there was a chance that it would feed the bloody spirit that was General Winter. About to tell Karjala what he thought, Tino made the mistake of looking at the Ukraine.
One corner of her mouth jumped sadly upward, and tired eyes met his. Frowning, Finland assessed the prisoners, lit in sickly yellow and brown. It would make no great difference, really. Just for tonight. Just for men that happened to be lucky enough to be caught together with their country. Because Yekatrina was what Finland could have been once, if he had made a different choice in 1920. What he was fighting.
"Alright. Just for tonight. Tomorrow you need to be back where you belong, young lady," he told Karjala sternly.
The wry face on his charge told him he was about to get a little lecture of his own. "Isi-you've really got to see about your shoulder, you know."
That brought a chuckle from the Ukraine. "Some of my boys look better than you do, Finland."
Finland looked down at his shoulder, and then smiled ruefully. "Only some of them. Stop glaring, Berwald, I'm going to go into whatever corner you deem necessary," the old nation held up his hands in resignation.
"Saw med kit ov'r th'r," the large man jerked his thumb at a bench where a few other soldiers were resting, just out of the draft whistling through the crack under the door.
Winter was working his nasty trade, and Finland found himself faintly relieved to see that there would be candles with their potential for faint warmth near said bench. Not that he needed to be warm if his people weren't getting to enjoy the small comfort of heat, but if he wasn't stealing someone else's place at the fire, Tino didn't see why he should be cold. He headed for the bench, and patiently began to unpeel the layers of winter fighting cloth and uniform from his body.
Immediately, the reason his shoulder was showing the pink of fresh blood became clear. Puncturing the skin and muscle that was stubbornly trying to close, part of a soft nose bullet still remained. Wincing, Tino reached blindly for the so-called med kit, a wooden box with supplies put together with love from a girl hoping her best boy would use it. If Tino exerted himself a little farther, he could discover the name of that young man, and whether he was alive to return, but not tonight. The day had been too long already. He knew the answer was just going to depress him.
As he fumbled with the catch, large hands took the box from him. Silent as usual, Berwald retrieved tweezers, and two small bottles. Purple eyes riveted on the glass, as the tweezers set to their fiery, painful work. "Oh, please, Berwald! I don't need both iodine and alcohol," Tino grit his teeth against a long drawn out gasp. "Ju-ahrhg!-st p-put the iodine away, and let me drink the alcohol."
Over the large crack in his glasses Berwald gave Finland a piercing look. "Tha's dang'rous. An' disg'stin'."
"It's pure Finnish doctoring," Tino replied proudly, before gasping again, and grabbing at his friend's shoulder with his good arm, as Berwald flourished the lead rosette between triumphantly blooded tweezers.
The expression on that sharp face looked mildly pleased with itself, as Berwald placed the offending slug inside the box, and brought up the clear glass bottle, and a torn rag. It might have been a handkerchief in a previous life. Liberally dosing the rag with clear rubbing alcohol, the crouching man cleaned the rust color spreading from the wound thanks to continual bleeding, and the cloth that had kept it close to Tino's body. Even as Berwald came closer and closer to the ragged hole, twitching muscle and skin rapidly regrew until there was only a fingernail's worth of exposed wound, and Tino hissed with pain as the disinfecting solution passed over it.
"Don' tell m' it hurts mor'n w'lkin' 'round wit' th' bullet in," Berwald muttered, withdrawing the pink cloth, and reaching for the iodine, damn his Swedish thoroughness.
"I could ignore it better," Tino bit his tongue, and then smirked at an evil little idea. "Dare you to kiss it better."
If he had ever been cold, the sudden heat that his tall companion was exuding solved the problem. He started forward unconsciously, forgetting his crouching position and ended up tumbling directly between Finland's legs, hard chin slamming into one cloth covered thigh. Yelping slightly, Tino shook his head. "Or I could startle you so badly that you attack me. I suppose that's as good a way as any to avoid healing by iodine."
