Returning Memories Part V

"Ve~ Ve~. Now that Germany is here, we don't have to worry anymore." Italy chattered on as Germany tried to assess the situation.

They were clearly outnumbered. For the past three days, they had fought as hard as they could, but were being overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. The Allied tanks, which had the high ground, were pursuing them from East, West, and North. Not only that, but the Allied infantry had their men all but pinned to the ground with machinegun fire. The troops had been slowly whittled down over a period of several months, so they were spreading themselves thin just to defend their current position. However, with the Allied approach, they were slowly being corralled into one small spot on the edge of the city. Those that were not crowded into this spot were being squeezed into one of the other bottlenecks in the city. Currently, he and Italy were taking cover behind a half-collapsed wall.

Italy shrieked as a dead soldier, his body riddled with bleeding bullet holes, collapsed on top of him. He was far from the only victim of the battle; the desert was strewn with the corpses of soldiers from both sides. Some had been shot from the front, attempting to take their enemies with them, while others had been shot as they turned and run. Some were blown away by the shells fired from the tanks. Some of their soldiers had been unfortunate enough to survive being shot and had been either trampled to death under the feet of their retreating comrades or crushed to a bloody mess under the treads of tanks; the lucky ones were the ones that died immediately and only received the mutilation after their consciousness had faded. Even Germany's troops, though they were well-trained and had orders to hold steady, had begun to fall back.

"Italy, keep calm. Cover my flank; I'm going to try to see if I can destroy some of those tanks." Germany charged out from their hiding place, doing a barrel roll to avoid enemy fire. He ran toward an anti-tank vehicle that had been abandoned by its crew and climbed into it.

Italy took a deep breath and raised his head to look over the wall. He squealed and ducked back down just in time to avoid catching a round of bullets between his eyes. Squeezing his eyes closed, he set his gun on top of the wall and pressed the trigger, firing haphazardly.

Germany growled as he ducked from a volley of Italy's bullets. "Italy! Watch what you're shooting at!" While Italy was certainly a good soldier when following Germany's orders, he tended to panic when left to his own devices.

"Ve~ I'm sorry. But it's so scary!"

Germany sighed as he watched a couple of enemy soldiers fall to Italy's bullets. The rest of the soldiers, realizing that the panicking nation was a danger to everyone, even his own allies, started to fall back. While the Allied forces were distracted, he maneuvered the vehicle close to one of the Allied tanks and fired.

The sound of one of their tanks being demolished cause the Allies to temporarily turn their attention to Germany. However, they were soon distracted again when Italy sprayed more bullets at him.

Germany continued to knock over two more tanks. Despite his progress, he found it hard to fight against the multitude of Allied forces. At this point, Italy had also run out of ammo and had gone into a fetal position in his position behind the wall, praying that none of the return fire would hit him. However, all of the machinegun fire was concentrated on Germany, who was the bigger threat. Within minutes, Germany found that he had to abandon his vehicles, which had been penetrated by several bullets. He was now standing in the middle of the desert road, facing down several Allied tanks armed with only the grenades that he carried on his belt. While he was exposed to enemy fire, he was still a nation; this meant his odds of survival were better than that of an individual soldier. Though this battle was almost certainly lost, he was sure that he could manage a strategic withdrawal and find a way to strike back at the enemy. He pulled out a grenade and prepared to pull the pin.

Germany's thoughts were interrupted as he felt another fiery pain in his chest. The grenade that he held slipped out of his hands and dropped to the ground as he fell to his knees. He felt his vision blur while his ears were filled with a humming noise that sounded like jet engines. One of his vital regions was probably being bombed again, but he could no longer pinpoint which region it was; old and new wounds burned at the same time. He collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily.

As he cowered in his hiding place, Italy stared at the Allied soldiers advancing on Germany. He felt horrible knowing that he could not help Germany from his position. He remembered the one other time he had felt this helpless and weak.

Ah…sorry. The Holy Roman Empire is no more. You should forget about him. You've already suffered enough, haven't you?

Italy took deep breaths and tried to mentally prepare himself. While he had not completely believed France's words, he had promised himself at that time that he would grow stronger, didn't he? Even if he had still not gotten much stronger, he knew that he could not let something like that happen again.

I know Holy Roman will come back someday, but until then, I'll show him how strong I've become. I'm not going to lose any of my friends—I'm going to protect them. I'm going to protect him. Just watch, Allies, I'll show you the power of the New Roman Empire!

