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“Shit,” Prussia said, as the plane spiralled down toward earth. At least he had the satisfaction of shooting down his opponent too.
Prussia woke up again on the unforgiving ground surrounded by the burned out ruin of his plane. It was still a little on fire. He double checked that his gunner was dead, even though there was no way he could have survived the crash.
Aviation was one of the more “fun” parts of the Great War, but it got tiring, after a while, knowing that every one of your screw-ups resulted in the death of your human crewmate. Prussia was not used to screwing up, but there was no room in the air for perfection. Skill was what kept you up there at all, only luck could keep you alive.
Prussia stood to start on the long trek back to camp, when a movement caught his eye from the allied crash.
There was no way that anyone could have survived the crash, and even less chance that whoever it was would make it all the way to the nearest Red Cross. But, well, miracles did happen. Prussia did not want to drag some mostly dead enemy stranger all the way back to the nearest Red cross. But he knew it was the Right Thing to Do. Prussia walked over to the wreckage of the other plane and found the enemy pilot sitting up.
His heart dropped down to his stomach.
“America?” he said.
“Nope,” said the other man, standing up, and Prussia saw that it wasn’t.
“Oh,” he said, relief filling him, “You’re that colony. You burnt down the whitehouse.”
The man (Canada was his name) blinked, surprised at being recognized, “Um, yeah,” he said, “That was me. And you’re Prussia?”
“Got it in one,” Prussia said.
“So what now,” Canada asked, “Do we fight to the death? I didn’t bring any dueling pistols.”
Prussia laughed, “Nah,” he said, “We already did the fighting to the death part. Now we just head back towards our respective bases. Which are both on the other side of the river, so I guess we’ll have to walk together to the ford.”
“Lead the way,” said Canada.
“You know,” Prussia said as they headed off, “That was some pretty fancy flying you were doing up there, kid.”
“Thanks,” Canada said, “You weren’t half bad yourself,”
“Thank you,” Prussia said, “I’m a New Physical Type, apparently. Although you aren’t,” he added, looking the colony up and down, but mostly up, “What are you? Half bear?”
“Well,” Canada said, “I was raised by polar bears.”
“What the fuck, seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“That’s fucke-- That’s awesome ,” Prussia course corrected, because it was, in fact, badass as hell, but also because given everything, now was not the time to criticize France’s parenting. But still, Prussia had known France wasn’t exactly winning any father of the year awards but raised by bears, holy shit!
Canada shrugged, “It wasn’t as exciting as it sounds,” he said, “Involved a lot of hibernating.”
“Sounds peaceful,” Prussia said.
“Ah, the good old days,” said Canada.
A bird flew from a nearby tree, and Prussia watched its course approvingly. Oh, to be a bird, free in the wind. Or a polar bear, for that matter. Or any fucking thing that wasn’t a fucking human/nation in the fucking war.
“You know,” Canada said, after they’d walked for a few moments in silence “It wouldn’t have been the end of the world for you if I had been the US. There’s plenty of his people fighting for the allies already, he could come over if he wanted to.”
“Yeah,” said Prussia, “But he doesn’t want to. Did he send you his “War Sucks, Fuck You” booklist?”
“He sent you a booklist?”
“Me and your old man, maybe France, too, it was a very universal “Fuck You”. I guess he figured it wasn’t your fault you’re a colony.”
“Now you mention it, I do remember England ranting about Twain a while back. How did you like A Connecticut Yanky in King Arthur’s Court?”
“Funny, and completely irreverent, of course,” Prussia said, “Not at all historically accurate, but overall, enjoyable. And we all would have been better off if we had internalized the “Modern warfare is awful and pointless too” message at the end, but it wasn’t like I could uninvade Belgium.”
“So you don’t think it’s an “insult to the noble history and tradition of knighthood”?”
Prussia snorted, “I was a medieval knight,” he said, “We sucked. I can see why England hated it, though. He’s very up his own ass.”
“Mmm,” Canada said, which Prussia took to mean, “You’re right, but you shouldn’t be allowed to say it.”
“You’re surprisingly not awful,” Canada said.
“Thanks,” Prussia said, “You’re surprisingly not boring.”
“I take it back,” said Canada, “Why did you come over to my plane anyway? Plan to loot my corpse?”
“No!” Prussia said. Canada raised an eyebrow.
“If you really need to know, I saw something moving, and came over to drag your miraculously still kicking carcass to the Red Cross.”
“Huh,” Canada said, “I guess chivalry really isn’t dead, then.”
Prussia rolled his eyes, “You would have done the same,” he said.
“True,” said Canada, “But then, I’m a lot taller than you are.”
Prussia did not dignify that with an answer.
They reached the ford and cursed their way across the river together (Canada, Prussia was interested to note, cursed mostly in French).
“So, I guess we part ways,” Canada said.
“Yep, I’ll see you around, kid,” said Prussia.
“See ya.”
And they walked off in opposite directions.