The blue eyes looked down in shame, and large hands levered Berwald from his uncomfortable predicament. Leaning back against dark brick, Tino sighed, watching the embarrassed nation heading to the darkest emptiest corner he could find. Sweden could be really incomprehensible at times.
Stiffly putting his undershirt back on, Tino checked, and smiled at the rapidly fading scar. No iodine for him today. Carefully, Finland repacked the box, aware that there were other people who would need the supplies. His people. Once he attended to them, he could attend to purely Tino problems, such as Berwald's bashfulness.
Following the giant man to his dark corner, Finland patted him on the back. "Sorry for startling you, eh?"
The set of his shoulders hunching around his spine declaring his nerves, the man shook his head, still staring at the wall. "S'okay. Din't r'lize. Erm. Nothin'."
He slid into an embarrassed crouch that some how seemed to concentrate his gloom. Not understanding in the slightest what was going on in that dumb blond head, Tino sighed, and did the one thing he could. Turn around, and sit down, so that they were back to back, sharing warmth through spine contact. Well, most of the warmth came from Tino's end of things. Berwald still had his scratchy wool coat on, after all.
Tossing back his head until he hit shoulder blades, the Finn grinned into the dark. "We haven't been doing a good job of talking to each other, have we?"
Silence confirmed his comment, then a small chuckle. "War's on. 'Tisn't time t'talk."
True enough. Tino sighed and relaxed. "Or joke my way out of iodine."
"Still could put some on-," Berwald commented responsibly, beginning to perk up as his innate need to protect came through.
Breaking the thought with a nervous laugh, Tino sought mittened fingers. He would hold Berwald on the floor if he had to, in order to escape well meaning iodine treatments. "Ah, no, I'm fine! See, everything is all healed!"
Grunt. Shuffle. "Can't see. 'M facin' away."
And his hands slid from under Tino's restraining grip. Strength was nothing, if a person could squirm out of that grasp, Finland thought bitterly, foreseeing iodine, no matter what he said. Warm breath settled on his shoulder, telling the nation that his friend was looking over it, peering short-sightedly in the yellow and brown candle lit shadows.
Chuckling with memories, Tino tossed his head back to look at Berwald. "Remember how you used to carry that reading stone around everywhere, so you could see far away? I remember how you wanted to keep Tanska from realizing that you were bat blind and you'd memorize things before he'd come into a room just to show off and pretend that you had better eyes than he did. Too bad he's not the type to be subtle and think that just because someone can see in one situation, and can't in another must be pretending his eyes are weaker than they really are. I think you had Norja fooled for a while, though."
The bright blue of the eyes under discussion flashed in the uncertain light, piercing the shadows of Berwald's face. "Think y'fine," he mumbled, long nose and mouth at the level of Tino's shoulder blade. Lids lowered over the blue fires, and the head tilted downward. For a moment Finland thought that Berwald was falling asleep, until the low awkward voice mumbled at the floor. "'Less y'really do want m't'kiss ya bett'r."
No joke, just Berwald's eternal embarrassment. We've done stupider on the battlefield. Six hundred and fifty years could get people to do a lot of stupid things. Finland grinned, and grasped the firm chin that was trying to help the rest of Berwald shrink in on himself like a turtle into a shell. The twisting turn that Finland needed to enjoy the summer warm mouth hurt his spine just a little, but the shaking, eager hands on his hips quickly realigned his legs. Easily Finland rose to his knees, cradling Berwald's strong jaw, melting into the other's mouth and becoming simple Tino once more. Just another man, and not a collection of rocks and lakes and snow.
They parted, staring at each other, stocky Tino ignorant of the cold warehouse in his undershirt, and Berwald too hot to care. For a moment Tino hovered on the brink of indecision. A short soviet curse broke the tension with a snap. Both heads turned to the noise, but whoever it was, they were blocked by crates, and the sharp gasp and smell suggested that the Ukraine was applying iodine, rather than the two men had been spotted.
"We could-," Tino began, but his partner just shook his head.
"Sleep's more imp'rt'nt," the tall man sighed.
