Family Ties [Part 51]
Title: Family Ties
Characters (in this chapter): Portugal, Turkey, Germany, Belarus, America.
Rating: 15
Warnings: Violence, more gore, foreign languages.
Summary: Uh, I need to be banned from the kink meme or monsters like this happen? Essentially, Scotland leaves the UK, which gives Northern Ireland an excuse to up and out as well, which leaves England and Wales all alone. Oh yeah, and this somehow leads to World War Three.
The ocean was white foam, tossed and broken by torpedoes and mines purposefully and remotely detonated. Portugal had lost three of his fleet, over 400 lives, but they'd steamed onwards, through Turkey's hastily assembled defenses, around mines and boats alike. They hadn't expected there to be back up, last minute re-enforcements arriving from NWO, and soon every ship had another to match it, another to contend with.
Turkey and Portugal's head ships had crashed rather spectacularly into each other, thrown into place by a mine that went off too close to Turkey's side accidentally. Now the railings were locked together, and from the sound of the sirens from Turkey's ship, the whole mess was going to go down, or become a floating pile of scrap metal. The storage cupboard for hand-held personal weapons was flooded, and from the looks of things Turkey's men either hadn't been armed in the first place, or had a similar problem.
It didn't stop the navy sailors from trying to beat the living tar out of each other with their bare hands.
Turkey's haymaker was easily ducked under, the Iberian Nation delivering a blow to his ribs in retaliation. He coughed, slightly winded, but brought up his other fist in an uppercut that snapped Portugal's head back. The two stumbled apart, leaning on the railing as the deck tilted sideways in a dangerous manner.
"Just like old times, eh Jibril?" Turkey grinned, checking himself for broken bones.
Portugal spat blood off to the side. "Sim, just like old times. And just like old times, I'm afraid I'm going to have to kick your ass, Sadiq."
"If you can." The cocky air he exuded contrasted with how beaten up he appeared. There were bruises on him that Portugal hadn't inflicted. Three men in an all-out brawl stumbled past them, one of them falling overboard while the other two didn't notice, hitting the water with a splash.
"I hear Saudi Arabia's pulling out, am I right? Iran too, which means Iraq might not be far behind." The fight resumed without queue, Gabriel lunging forward with fist ready to hit Turkey right on the nose. He wasn't wearing his mask today, so it wouldn't hurt his fist. He needn't have worried though, because the former-empire caught his fist and twisted the arm behind his back.
"Yeah, they're pulling out, why's that your business?" Turkey half-growled in his ear. Throwing his head back, Portugal made his second attempt at breaking his enemy's nose a success. He was released from the other Nation's grip, dancing back again.
"Just want to know what I'm up against when I invade."
Sadiq gave him a bloody smile. "You've not gotten rusty at conquering, have you, false angel."
"Aw, is that concern for me, heathen?" The smirk spread across Portugal's face. "You should save it for someone who needs it."
-----
Planes soared overhead, hundreds of bombs being taken to enemy locations. Germany only prayed his men would get there safely, as well as return home in one piece. He was glad for the dryness of summer, because he remembered how Poland's fields could get during the winter, and he was not one to desire his boots caked in mud that dried as soon as you showed it so much as a glimmer of warmth.
He was, some would say ironically, quite worried about Poland at the moment. He hadn't managed to get any sort of contact with his Boss or with the Nation himself, which meant Russia had a stronger grip already than he'd hoped. Poland was a very strong person, and had endured Russia's torments for many hundreds of years now, but there were moments when it seemed that one more partition would break the already cracked Nation's mind entirely.
There had been a time when he hadn't spoken even Polish like some giddy school girl.
Germany had only decided to take the Eastern Front (and he wished they would stop calling it that as well) instead of Prussia because his brother had insisted on going to try and talk sense into France, which he had much better chance of achieving that Germany ever did. For all the time they spent together in the EU, France very rarely listened. He did his own thing. In the most irritatingly laid back, cocky way possible.
Which was why his brother got on with him so well.
The blonde tried not to sigh too loudly, keeping crouched in the high rye crop. To his left and right, he could hear the soft rustle that was the rest of his men, all armed to the teeth and prepared to fight the NWO invasion. Armed with counter-technology, or rather, the same technology that Russia used. They'd finally cracked the neo-silencers, and had them fully equipped on their guns.
