World of Kindling
Title: World of Kindling
Author: pyrrhiccomedy
Rating: PG-13
Characters: America, England.
Premise: 1939-1941: World War 2 is one party America feels like he can safely skip. America and England's relationship improves, but not without tension, as England faces the growing threat of Germany.
Washington DC. March 1939.
"This is nice. I like this."
"It is, isn't it?"
"It's, you know, it's civilized."
"That's just the word for it."
"No shouting, no name-calling, no flying furniture--"
"Most of that was you," England pointed out.
"Sure, but you deserved it."
England smiled over the top of his sandwich and crossed his legs. "Although you'll never hear me admit it."
America smiled back. The curtain at his shoulder breathed out over the breakfast table and spilled warm spring air over them from the wide, sun-bright lawn outside. He took a sip of coffee. "But, you were telling me about Germany?"
"Right." England looked out the window. "You heard about all that business with Austria last year, didn't you?"
"They moved in together, or something?" America hitched his ankle up onto his knee.
"That would be a polite way of putting it."
"Hey, you know me. I'm full of polite."
"You're certainly full of something," England agreed. He gently set his cup down in its cradle. He was drinking orange juice. "Well, he's invaded Czechoslovakia, now."
"It seems like this kind of thing happens a lot."
"To be honest, he has us all a bit worried."
"Is there just something in the water over there, that makes you guys every so often go 'fuck it, let's have a rumble?'"
"There may well be," England replied with half-hearted humor. "In any case, we all hope it will come to nothing."
America reached over his plate for another muffin. "Definitely. Good luck with that."
---
London. August, 1939.
"England! It's me! I'm here for lunch like we said, are you--oh, hi, who're you?" America blinked when the door opened.
Poland gave him a wary look. He flicked his hair out of his eyes. "We were totally in the middle of something. You didn't have to, like, yell."
America frowned. "Well, excuse me, princess."
"What did you just call me?"
"Wow, touchy, much? I'm just here to have lunch with England."
"I know, we like, heard you all the way from the office--"
"What are you even doing here, anyway--"
"All right, America, stand down." England wandered out from the living room. "Poland was just here signing a mutual defense treaty with me. America, this is Poland. Please don't mind him, he's never very polite with newcomers."
"Um, excuse me, but he totally started it--"
"--And Poland, this is America. You'll have to forgive him, he's an idiot," England finished.
"You're such a diplomat," America groused.
"One does one's best," England demurred. America and Poland shared an eyeroll, their momentary antipathy already forgotten. "Poland, I wanted to ask if you felt like joining us. It's just a little ritual of ours, you wouldn't be intruding."
Poland edged around America so that he stood in the door. "Um, that's way cool of you and everything, but I'll, like, pass. I have preparations, and shit. You know."
"Of course. Well. Look after yourself, then." England scratched the side of his nose.
"Yeah," Poland replied, and trotted away down the steps.
America watched him go. "Kind of a weird guy," he proposed.
England sighed. "He's had a lot on his mind."
"What's he preparing for, anyway?"
A hesitation. "War with Germany."
America nudged the door shut with his hip. "You guys are going to war with Germany?"
"Not if we can avoid it. But at this point…" he spread his hands.
"Huh. Well, that sucks."
"Indeed." Then, "You know, Germany and Russia have gotten quite cozy." He gave America a sharp look. "Is that going to present a problem?"
"…I'm not following you."
"I…if, through some unfortunate chain of alliances, I manage to find myself at war with Russia--would you be willing to fight--"
"Whoa, hey, hold on, stop right there." America held up his hands. "I'm not fighting anybody."
England sank back on his heels, at a loss. "But…I was under the impression--"
America shook his head. "Look, I'm glad we're getting along better these days, and everything, but I'm not touching another one of your big, European, 'bring your friends' wars, like you're throwing a neighborhood potluck or something. I let you drag me into the last one, and that was a mistake. This time you're on your own."
An awkward silence fell between them and lay twitching on the floor.