True enough, now that he mentioned it. Finland felt stretched and thinned, and he would have been, well, maybe interested in staying awake a little longer, but a few hours of sleep would do him wonders. And possibly leave his reasoning intact enough to control the perverse imp in his hind brain still suggesting wakefulness in bed. "I'll get to my kit," Tino struggled upright, "did you remember to bring yours?"
A negative, ashamed grunt told Tino all that he needed to know. He shook his head, passing to the bench of medical wonders, and pulled the pack out from under his 'uniform' shirt. In the old days Sweden would never have been less than prepared-Maybe he really has changed. Six and a half centuries and you think you know someone. What's 120 years to that? Nothing. But missing the nothings, the small things,it can be everything. Finland pulled on his shirts, turning to look at the huddled Swede. Was the difference really a difference? Or maybe-maybe what he was seeing was the Berwald that had emerged from the shell of Sweden. Maybe this one understood why it was wrong to love a subjected part of his own land better than he loved himself.
If he understood that, he would be here as Sweden forcing his government to fight for Finland, or in Stockholm as Sweden, obeying his government, Finland told himself cynically, shaking the sudden shocking realization that the unchangeable might have changed.
Striding back with tightly rolled blanket, he shook it out, before looking wryly at Berwald. "One blanket and some lovely flooring for a mattress," at least it wasn't dirt this time. Now they were older, and wiser than they had been 540 years ago. To think, it really had been that long since little Finland ran with young Sweden from Denmark's house. That had been the beginning of the last Empire in the North, hadn't it? "You know," Tino commented, as they settled down together under the weight of the wool, "I was really angry at you after the civil war. I'm still angry-okay, maybe not angry, but when I think about it, I get, well, annoyed. But, well, I'm glad I was part of that. Part of your empire, I mean. It was a grand horrible old time."
For some long moments, Berwald remained quiet. Slowly the only noise was the scrape and scuff of a large wool coated body inching carefully forward in the shadow of candle flames. Arms circled around Finland, and for a second the tired land felt the press of borders on his sides. Then the giant spoke, surprisingly close to his ear.
"Y'were th' Empire."
What? Either the personification of Sweden had lived in a different world than Finland had ever known, or that was supposed to be an endearing statement of some sort? It was late, and Tino was feeling exceedingly muzzy headed under the warmth of both Berwald and the blanket. If it mattered, he'd remember this strange conversation in the morning. Trying to fathom Berwald was like trying to ask the ocean what its' intent was. It was possible to do so, but no real answer would ever be forthcoming.
For a second, Finland relaxed, his eyes closed.
The doors to the warehouse blew apart in a ringing, furious BOOM!
Tino rolled upright, reaching blindly for his rifle. Berwald leaped. From his prone embrace, he sprang, surging forward, staff in hand, defensively raised. Yards away human men crunched meatily around the hard steel of a faucet pipe, their screams echoing with a chanted laugh. There was only one such nation who would ever act out of all proportion to how nations were supposed to act.
"Oh Kitten! Where are you? What you have done to my sister is not nice, Kitten! Katyusha, Natalia holds the street."
Tino felt his mind set into steady neutral as he grabbed the German made rifle by its heavy wooden stock. He heard bursts of gunfire on the freezing air that whipped around the single room making the candles into streamers of light and pulled the fire from the wicks. The lights left green ghosts dancing through his vision, and he needed the high ground, and time to clear his sight.
The Finn guards tried to rush what looked like a single, albeit large, man. Russia laughed, and the pipe swung a deadly arc. Behind his huge beige snow coat, machine guns suddenly burst to life, taking Finns down in a bloody attack.
Katyusha struggled forward, limping slightly. "Stop your humans, brother! Mine need to leave this place-Jaugh!" The hard wood of Berwald's chosen weapon thudded into her kidneys.
A time buying mistake. Russia launched himself forward with a furious bellow. Finland leveled his rifle, waiting for his moment in the dark, as Russia closed with Berwald.