What the Allied forces saw in the next few seconds startled them more than anything else that happened that day. An Italian soldier jumped out, unarmed, with tears streaming out of his eyes, from behind a half collapsed wall, flapping his arms while screaming "Help me! Don't shoot!" at the top of his lungs. He ran over to the fallen German and yanked him up by the collar. Before the Allies could reach, Italy heaved Germany over his shoulders and ran.

When the Allies finally regained enough of their senses to start shooting, they found that the Italian man was already out of sight. Long years of retreating as well as the harsh regimen that Germany had imposed on him had done wonders for Italy's speed. When one added in the adrenaline rush that he was experiencing, it was no surprise that he outran everyone. He dashed through the city streets, pushing back both his own crowded men and the invading Allies. He did not stop until he turned into a deserted alley that had gone unnoticed by both forces.

"Germany?" Italy set the other nation down gently against a wall. "I-I think we should surrender. You're hurt badly and we're surrounded. W-we can't go on like this. If we surrender now, I'm sure they won't be too harsh on us. Germany can wait here. I'll go out there and wave my flag and ask them to help you."

"No." Germany hissed, his voice coming out weaker than it should have. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm fine."

Italy shook his head. He could tell that Germany was lying.

"Italy, we're soldiers."

"But Germany can't fight anymore. If we keep on trying, more of our soldiers will needlessly die and Germany will get hurt even worse." Italy sniffed. He was shivering as his initial adrenaline rush started to wear off. "I-I'm going out there. Germany needs help and…"

"No Surrendering. Not even if we…" Germany's sentence was cut short and he coughed again, spitting blood into his gloved hand.

"Please, this is something I have to do. Germany's always been protecting me all this time. I want to protect Germany this time." Italy was trying his best to keep calm and not cry. Nevertheless, Germany could still notice the other nation's short, anxious breaths. "I'm sorry that I'm so weak…I can't help you fight at all, and I can't protect you like you protect me. But now, I can protect you in the only way that I know: I'll go out and surrender for both of us. I promise it'll be okay—I'll show them my Italian spirit."

Germany gave a hesitant nod. Though he hated to admit it, Italy was right this time. Italy was rarely stubborn about anything, but this seemed to be one of those rare times.

"Besides, didn't Germany say that temporary retreat or surrender is a good tactic?" Italy tried to look confident as he turned to leave. "I'm sure Prussia or Mr. Austria or someone else will rescue us. Or we'll escape by ourselves once you get better. We'll get out of this and then we can go back to normal. We can get into fights and Germany can protect me and we can win because Germany is really strong"

Germany slowly staggered to his feet and took a couple weak steps toward Italy. "I'll go with you. It's too dangerous out there alone. It'll…be better if I'm next to you. They'll also be more likely to accept our surrender if they see both of us coming out at the same time."

Italy rushed over and caught him before he could collapse. He stuffed a white flag into Germany's hand and wrapped the taller nation's finger around the flagpole. "Y-you have to grip it hard when you wave it, okay? You don't want to drop it." He blinked his eyes, feeling a single tear slide down his cheek. He quickly raised his arm to wipe it away, hoping that Germany did not see it. He was the one who needed to be strong this time; it was only fair since Germany had always been so strong for him. "Don't worry. I'll protect you if anything happens."

"I-I'll protect you too. We're allies, after all." Germany felt guilty about throwing all of his weight on Italy's shoulders, but as it was, he felt too weak to stand by himself.
It's only temporary. Germany told himself. Once they reached the Allies, he would probably feel good enough to stand on his own.

"Let's go." Italy whispered.

The first thing they found as they stepped out of the alley was that the streets were clogged with soldiers. Their troops, having come to the same realization as their nations, had begun surrendering en masse even as their leaders called to them to hold their positions. It was a confusing situation on both sides—the Axis forces were surrendering, but the Allied forces were still trying to advance even as the surrendering soldiers blocked their path.

As they trudged through the throng of surrendering men, Italy felt Germany go limp. He quickly pulled the other nation closer to him and used his unoccupied hand to check for Germany's vital signs. To his relief, he found that Germany was still breathing. Slowly, he dragged his friend through the crowd, looking for Allied officers to surrender to.

It was hard trying to move through the crowd. Italy held Germany close, trying to keep them from being separated by the others who were trying to push through the crowd. He had almost tripped over the bodies of those who had died in battle and those who had been stampeded over during the rush to surrender quite a few times. There was even once when a soldier brushed against his curl, sending a feeling a pleasure cascading throughout his body. He had to hold on to Germany tightly until the feeling had passed to avoid accidentally dropping his friend. Finally, after what seemed to be hours of walking and pushing past scores of Germans and Italians, Italy spotted two men in uniforms that looked better decorated than the rest of the invaders. One of them was all too familiar to the Italian.