Something ahead of them rumbled. A car. Without need for signal, the German soldiers stopped. Ludwig himself strained his ears to hear.
Voices spoke in Ukrainian. And another in Belorussian, before changing back to Ukrainian. Germany couldn't catch most of it, and his understanding of either language was bare at best, but one word grabbed his attention and held it.
Yadernyy.
Nukes.
He kept an ear open for any thing else, the name of a city or a country, whether they were talking in past tense, about what had already been dropped, or future, about where they would drop one next. Frustration boiled beneath the surface. It might have been less annoying if he had not understood anything at all.
Someone to his left stepped on something that snapped, and instantly bullets flew.
Germany ducked and rolled and scrambled to get a good shot in at the NWO soldiers, the unsettling lack of sound making him feel like he'd gone temporarily deaf. Whizzing metal was the only indication anything was happening at all, as well as swears in either language. Sneaking round to the edge of the field, he waited for the opportune moment, just as one of the NWO went down, to leap out and capture a woman in commander's uniform with long blonde hair.
No sooner as he had placed the gun barrel to the side of her head, there was a very large knife at his own.
Belarus stared up at him, cold and unwelcoming as ever.
"Privyet, Niamieččyna." she greeted him.
Germany kept his cool. He was good at at least that. "Guten Tag, Weißrussland."
The corner of her mouth twisted up into a tiny, mad smile. "I like that name, it is more like bratja's."
"Where is he?" Germany demanded. The point of the knife brushed through his hair. He tightened his finger on the trigger, and the metal clicked ominously.
The smile vanished. "You are a fool to think I would tell you."
"Well, I thought the fact I have a gun to your head would sway that."
A stalemate. A few of Germany's soldiers were checking the life signs of the other soldiers. They gave him the okay sign. All dead, huh. These guns were good.
"I will not betray him." Belarus said firmly. And she wouldn't, Germany knew.
"His plans, then?"
"Even if I knew them, I would not tell you."
This surprised the taller man. "You don't even know why he's doing this? But you're his sister."
"He... does not want to tell them to me. He fears the extent of his own love for me, and so he does not speak." she said, eyes averted sadly. 'Nice to know there's still someone that Russia's terrified of.' thought Germany. Belarus continued. "But I will follow him no matter what. I trust him."
"You could be hurt or killed."
"If it is for bratja, then I do not mind."
"You're insane."
"I'm in love."
This was getting nowhere fast. Rolling his eyes skyward and praying for a little more patience, Germany saw nothing but planes. Belarus' eyes followed them also, hatefully glaring at them, knowing their destination.
"Alright." Germany tried not to let the irritation come through in his voice. With all his practice hanging around Italy, this went quite well. "Either way, whether you tell me or not, I'm taking you back with me as a hostage."
The point of the knife made itself known again, pressing lightly against his temple. "And if I do not want to go?"
"I don't think you have much of a choice. I'll make your brother trade Poland for you."
Doubt flashed through grey-blue eyes. "He would not make that trade."
Eyebrows raised. "Really?"
"You cannot use me to endanger bratja's plans." The tiny smile returned, victorious. "I am of no value to you. Whatever happens to me will have no impact on bratja. So let me-"
Whatever she had been planning to say was cut off abruptly as she collapsed sideways. Blood blossomed from the side of her head, staining her platinum-blonde hair scarlet. She twitched, mouth working, eyes blinking spasmodically.
Germany had never touched the trigger, but he could feel the heat from the radiation from here.
-----
America's black marker crossed out Minsk, and he crushed the pang of regret.
Notes:
- Jibril is the Arabic form of the name "Gabriel". Means the same thing.
- "Just like old times": Oh boy, these two had such a rivalry in the old days of Empire. Port trying to control the med at the same time as Turkey trying to... control the med. And the Red sea, and the Indian Ocean, yeah it got ugly. And slightly UST.
- "Niamieččyna", Belorussian name for Germany. No, I do not know how to speak this language either, I looked it up.
- "Weißrussland" literally means "white Russ land". Bela would probably like that more than her English name "Belarus", which is harder to relate to Russia.
- I said America'd be bringing the pain.
PS: I was never here.
You didn't see anything.
I will not be replying to comments until much, much later. Two days at least, ten days at most.