"Why don't we just have lunch," England proposed.
"Tiny sandwiches make everything better," America agreed. Then added, "But for the record, fighting Russia wouldn't be a problem. I don't give a damn about Russia anymore."
England couldn't resist. "I'm glad to hear it."
---
Washington DC. October, 1939.
"So, it's a war." America had on a 'why am I not surprised' tone of voice.
England replied gravely, "It is most definitely a war."
"You guys," was all America had to say about that. He seized the spreading knife and slathered marmalade over his biscuits.
England watched his work with a tight expression. "I don't know what other outcome you feel there should have been. In the face of German belligerence--"
"Yeah, but everybody's belligerent in your part of the world," America dismissed, and waved the gooey knife. "I know for a fact that 'English belligerence' has started more than a few throw-downs."
England snatched up his fruit salad. "I don't know how that could have any bearing on the current crisis."
"It doesn't, I'm just saying--this is how you do business over there, isn't it?" America looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "Hey, what happened with that weird blond kid with the speech impediment, anyway?"
England's mouth snapped shut, and he looked away.
"…Oh." The butter knife slumped in America's hand. "That's a shame."
"And Lithuania has been occupied," England cast out into the conversational waters between them.
America lowered his biscuit from his mouth. "What, by Germany?"
"No--by Russia."
America's lips thinned. "Oh."
"You and Lithuania were friends, weren't you?"
"Still are." He grimaced over a bite.
"Well, then--"
"Not my problem, England."
"Yes," England sighed, "Of course."
---
London. May, 1940.
America sat up, threw down his napkin, and peered out the wide bay window. "What is that fucking racket coming from next door?"
"France is being invaded." England gripped his fork a bit too tightly.
America stared at him, then back through the neighborhood. "What, right now?"
"His defensive line failed." Delicate clinks, from silverware on porcelain. "It's all going rather badly."
"Well…shouldn't you be doing something to help? I mean, aren't you allies for this?" America stood and braced his hands against the windowsill.
Deliberately: "I am doing all that I can."
America fired him a dirty look. "Don't give me that."
"I suppose France's sovereignty is a matter of no personal interest to you at all?" England rose as well.
"This has got nothing to do with me and France. So he gets occupied for a while, it's not like it's the end of the world--" America looked a bit pale as the words came out of his mouth.
England just let that hang there for a few seconds, and then announced, "I should like to hear you say that to his face."
"You've occupied France before," America snapped. "So don't look at me like that."
"That was a very long time ago."
"This is how you do business in Europe." America jerked the curtains shut and sat down hard at the table. "Don't even try to pretend that it's not."
---
Washington DC. July, 1940.
"France lost," England said, when they ran out of other things to talk about.
America nodded and drank his coffee.
"Germany wants to negotiate a peace with me." He drummed his fingers on his knee.
"You going to take him up on it?" America wiped away a film of unsweetened black from his upper lip.
England sat up straight. "Absolutely not."
"…Well," America offered in an indistinct voice. "Good for you."
"That means Germany will most likely come for me, next."
"Do you think you're ready?"
"I had damn well better be," he answered.
A little silence, in which England didn't ask, so that America wouldn't have to refuse.
"What's Russia doing these days?" America asked abruptly.
"Hmm…? Oh, nothing in particular. Subduing Polish freedom fighters."
"I thought Germany was the one who invaded Poland."
"They both invaded Poland."
"Poor guy," America marveled.
"Something of an understatement." England bit his lip. "America…there have been some very troubling rumors coming out of the territories Germany has occupied."
America sighed. "I really don't want to hear it. This is going to turn out just like in the last war, when everybody was saying how Germany was eating Dutch babies, and stuff. It all turned out to be hysteria and propaganda."
"I'm not confident that's all there is to it, this time."
"Not my problem, England."
"You might come to regret that refrain," England murmured.
---
London. August, 1940.
"Beans on toast?" America said doubtfully.
"I am most emphatically not interested in listening to your complaints."
"No, just…I didn't realize things had gotten so bad."