Italy quickly checked Germany's signs once again and found that the taller nation seemed to be fine, just unconscious. He then strained to hold his white flag above the crowd and wave it, calling out the officer that he recognized.

"Big Brother France, Big Brother France! It's me!"

France turned and walked toward Italy as he heard his name being called. When he finally approached the other nation, Italy could see that his expression was a mix of surprise, sadness, and anger directed at Germany.

"It's me. Italy Veneziano. Oh, and Germany too. Eh? Your uniform is so different…"

"It's Angleterre's. My uniform was…a little outdated, so he lent me one of his. Alas, he has no sense of style, and this isn't even my size." France seemed to be embarrassed and frustrated about having to wear one of England's uniform. He wrinkled his nose as he sniffed at his sleeve. "And he should at least consider washing it before lending it out. Unlike his crass British soldiers, my men have a sense of hygiene."

"Big Brother France…" Italy held up his white flag. "We surrender."

"I know you surrender." France glared apprehensively at Germany. "But what about him."

"G-Germany is surrendering too. H-he's hurt really bad and we can't fight anymore." Italy stuttered out. "I swear I'm telling the truth…"

"I see. Very well then—your…friend will come along with me." France could barely contain the anger in his voice. "However, my troops have no place for Italians. You will have to go surrender to Angleterre's forces."

"P-please, Big Brother France. I want to stay with Germany. He's hurt and I don't think he can be by himself and I want to help him so…" Italy had once again turned into a blubbering, panicking mess as he tried to plead with France. "Please? Please? Pretty please?"

France smiled seductively and leaned down to plant a kiss on Italy's cheek. "Oh, Italie, you are horrible. You know I cannot resist that face. I suppose I will make an exception in my policy, just for you."

"Thank you!" Italy called even as a French soldier shoved him with the barrel of a gun to march him to the temporary enclosure that would be used to contain the prisoners until they were shipped to a POW camp.

---

Germany groaned and opened his eyes. The pain in his abdomen had receded to a dull throbbing. After a few seconds, the blurry visions had solidified enough for him to see that he was lying on a sheet in a tent. Italy was sitting to the side, watching him intently. When he saw that Germany had gotten up, he immediately scampered over and began talking rapidly in Italian.

"Germany! You're finally awake now! You were on the ground and you coughed up blood and you wouldn't wake up and I had to carry you all the way over here and Big Brother France took us prisoner and we're being held here till we can be marched to one of his prisoner camps and he fed me food but it was nasty British food and I didn't get anything for you because I thought it would make you sick and you were already and…"

Germany held up a hand, shushing the Italian. "Italy, calm down and talk slower. I can't understand you."

Italy nodded quickly, tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. Germany slowly removed his hand as Italy began sobbing.

"Oh. Well, you see…" Italy sniffed loudly. "When we went out, you suddenly stopped moving. But then I checked and you were only unconscious but I was worried anyway. So in the end, I surrendered to France. I'm so glad you're awake now, Germany. I thought—I thought—" At this point, Feliciano's tears overwhelmed him and his blubbering sounds became unintelligible.

Germany frowned and shook his head. Sometimes, Italy could be too emotional for his own good. "I'm fine, Italy. Stop crying."

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry. I know I'm always crying too much, but I thought Germany wasn't going to wake up ever again. I thought you were going leave, just like…"

What happened next shocked both of the nations. Germany suddenly wrapped his arms around Italy and hugged him tight.

"Ve~? Germany?" Italy was too surprised to even cry.

It took Germany a couple seconds to process what had happened. It was like his body reacted on its own. Or perhaps it was a remnant of the Holy Roman Empire, finally emerging after being suppressed for centuries. Either way, once he had gotten over his initial shock, he brought up a hand to gently stroke Italy's hair. Again, it was like his body automatically knew what to do in this situation. "It's alright, Italy. I'm here."

I'm here. This time, I'm staying right here. I won't disappear and leave you alone. Never again.

"Germany…" Italy slowly returned the hug. "Thank you, Germany."

Germany held the other nation until he felt Italy had calmed down enough. For a couple second, he fiddled with the thought of telling Italy what he had learned from Austria. However, he quickly pushed that aside in favor of assessing their situation; whatever confessions, romantic or otherwise, were going to have to wait until they were out of enemy territory.

"So this is what France's prisoner transports look like." Germany glanced around the tent. There were two rugs for the prisoners to lie on, but no other furnishings. From the silhouette on the tarp, he could tell that there were enemy soldiers standing guard. It was likely that France, out of his feelings for Italy, had granted the captured nations a tent to themselves, instead of the crammed tents that ordinary soldiers would have gotten.