For all that he was here as just another Swedish man, the tall nation was still a nation, ancient and experienced. Wood and metal clashed. Ivan danced back, burst forward, and exploded into action, trusting to his strength and fury. Berwald held his staff with wide sweeping control, blocking, twirling, avoiding the blows leveled at him. The wind grabbed at their clothing, ripping their fair hair, growing ever colder.
Coming down with a horrifying 'whumm' the pipe struck off wood, and then bounced delightedly sideways, right into Berwald's temple. For a second, Finland felt irritation as the lumbering body blocked his shot while crumpling to the floor, and then the land bucked.
Humans in and around the warehouse may have felt an unearthly shiver in the air. The nations felt the darkness and fury of an earthquake as land far away refused to allow its personification to rebel any further.
Sweden's bloodied crown repaired the faucet dent just as his face smashed into the floor. He spasmed, in the paralyzing grip of governmental duty. All around the nations, the land raged, refusing to lose its own guardian, just as it refused to allow that guardian humanity.
Russia's grin split his wide face, and he stepped through the maelstrom of Sweden's making, reddened pipe raised. Finland took the shot. Heart blood spurted surprisingly red for an instant. Even as Russia began to topple, Tino dashed toward Sweden, switching his aim to the Ukraine. "Don't try anything, Katyusha," he growled furiously over Berwald's body.
Softly his old adversary and friend smiled. "Look behind you, Finland."
His purple eyes turned, trusting in the Ukraine's words for no good reason other than the fact that she was not built for trickery. Through the door, visible only in odd starlight, a squad of Soviets had their guns trained on him. The crackling cold of the wind carried General Winter's cruel amusement to those who were listening. The hard laugh wrapped around the dark coat and bright hair of Belarus, raising the long strands to an unearthly level, making them levitate in the cold. She wore a furious scowl.
"That was my brother," the prettiest Soviet nation breathed into the cold, before drawing a knife. "I hate you."
Steel shattered through the air, wiffling past Finland's ear. He did not bother to move out of the way. Natalya's aim had been off, and knife throwing was always-a fluttery, feminine gasp interrupted his cool thoughts. To the east, too far for a human to hear, planes droned over the land of Kajala, and dropped their explosive cargo, as gunners scrambled to defend their land.
He swung around. Karjala held herself off the ground with the assistance of a handy crate. Trying to breathe around the knife in her lung, she looked up at Finland in embarrassment. His world whirled as the young girl of a region collapsed on the crate. This never would have happened if she had maintained her proper place. If he had done his proper job as a protective guardian nation.
The next knife whirled through the air, screaming in the cold. Finland's only defense was an automatic flourish. The blade clattered from his rifle's stock, and he executed a neat slide to face Belarus once more. Slamming into his shoulder, the butt end of his rifle felt at home.
Behind him, the Ukraine, willing to talk, tired, healer, and foe tried to say something. Addressed him. In front of Finland, Belarus's intense gray eyes had locked on his throat. She was advancing. The humans in the darkness did not matter. Talking did not matter. There was no room for talk. Not now. He could negotiate later.
The single report from his rifle felled Belarus just as she crossed over her precious brother's body. And her Soviet men opened fire on an immortal spirit of land and people.
He felt the last of his injuries fix themselves about dawn. Finns and Ukrainians lay dead inside the gray brownness of the building, while a fine layer of frost had covered everything. The dim shapes speaking in Finnish told him that his people had managed to retake the area again. But they had lost the prisoners. Men could trust to nations to help them, but nations just attracted more of their supernatural kind.
Finland moved, dislodging the blanket that had been pulled over his still body. A shadow cut off light from the open door, and then something faintly warm was shoved in his face. "Y'need t'eat."
Finland gazed up through tangled bangs to see Berwald looming once more, concern warring with the pain in his features. The eastern nation blinked quietly, already feeling the losses shuddering through his body.
"Th' bombin' raid, an' S'viets took six v'llages," Berwald muttered, thrusting the circular plate into Finland's cold hands. "G't K'relia on 'er feet 'nd back home."