"I'm obliged to respect the new rationing laws the same as everyone else," England snapped.
"If you'd said something, I could have brought lunch over…"
"Don't bother."
"Or we could have just met up at my place--I don't mind hosting--"
"I can't leave home right now."
"Oh…right…of course."
That sat at their customary table, under lamplight, at noon. A dark, heavy blanket hung over the window.
"What's the blanket for?" America ventured after a while.
"It's to make the German pilots believe that no one lives here."
"They're really just flying right into the city and…?"
"They've been doing so for the better part of a month," he spat.
"Man." America's eyes cruised across his barren plate. "I've never really been bombed before."
"I'm well aware."
America took a deep breath. "Listen--"
"Don't, don't you dare try to say something kind about all this." England threw down his fork, jaw tight with anger. "When will it become your problem? Is it really of no interest to you if all of Europe is united under a fascist tyrant? My people are starving--dying! Are you really content to do nothing?"
America wet his lips and managed, "That's not--I can't make decisions based on foreign--"
"Foreign! Let me show you what's foreign--" he knocked back his chair as he stood, and wrenched down the blanket from the window. Burning light poured over them both.
"Jesus, England, is that safe--?"
"No, it's not bloody safe! Look!" He jabbed a finger towards the window, and America looked in spite of himself. Burned out buildings--smoke, rising in a dark cloud about the city. Wreckage littered the streets of London, and every awning sheltered some huddled family. "This is foreign. This, devastation like this, in my land!"
"But--"
"And still, you don't intend to fight!"
"It's a war, for God's sake!" America shouted. "People die! Your people, France's people, it's all the same to me! It's not my job to ride in like the fucking cavalry every time you get into a jam. This war has nothing to do with me!"
They watched each other for a few seconds before England stated, "Thank you, America, you have made your position very clear."
America stood and shrugged on his jacket. "I'm not hungry anymore."
England didn't see him to the door.
---
Washington DC. March, 1941.
"I didn't think you'd come."
"Germany has withdrawn his forces. I've been able to go out again." England lingered on the porch.
"That's not really what I meant."
"…I know." They both looked at their toes. England cleared his throat. "Actually, I was just coming to tell you that I won't be buying any more guns or war materiel."
America blinked. "You're making peace with Germany after all…?"
A humorless smile. "No. It's just that I've run out of money. I simply can't afford them anymore."
America's eyes cringed shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "What the hell are you planning to fight the Nazis with, then? Bad language?"
"Heaven knows I've plenty of that."
A fragile smile made its way between them. America looked away and sighed loudly. "Look, I've been thinking, and--just take them."
"--I'm sorry?"
"The weapons, and equipment, and everything. Just take whatever you need. Don't worry about paying me back." He rubbed the back of his neck.
England blinked, and blinked again. "--Are you serious?"
America rolled his eyes towards him and scowled. "Yeah, I'm serious. I'm sending stuff to France and China, too, so it's not a big deal."
"I--have to disagree, it certainly is a big deal--you realize that this is tantamount to joining the Allies? The Axis will no longer respect your neutrality."
"Yeah. I know."
England swayed on his feet. He faltered, "If I may ask--why the change of heart?"
America swallowed and looked down. "Because I think it's right."
England started to speak, fell silent.
"I have to do what's right. That's--that's all. I can't just let bad people get away with wrecking everybody's shit, and sticking in puppet governments like they've got going in France, and--and whatever else. That's not me."
England smiled--simply, tiredly, in relief. "Under the circumstances, I'm very happy to hear it."
"Yeah. So." America shifted from foot to foot, then stood aside and held the door further open. "Did you want to come sit down for lunch…?"
England squeezed America's arm. "I would like that very much."
+++
--Too many historical references here to footnote handily. If you'd like, you can just read up on the outbreak of WW2 in Europe.