Part 52
Characters (in this chapter): Portugal, Turkey, Germany, Belarus, America.
Rating: 15
Warnings: Violence, more gore, foreign languages.
Summary: Uh, I need to be banned from the kink meme or monsters like this happen? Essentially, Scotland leaves the UK, which gives Northern Ireland an excuse to up and out as well, which leaves England and Wales all alone. Oh yeah, and this somehow leads to World War Three.
The ocean was white foam, tossed and broken by torpedoes and mines purposefully and remotely detonated. Portugal had lost three of his fleet, over 400 lives, but they'd steamed onwards, through Turkey's hastily assembled defenses, around mines and boats alike. They hadn't expected there to be back up, last minute re-enforcements arriving from NWO, and soon every ship had another to match it, another to contend with.
Turkey and Portugal's head ships had crashed rather spectacularly into each other, thrown into place by a mine that went off too close to Turkey's side accidentally. Now the railings were locked together, and from the sound of the sirens from Turkey's ship, the whole mess was going to go down, or become a floating pile of scrap metal. The storage cupboard for hand-held personal weapons was flooded, and from the looks of things Turkey's men either hadn't been armed in the first place, or had a similar problem.
It didn't stop the navy sailors from trying to beat the living tar out of each other with their bare hands.
Turkey's haymaker was easily ducked under, the Iberian Nation delivering a blow to his ribs in retaliation. He coughed, slightly winded, but brought up his other fist in an uppercut that snapped Portugal's head back. The two stumbled apart, leaning on the railing as the deck tilted sideways in a dangerous manner.
"Just like old times, eh Jibril?" Turkey grinned, checking himself for broken bones.
Portugal spat blood off to the side. "Sim, just like old times. And just like old times, I'm afraid I'm going to have to kick your ass, Sadiq."
"If you can." The cocky air he exuded contrasted with how beaten up he appeared. There were bruises on him that Portugal hadn't inflicted. Three men in an all-out brawl stumbled past them, one of them falling overboard while the other two didn't notice, hitting the water with a splash.
"I hear Saudi Arabia's pulling out, am I right? Iran too, which means Iraq might not be far behind." The fight resumed without queue, Gabriel lunging forward with fist ready to hit Turkey right on the nose. He wasn't wearing his mask today, so it wouldn't hurt his fist. He needn't have worried though, because the former-empire caught his fist and twisted the arm behind his back.
"Yeah, they're pulling out, why's that your business?" Turkey half-growled in his ear. Throwing his head back, Portugal made his second attempt at breaking his enemy's nose a success. He was released from the other Nation's grip, dancing back again.
"Just want to know what I'm up against when I invade."
Sadiq gave him a bloody smile. "You've not gotten rusty at conquering, have you, false angel."
"Aw, is that concern for me, heathen?" The smirk spread across Portugal's face. "You should save it for someone who needs it."
-----
Planes soared overhead, hundreds of bombs being taken to enemy locations. Germany only prayed his men would get there safely, as well as return home in one piece. He was glad for the dryness of summer, because he remembered how Poland's fields could get during the winter, and he was not one to desire his boots caked in mud that dried as soon as you showed it so much as a glimmer of warmth.
He was, some would say ironically, quite worried about Poland at the moment. He hadn't managed to get any sort of contact with his Boss or with the Nation himself, which meant Russia had a stronger grip already than he'd hoped. Poland was a very strong person, and had endured Russia's torments for many hundreds of years now, but there were moments when it seemed that one more partition would break the already cracked Nation's mind entirely.
There had been a time when he hadn't spoken even Polish like some giddy school girl.
Germany had only decided to take the Eastern Front (and he wished they would stop calling it that as well) instead of Prussia because his brother had insisted on going to try and talk sense into France, which he had much better chance of achieving that Germany ever did. For all the time they spent together in the EU, France very rarely listened. He did his own thing. In the most irritatingly laid back, cocky way possible.
Which was why his brother got on with him so well.
The blonde tried not to sigh too loudly, keeping crouched in the high rye crop. To his left and right, he could hear the soft rustle that was the rest of his men, all armed to the teeth and prepared to fight the NWO invasion. Armed with counter-technology, or rather, the same technology that Russia used. They'd finally cracked the neo-silencers, and had them fully equipped on their guns.