"Mmm," Finland looked at gluey gray something and the all important slice of bread.
Berwald remained standing in the weak morning light. "'M s'rry. Won't letit h'ppen ag'in."
Mmm. If he had done his job. Sweden collapsing under the weight of lead. If he had stopped them. Karjala taking steel to her heart.
Finland looked up at Sweden. "Go home."
The giant blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Gained that stubborn light in his eye.
Finland ignored it. "You put yourself under my command, remember? Go home. You can't fight for me. Not when I need you. Go home."
Sweden opened his mouth. His color was running high in his cheeks, and obstinacy cried out from every line. A hand snapped in his face to forestall argument. Finland felt oddly like Norway. The cold Northerner knew how to handle these conversations better than either Finland or Sweden.
So, what would Norway say to convince Sweden to back down? Hah. As though that has ever happened. Sweden never backed down. "I need all my fighters to do what I need them to do. I can't rely on you, Sweden. Either I use you up, or you go home, and I want you gone."
"Y'll be 'lone," Sweden objected weakly.
That observation caused a laugh to bubble to Finland's lips. "Oh, Berwald. Russia's everywhere. We can keep each other company until spring."
And they could. Finland had bad help, and no supplies, and he was insane to send away an indestructible soldier. But if he held on until the cold broke, maybe he could hold on until the world turned to peace once more. Maybe that would make up for the emptiness of having gotten his friend, people, and daughter killed last night.
Footnotes and Annotations
[13] - The Finnish conversation should run like this:
"Suomen tasavalta, kaikki on hiljaista!" is "Republic of Finland, all's clear!"
"Uusia tilauksia!" is "We're waiting for new orders!"
"Eh, entä nukkua?" is "What about sleep?"
"Mitä sota olet taistelevat?" is "What war are you fighting?"
[14] - 'Uusia tilauksia minulle?' is Finnish for 'Are there new orders for me?'
[15] - 'Kyllä, herra Väinämöinen. Katu on turvallinen. He tarvitsevat sinua uuteen vankilaan. Joukkue toi ryhmä Neuvostoliiton poikia ja yksi 'erityinen' ihmiset.' is Finnish for 'Yes, sir. We're holding the street, and they need you at the new jail. One of the teams brought in one of the "special" people.'
[16] - 'Olen tästä nähdäksesi Karjalassa,' is Finnish for 'I am here to see the Republic of Karelia.'
[17] - 'Älä ole huolissasi. Hän on sisältä vaalea.' is Finnish for 'Don't worry. She's with the big blond inside.'
[18] - In the 1500 and1600s guns, particularly hand guns such as would be given to light cavalry, were a 'shoot, and pray it doesn't hit something you really didn't want it to' kind of weapon. If Lithuania managed to shoot Finland it was probably because they were at point blank range, and even then, Lithuanaia was probably aiming at someone else. They were not typically considered useful weapons, but they did have explosive power and did not require the extreme training of a bow for a cavalry man simply because they were impossible even for the experts to aim properly.
[19] - Standard military prisoner law says that what everything you do to a POW may be reciprocated by the opposing side. This beautiful theory had been shot to hell by this time, as Finland reflects on the Red Army's tactics and treatment of prisoners. However, the real problems with contravening the rules of war generally were carried out by the Germans. One of the "I say, that's just not on," things that Hitler did was order all prisoners captured on German soil shot unless they were out of uniform (and thus spies) or airmen. In which case, they could count on the services of the local SS unit to break them down. This broke the POW code, and allowed for the allies to get pretty cutesy about what they were doing with thier prisoners. In another case of POW politics gone wrong, a Canadian handcuffed a rowdy German while escorting him to his new prison camp. After this incident every Canadian captured would be handcuffed on transportation, while the non-Canadians were left at nominal liberty.
~ MF
Links to Other PartsGo Back a Section: That Which Is Strong - Part Two
Go Forward a Section: That Which Is Strong - Part Four