--The question of why America joined the war--or, prior to that, why America didn't join the war--is very complicated. About 80% of Americans wanted nothing to do with it. The feeling was that Europe was always engaged in territorial wars, and after the "well, that was pretty pointless" fiesta of WW1, there was tremendous resistance to spending American money and lives on a dispute that would probably just kick up again in another thirty years. The Roosevelt administration, on the other hand, was very much in favor of assisting America's economic and political friends in Europe, and American neutrality was de facto a thing of the past by March of 1941, when the US Congress passed the Lend-Lease Act. The US Navy was engaged in open naval warfare with Germany at least three months before the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Pearl Harbor was just Roosevelt's opportunity to sell the war to the American people.
--This post was pretty light on the Russia/America, wasn't it? Hang in there with us, guys, we just have a bit more character development and world scene-setting to do before the boys are thrown together again. To make it up for you, have some fun facts about Lend-Lease:
When Russia and America found themselves fighting on the same side, Roosevelt declared that the Soviet Union was eligible for Lend-Lease aid. Between June 22, 1941 and September 20, 1945, over 17 million tons of Lend-Lease cargo was shipped to the Soviet Union. Lend-Lease supplies to the Soviet Union included 14,795 aircraft, 7,537 tanks, 375,883 trucks, 345,735 tons of explosives, 2,981 locomotives and 11,155 railroad cars, over a million miles of field telephone cable, $1.312 million worth of food, 2,670,000 tons of gasoline, and 15 million pairs of boots. The Soviet Government presented awards and decorations to U.S. Army, Navy, and Merchant Marine personnel in 1944, and to nearly 200 Navy and Coast Guard personnel in 1945. (You can find these figures and more here.)
Stalin instructed his people that they should not be grateful for this assistance, despite the fact that it was instrumental to the Soviet war machine, because America, as a capitalist nation, was still inherently hostile. After the war ended, the contribution of Lend-Lease aid was downplayed in Soviet history books. This is only the four thousandth most dickish thing Stalin did while he was in power.
+++
This is a chapter from The Chosen End, a Russia/America collaboration spanning from 1780 to the present day. You can read all of the fics in this story at the Index.
Author: pyrrhiccomedy
Rating: PG-13
Characters: America, England.
Premise: 1939-1941: World War 2 is one party America feels like he can safely skip. America and England's relationship improves, but not without tension, as England faces the growing threat of Germany.
Washington DC. March 1939.
"This is nice. I like this."
"It is, isn't it?"
"It's, you know, it's civilized."
"That's just the word for it."
"No shouting, no name-calling, no flying furniture--"
"Most of that was you," England pointed out.
"Sure, but you deserved it."
England smiled over the top of his sandwich and crossed his legs. "Although you'll never hear me admit it."
America smiled back. The curtain at his shoulder breathed out over the breakfast table and spilled warm spring air over them from the wide, sun-bright lawn outside. He took a sip of coffee. "But, you were telling me about Germany?"
"Right." England looked out the window. "You heard about all that business with Austria last year, didn't you?"
"They moved in together, or something?" America hitched his ankle up onto his knee.
"That would be a polite way of putting it."
"Hey, you know me. I'm full of polite."
"You're certainly full of something," England agreed. He gently set his cup down in its cradle. He was drinking orange juice. "Well, he's invaded Czechoslovakia, now."
"It seems like this kind of thing happens a lot."
"To be honest, he has us all a bit worried."
"Is there just something in the water over there, that makes you guys every so often go 'fuck it, let's have a rumble?'"
"There may well be," England replied with half-hearted humor. "In any case, we all hope it will come to nothing."
America reached over his plate for another muffin. "Definitely. Good luck with that."
---
London. August, 1939.
"England! It's me! I'm here for lunch like we said, are you--oh, hi, who're you?" America blinked when the door opened.
Poland gave him a wary look. He flicked his hair out of his eyes. "We were totally in the middle of something. You didn't have to, like, yell."
America frowned. "Well, excuse me, princess."
"What did you just call me?"
"Wow, touchy, much? I'm just here to have lunch with England."