"I'm sorry…"Italy looked like he was about to cry again. "I-I can't do anything but run or surrender or eat pasta and gelato. And now I've gotten us captured. Germany must be very angry…"

"Italy, stop that. Now. I do not blame you for surrendering; it was the best choice in this situation. However, I will get angry if you do not cease crying." Germany snapped. The last thing he needed was Italy's blubbering distracting him.
Italy sniffed and nodded. "D-do you really mean it?"

"Yes, I mean it. Now, listen." Germany began to draw lines in the sand between the rugs. "We need a plan…"

---

"Are you ready?" Germany whispered to his companion. They had spent the entire afternoon planning their escape. It was night now, a little bit before dinner time. The waxing moon, not yet in its first quarter, shone brightly, casting an eerie silver light over the desert.

"Yes sir!" Italy replied, clamping his hand over his mouth when he realized that he had done so a little too loudly.

Germany glanced back at Italy as he slowly peered out of the tent. There was only one guard standing outside. Their tent was relatively isolated from the other multitude of tents. There were no other sentries in sight. It seemed that France had relaxed his guard when he saw that Germany was sick and Italy was panicking.

"Italy, it's clear." Germany whispered. Italy nodded and stepped out of the tent.

"Help me!" Italy rushed over to the soldier. "You've gotta help! Please! Please!" Here, his words degenerated into panicked, unintelligible yelps.

Germany sighed. Italy was a good actor, but sometimes, he could be too good. For one thing, he was a method actor, which meant he actually worked himself into whatever mood he was trying to convey. This meant that he was sincerely panicking at the moment and would waste several minutes of precious time babbling nonsense.

"Um…sir…I can't…understand you. You're going to have to calm down."

Italy took several deep, shuddering breaths. "I-it's my friend. Ludwig, he…he…he stopped breathing! He was hurt really bad before that, a-and I think he was sick too! P-please, you have to come take a look at him."

The guard nodded. The prisoner's pleas seemed too sincere to be just an act. He followed the sobbing man into the tent. A muscular but pale blonde man lay there, perfectly still. It seemed that he was the "friend" the prisoner had been talking about.

"H-he passed out earlier too, when we were surrendering, but by the time we got here, he was perfectly fine. W-we were t-talking about what he wanted for dinner when he suddenly collapsed again. Please, you have to help!"

"I'll see what I can do…" The soldier looked down at the man lying there.

As the soldier reached down to check his pulse, Germany grabbed the soldier's wrist and yanked the man toward him. He clamped his other hand over the man's mouth and nose before he could call for help while twisting the man's arm behind him. As he raised himself to his full height, the guard was lifted off of his feet.

"Germany, you're really o—" Italy shut up and nodded when Germany glared at him.
Italy quickly punched the dangling soldier in the solar plexus. The man's eyes widened for a second before closing. His body fell limp, indicating that he was unconscious. Germany slowly lowered the man onto one of the sheets.

---

A British guard stretched, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Ten minutes into his shift at the edge of the camp and he was already bored out of his mind. Another guard, this one in a Free French uniform, marched a tall prisoner past him.

"Hold it. What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm transferring him." The guard spoke with an accent, but then again, it was to be expected since he was French. "My commanding officer said that he was a special prisoner and so had to be transferred to a better guarded area."

"I see." The British guard nodded at his foreign ally. "This is the border, you know. The camp's the other way."

"We're transferring him to a POW camp. He's a special prisoner, so we are transporting him individually. I will rendezvous with another unit and hand him to them."

"Go on then."

It was not until Italy and Germany had walked a good distance that the first guard's unconscious form would be discovered.

---

"Dammit, Frog." England growled. "Haven't I told you not to trust krauts? Now look what they've done.

"But…" France looked surprised. "I was sure that Allemagne did not have the strength required…and you know how Italie becomes in these situations. I thought one guard was…"

"You thought." England glared at the other nation. "Have you forgotten to never underestimate an enemy? I thought the Maginot line would have taught you something. Or were you thinking with your libido again. Honestly, you Frenchmen—" Here England stopped and shook his head.

"And we would have assumed that Amerique would have taught you something and yet, how many losses have you suffered for underestimating Italie?" France retorted.

"Never mind." England hissed through clenched teeth. "I will recover the prisoners, and then they will be kept under my supervision. Now, you go and make sure that at least the rest of your prisoners are well-guarded. I do not want to see this incident repeated. Do I make myself clear?"

France rolled his eyes. "Of course, Angleterre."