Something ahead of them rumbled. A car. Without need for signal, the German soldiers stopped. Ludwig himself strained his ears to hear.
Voices spoke in Ukrainian. And another in Belorussian, before changing back to Ukrainian. Germany couldn't catch most of it, and his understanding of either language was bare at best, but one word grabbed his attention and held it.
Yadernyy.
Nukes.
He kept an ear open for any thing else, the name of a city or a country, whether they were talking in past tense, about what had already been dropped, or future, about where they would drop one next. Frustration boiled beneath the surface. It might have been less annoying if he had not understood anything at all.
Someone to his left stepped on something that snapped, and instantly bullets flew.
Germany ducked and rolled and scrambled to get a good shot in at the NWO soldiers, the unsettling lack of sound making him feel like he'd gone temporarily deaf. Whizzing metal was the only indication anything was happening at all, as well as swears in either language. Sneaking round to the edge of the field, he waited for the opportune moment, just as one of the NWO went down, to leap out and capture a woman in commander's uniform with long blonde hair.
No sooner as he had placed the gun barrel to the side of her head, there was a very large knife at his own.
Belarus stared up at him, cold and unwelcoming as ever.
"Privyet, Niamieččyna." she greeted him.
Germany kept his cool. He was good at at least that. "Guten Tag, Weißrussland."
The corner of her mouth twisted up into a tiny, mad smile. "I like that name, it is more like bratja's."
"Where is he?" Germany demanded. The point of the knife brushed through his hair. He tightened his finger on the trigger, and the metal clicked ominously.
The smile vanished. "You are a fool to think I would tell you."
"Well, I thought the fact I have a gun to your head would sway that."
A stalemate. A few of Germany's soldiers were checking the life signs of the other soldiers. They gave him the okay sign. All dead, huh. These guns were good.
"I will not betray him." Belarus said firmly. And she wouldn't, Germany knew.
"His plans, then?"
"Even if I knew them, I would not tell you."
This surprised the taller man. "You don't even know why he's doing this? But you're his sister."
"He... does not want to tell them to me. He fears the extent of his own love for me, and so he does not speak." she said, eyes averted sadly. 'Nice to know there's still someone that Russia's terrified of.' thought Germany. Belarus continued. "But I will follow him no matter what. I trust him."
"You could be hurt or killed."
"If it is for bratja, then I do not mind."
"You're insane."
"I'm in love."
This was getting nowhere fast. Rolling his eyes skyward and praying for a little more patience, Germany saw nothing but planes. Belarus' eyes followed them also, hatefully glaring at them, knowing their destination.
"Alright." Germany tried not to let the irritation come through in his voice. With all his practice hanging around Italy, this went quite well. "Either way, whether you tell me or not, I'm taking you back with me as a hostage."
The point of the knife made itself known again, pressing lightly against his temple. "And if I do not want to go?"
"I don't think you have much of a choice. I'll make your brother trade Poland for you."
Doubt flashed through grey-blue eyes. "He would not make that trade."
Eyebrows raised. "Really?"
"You cannot use me to endanger bratja's plans." The tiny smile returned, victorious. "I am of no value to you. Whatever happens to me will have no impact on bratja. So let me-"
Whatever she had been planning to say was cut off abruptly as she collapsed sideways. Blood blossomed from the side of her head, staining her platinum-blonde hair scarlet. She twitched, mouth working, eyes blinking spasmodically.
Germany had never touched the trigger, but he could feel the heat from the radiation from here.
-----
America's black marker crossed out Minsk, and he crushed the pang of regret.
Notes:
- Jibril is the Arabic form of the name "Gabriel". Means the same thing.
- "Just like old times": Oh boy, these two had such a rivalry in the old days of Empire. Port trying to control the med at the same time as Turkey trying to... control the med. And the Red sea, and the Indian Ocean, yeah it got ugly. And slightly UST.
- "Niamieččyna", Belorussian name for Germany. No, I do not know how to speak this language either, I looked it up.
- "Weißrussland" literally means "white Russ land". Bela would probably like that more than her English name "Belarus", which is harder to relate to Russia.
- I said America'd be bringing the pain.
PS: I was never here.
You didn't see anything.
I will not be replying to comments until much, much later. Two days at least, ten days at most.
Part 52