"I know, we like, heard you all the way from the office--"
"What are you even doing here, anyway--"
"All right, America, stand down." England wandered out from the living room. "Poland was just here signing a mutual defense treaty with me. America, this is Poland. Please don't mind him, he's never very polite with newcomers."
"Um, excuse me, but he totally started it--"
"--And Poland, this is America. You'll have to forgive him, he's an idiot," England finished.
"You're such a diplomat," America groused.
"One does one's best," England demurred. America and Poland shared an eyeroll, their momentary antipathy already forgotten. "Poland, I wanted to ask if you felt like joining us. It's just a little ritual of ours, you wouldn't be intruding."
Poland edged around America so that he stood in the door. "Um, that's way cool of you and everything, but I'll, like, pass. I have preparations, and shit. You know."
"Of course. Well. Look after yourself, then." England scratched the side of his nose.
"Yeah," Poland replied, and trotted away down the steps.
America watched him go. "Kind of a weird guy," he proposed.
England sighed. "He's had a lot on his mind."
"What's he preparing for, anyway?"
A hesitation. "War with Germany."
America nudged the door shut with his hip. "You guys are going to war with Germany?"
"Not if we can avoid it. But at this point…" he spread his hands.
"Huh. Well, that sucks."
"Indeed." Then, "You know, Germany and Russia have gotten quite cozy." He gave America a sharp look. "Is that going to present a problem?"
"…I'm not following you."
"I…if, through some unfortunate chain of alliances, I manage to find myself at war with Russia--would you be willing to fight--"
"Whoa, hey, hold on, stop right there." America held up his hands. "I'm not fighting anybody."
England sank back on his heels, at a loss. "But…I was under the impression--"
America shook his head. "Look, I'm glad we're getting along better these days, and everything, but I'm not touching another one of your big, European, 'bring your friends' wars, like you're throwing a neighborhood potluck or something. I let you drag me into the last one, and that was a mistake. This time you're on your own."
An awkward silence fell between them and lay twitching on the floor.
"Why don't we just have lunch," England proposed.
"Tiny sandwiches make everything better," America agreed. Then added, "But for the record, fighting Russia wouldn't be a problem. I don't give a damn about Russia anymore."
England couldn't resist. "I'm glad to hear it."
---
Washington DC. October, 1939.
"So, it's a war." America had on a 'why am I not surprised' tone of voice.
England replied gravely, "It is most definitely a war."
"You guys," was all America had to say about that. He seized the spreading knife and slathered marmalade over his biscuits.
England watched his work with a tight expression. "I don't know what other outcome you feel there should have been. In the face of German belligerence--"
"Yeah, but everybody's belligerent in your part of the world," America dismissed, and waved the gooey knife. "I know for a fact that 'English belligerence' has started more than a few throw-downs."
England snatched up his fruit salad. "I don't know how that could have any bearing on the current crisis."
"It doesn't, I'm just saying--this is how you do business over there, isn't it?" America looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "Hey, what happened with that weird blond kid with the speech impediment, anyway?"
England's mouth snapped shut, and he looked away.
"…Oh." The butter knife slumped in America's hand. "That's a shame."
"And Lithuania has been occupied," England cast out into the conversational waters between them.
America lowered his biscuit from his mouth. "What, by Germany?"
"No--by Russia."
America's lips thinned. "Oh."
"You and Lithuania were friends, weren't you?"
"Still are." He grimaced over a bite.
"Well, then--"
"Not my problem, England."
"Yes," England sighed, "Of course."
---
London. May, 1940.
America sat up, threw down his napkin, and peered out the wide bay window. "What is that fucking racket coming from next door?"
"France is being invaded." England gripped his fork a bit too tightly.
America stared at him, then back through the neighborhood. "What, right now?"
"His defensive line failed." Delicate clinks, from silverware on porcelain. "It's all going rather badly."
"Well…shouldn't you be doing something to help? I mean, aren't you allies for this?" America stood and braced his hands against the windowsill.
Deliberately: "I am doing all that I can."