---

"Germany scared me back there. Ve~ I really thought Germany was hurt. You're a good actor."

Germany sighed and wondered if Italy was really unaware that it was the shorter nation's own method acting that had sent him into a panic. At least they had gotten past the hardest part, though he had been a little worried since Italy had to play the guard, being closer to the guard's size than Germany was. Fortunately, Italy was a good actor. Now they only had to walk a short distance before they could sail to their freedom over the gulf.

"Be careful." Germany hissed. "You don't know who's watching."

"Yes sir!" Italy whispered.

The two of them continued marching, seeming to be just any other prisoner and guard. Thankfully, none of the other guards thought to question what seemed to be a routine prisoner transfer. When they had passed the last checkpoint, they did not board a prisoner transport ship, but instead circled around to look for fishing boats. As it turned out, "commandeering" one via knocking out the owner was remarkably easy.
They were ready to climb into the boat and begin to make their escaped when they heard from behind them the familiar sound of a gun cocking.

"Turn around." A British accented voice growled. "Raise your hands in the air and don't try any funny business."

The two nations recognized England's voice. They slowly turned around, first Germany and then Italy. They saw that England was alone and holding a Sten. Two Enfield Revolvers were strapped to his waist.

"I said raise your hands up into the air." England turned the gun toward Italy. "Put down your weapon and raise your hands. Otherwise, I might just have to shoot you."

"D-don't shoot me! Please, you don't want to shoot me! What use am I to you if I'm dead or if I'm wounded and lying in misery in a pool of my own blood? I'll cook for you and wash your clothes, even your dirty underwear! I'll tell you everything I know which is pretty much everything I know and I'll tell you everything I know Germany knows which is pretty much everything I know and…" Italy broke into tears, like he was liable to do whenever confronted with a stressful situation.

Germany sighed. It seemed that he could not depend on Italy to help him overpower England. However, Italy was doing a fine job of providing a distraction. Germany tensed, ready to spring on England as soon as the other nation showed an opening. Normally, he would have charged England regardless, but now, he was unsure if his condition would act up again and leave both him and Italy defenseless.

"Italy, shut up. I don't want you to do any of that. Just drop your gun." England kept his gun pointed at Italy, but kept his gaze on Germany. He knew that Germany was the stronger and calmer of the two Axis, and as such, he would need to be watched closer than his partner.

"S-see? I'm dropping my gun. I'll do anything, so just don't shoot me!" Italy, still shivering and crying, slowly knelt down and placed his gun on the ground.

"That's right. Now, stand up slowly and walk toward me. No sudden movements."

Germany glared at England, trying to find a weakness in the other nation's defenses. Unfortunately for him, England was more careful than his allies, America and France, and so Germany could find no opening to attack.

Then, something happened; something that none of them expected. As Italy was standing up after placing his gun on the ground, he suddenly bent down and picked up his gun. Then, before either Germany or England could react, Italy fired at England's legs. The shot hit England in the left knee.

Everything became a blur then—England went down, swearing and firing off wild shots as blood streamed from his wounded leg. Germany took this opportunity to tackle him and knock the gun out of his grasp. As England fumbled with one of his waist revolvers, Germany grabbed England's hair and slammed the back of the Allied Nation's head into the ground. The impact dazed England enough for him to let go of the gun. Germany punched England again and again in the face even as the shorter nation reached for his guns with one hand and clawed and kicked at Germany with his other hand and both of his legs; Germany only stopped when England stopped struggling and lay quite still.

Germany stepped back, breathing heavily. The British man lay on the ground, knocked out. He sported two new black eyes, a broken nose, and several cuts on his head. Blood was flowing out the corner of his mouth, so it was unclear how many teeth, if any, had been broken. Germany's own heart was racing and both his legs were quite bruised from his fight with the Brit. He was not proud of his condition, since normally a fight like this would have strained him much less. However, he decided that it was very fortunate that he had not been shot.

"Italy!" Germany turned, calling to his partner. "Get up, we're leaving."

Italy was curled on the ground, not even responding to Germany's orders. Germany decided that Italy must have still been in shock from his previous adrenaline-propelled action.

"Calm down. You did great." Germany whispered as he knelt down and placed a hand on Italy's shoulder. "Now, we're going to leave."

It was only then that he realized the blood pooling under and around the Italian's body. Germany's eyes widened when he realized that while he had avoided England's shots, Italy was not so lucky.

"Italy? Italy!" He called frantically toward his unconscious partner. His panic lasted for only a second before his logical side took over again and he turned his attentions toward checking Italy's vital signs and examining how serious the wound actually was.