America fired him a dirty look. "Don't give me that."
"I suppose France's sovereignty is a matter of no personal interest to you at all?" England rose as well.
"This has got nothing to do with me and France. So he gets occupied for a while, it's not like it's the end of the world--" America looked a bit pale as the words came out of his mouth.
England just let that hang there for a few seconds, and then announced, "I should like to hear you say that to his face."
"You've occupied France before," America snapped. "So don't look at me like that."
"That was a very long time ago."
"This is how you do business in Europe." America jerked the curtains shut and sat down hard at the table. "Don't even try to pretend that it's not."
---
Washington DC. July, 1940.
"France lost," England said, when they ran out of other things to talk about.
America nodded and drank his coffee.
"Germany wants to negotiate a peace with me." He drummed his fingers on his knee.
"You going to take him up on it?" America wiped away a film of unsweetened black from his upper lip.
England sat up straight. "Absolutely not."
"…Well," America offered in an indistinct voice. "Good for you."
"That means Germany will most likely come for me, next."
"Do you think you're ready?"
"I had damn well better be," he answered.
A little silence, in which England didn't ask, so that America wouldn't have to refuse.
"What's Russia doing these days?" America asked abruptly.
"Hmm…? Oh, nothing in particular. Subduing Polish freedom fighters."
"I thought Germany was the one who invaded Poland."
"They both invaded Poland."
"Poor guy," America marveled.
"Something of an understatement." England bit his lip. "America…there have been some very troubling rumors coming out of the territories Germany has occupied."
America sighed. "I really don't want to hear it. This is going to turn out just like in the last war, when everybody was saying how Germany was eating Dutch babies, and stuff. It all turned out to be hysteria and propaganda."
"I'm not confident that's all there is to it, this time."
"Not my problem, England."
"You might come to regret that refrain," England murmured.
---
London. August, 1940.
"Beans on toast?" America said doubtfully.
"I am most emphatically not interested in listening to your complaints."
"No, just…I didn't realize things had gotten so bad."
"I'm obliged to respect the new rationing laws the same as everyone else," England snapped.
"If you'd said something, I could have brought lunch over…"
"Don't bother."
"Or we could have just met up at my place--I don't mind hosting--"
"I can't leave home right now."
"Oh…right…of course."
That sat at their customary table, under lamplight, at noon. A dark, heavy blanket hung over the window.
"What's the blanket for?" America ventured after a while.
"It's to make the German pilots believe that no one lives here."
"They're really just flying right into the city and…?"
"They've been doing so for the better part of a month," he spat.
"Man." America's eyes cruised across his barren plate. "I've never really been bombed before."
"I'm well aware."
America took a deep breath. "Listen--"
"Don't, don't you dare try to say something kind about all this." England threw down his fork, jaw tight with anger. "When will it become your problem? Is it really of no interest to you if all of Europe is united under a fascist tyrant? My people are starving--dying! Are you really content to do nothing?"
America wet his lips and managed, "That's not--I can't make decisions based on foreign--"
"Foreign! Let me show you what's foreign--" he knocked back his chair as he stood, and wrenched down the blanket from the window. Burning light poured over them both.
"Jesus, England, is that safe--?"
"No, it's not bloody safe! Look!" He jabbed a finger towards the window, and America looked in spite of himself. Burned out buildings--smoke, rising in a dark cloud about the city. Wreckage littered the streets of London, and every awning sheltered some huddled family. "This is foreign. This, devastation like this, in my land!"
"But--"
"And still, you don't intend to fight!"
"It's a war, for God's sake!" America shouted. "People die! Your people, France's people, it's all the same to me! It's not my job to ride in like the fucking cavalry every time you get into a jam. This war has nothing to do with me!"
They watched each other for a few seconds before England stated, "Thank you, America, you have made your position very clear."
America stood and shrugged on his jacket. "I'm not hungry anymore."
England didn't see him to the door.
---
Washington DC. March, 1941.
"I didn't think you'd come."
"Germany has withdrawn his forces. I've been able to go out again." England lingered on the porch.
"That's not really what I meant."
"…I know." They both looked at their toes. England cleared his throat. "Actually, I was just coming to tell you that I won't be buying any more guns or war materiel."
America blinked. "You're making peace with Germany after all…?"
A humorless smile. "No. It's just that I've run out of money. I simply can't afford them anymore."
America's eyes cringed shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "What the hell are you planning to fight the Nazis with, then? Bad language?"
"Heaven knows I've plenty of that."
A fragile smile made its way between them. America looked away and sighed loudly. "Look, I've been thinking, and--just take them."
"--I'm sorry?"
"The weapons, and equipment, and everything. Just take whatever you need. Don't worry about paying me back." He rubbed the back of his neck.
England blinked, and blinked again. "--Are you serious?"
America rolled his eyes towards him and scowled. "Yeah, I'm serious. I'm sending stuff to France and China, too, so it's not a big deal."
"I--have to disagree, it certainly is a big deal--you realize that this is tantamount to joining the Allies? The Axis will no longer respect your neutrality."
"Yeah. I know."
England swayed on his feet. He faltered, "If I may ask--why the change of heart?"
America swallowed and looked down. "Because I think it's right."
England started to speak, fell silent.
"I have to do what's right. That's--that's all. I can't just let bad people get away with wrecking everybody's shit, and sticking in puppet governments like they've got going in France, and--and whatever else. That's not me."
England smiled--simply, tiredly, in relief. "Under the circumstances, I'm very happy to hear it."
"Yeah. So." America shifted from foot to foot, then stood aside and held the door further open. "Did you want to come sit down for lunch…?"
England squeezed America's arm. "I would like that very much."
+++
--Too many historical references here to footnote handily. If you'd like, you can just read up on the outbreak of WW2 in Europe.
--The question of why America joined the war--or, prior to that, why America didn't join the war--is very complicated. About 80% of Americans wanted nothing to do with it. The feeling was that Europe was always engaged in territorial wars, and after the "well, that was pretty pointless" fiesta of WW1, there was tremendous resistance to spending American money and lives on a dispute that would probably just kick up again in another thirty years. The Roosevelt administration, on the other hand, was very much in favor of assisting America's economic and political friends in Europe, and American neutrality was de facto a thing of the past by March of 1941, when the US Congress passed the Lend-Lease Act. The US Navy was engaged in open naval warfare with Germany at least three months before the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Pearl Harbor was just Roosevelt's opportunity to sell the war to the American people.
--This post was pretty light on the Russia/America, wasn't it? Hang in there with us, guys, we just have a bit more character development and world scene-setting to do before the boys are thrown together again. To make it up for you, have some fun facts about Lend-Lease:
When Russia and America found themselves fighting on the same side, Roosevelt declared that the Soviet Union was eligible for Lend-Lease aid. Between June 22, 1941 and September 20, 1945, over 17 million tons of Lend-Lease cargo was shipped to the Soviet Union. Lend-Lease supplies to the Soviet Union included 14,795 aircraft, 7,537 tanks, 375,883 trucks, 345,735 tons of explosives, 2,981 locomotives and 11,155 railroad cars, over a million miles of field telephone cable, $1.312 million worth of food, 2,670,000 tons of gasoline, and 15 million pairs of boots. The Soviet Government presented awards and decorations to U.S. Army, Navy, and Merchant Marine personnel in 1944, and to nearly 200 Navy and Coast Guard personnel in 1945. (You can find these figures and more here.)
Stalin instructed his people that they should not be grateful for this assistance, despite the fact that it was instrumental to the Soviet war machine, because America, as a capitalist nation, was still inherently hostile. After the war ended, the contribution of Lend-Lease aid was downplayed in Soviet history books. This is only the four thousandth most dickish thing Stalin did while he was in power.
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This is a chapter from The Chosen End, a Russia/America collaboration spanning from 1780 to the present day. You can read all of the fics in this story at the Index.