London calling to the far away towns [BofB]

[albion]

Date; August 25th 1940
Event; Battle of Britain attacks on Berlin
Involved; England, Belgium, Scotland

Tap. Tap. Tap.
Whirring of propellers.
Yelling of men.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Screeching of wheels upon the ground.
Someone droning on at him.
Tap.

Ignoring the sounds around him he chose only to focus on the tapping of his finger against the hard wood of the desk, despite the fact it was just as irritating as everything else around him. There was just too much noise now, too many people bustling around the airfield. It was far too busy for him right now, the pressing migraine at the front of his head crushing against his skull uncomfortably. He was sick of this whole thing, he'd been sick of it the very day war had been declared, more so now after that stupid ass stunt from the krauts that left pale wraps across his weeping chest. He was sick of them, and they were going too far.

Oh he knew this was war, so in every likelihood that tash-bastard probably didn't think they'd gone far enough... And true... The attack on his central had been a one off. The others on his RAF bases had not been such, and he knew that without a shadow of a doubt. He was sick and tired of this and something had to be done, sooner rather than later... Now, actually. If this wasn't halted now there was no telling how far the bastards were going to go further, pushing against the limitations of his people. It was with a satisfied grimace gone smirk that he could proudly say they wouldn't, now was perfect proof of that.

Everyone was being rallied for a counter strike, and even he who'd little place to do such was there. The Germans were like a dog off of their leash, pulling out to snap at whoever the hell they wanted as they pleased. It really only took a firm hand to pull them back in though, one hand to clip on the lead and yank. Of course there would be a struggle, as was obvious by the current war, but once you really kicked into it the thing would have no choice but to obey the new master.

He would of course be that master, or at least have a hand in bringing the whole thing to its knees.
He knew well enough that he was really just acting like a bitter old man about the whole thing; revenge was hardly a gentlemanly sport if he was honest. Though it was more fitting than letting someone do as they pleased with you, which in the end really only made you seem like a weak fool. That was far more of a sin to the man he cast himself to be, and for everything under that it was a damn near abomination.

“-nd we lost another spitfire last night too.”

England finally blinked, stopping the tapping and removing the other hand from his face. Of course they did, they always lost something. There was always a flip side though. “And what of their damage?” He asked, voice hoarse and vocals strained.

“Two Junkers down. The pilots were killed on impact.”

With a slight nod of approval he couldn’t help but agree with Churchill, they did owe this small band so very much. He had no doubt things would be much worse than they were presently, and as short as they were on ships they couldn’t much allow for it to be such. “Very good. You should be proud of yourselves, you’re carrying the honour of this country with pride.” And he was proud. Proud of his people for showing what it truly meant to persevere. He knew well enough his empire was waning; nearly gone now from what it had once been, and yet the people remained the same... Perhaps that would be enough in the end.

The young bloke saluted, that firm face as stoic as ever with that well known ‘stiff upper lip’. “Thank you sir, it's an honour to serve.” He believed he meant it. Truly he did. “When will the others be arriving? We already have your bird ready.” The brunette gave a mild chuckle. “People don't usually choose those, they can be a bit on the slow side.”

The constant chatter wasn't helping him any, yet the questions were reasonable... Bar for the last one anyway. “Slow and steady wins the race. They're more resilient and better for longer periods of time.” The first part though... that he didn't know...

They were late, or rather... He was early, enough so that he'd been here before the order had been sent. Tonight they were to attack Berlin, something that had been announced as impossible. Tsk, did the fools really have no clue as to who it was they were messing with? To think that he and his people would be willing to just sit there. Goodness gracious, did they have no common sense? Perhaps it was simply more a case of arrogance. Certainly they'd not be the first to succumb to it; even he himself was a harbinger of that treacherous little gift.

It was still early morning though, and no doubt it would take a while for the others of his kind to pull themselves down to Biggin Hill. Still, it shouldn't take an inordinate amount of time.

“They'll be here soon enough.” With that he leant back in the narrow backed chair, lips pursed into thin lines. All he could do was hope really... And to be frank optimism had never really been his strongest of points. There was no time to relax though, not really. He was needed elswhere, and thus whilst he may have wanted nothing better to do than curl up he stood. He needed to wait, and thus the airfield itself was somewhere far better.

With shoulders squared he did indeed wait. Passing idle conversation with any who passed him, but waiting none the less.

----

- “his weeping chest” On the night of the 24th London's centre was bombed, whilst the East end was set ablaze. Some actually claim that this was an 'accident' caused by them not being able to find their intended target. Most people kinda just discount that as a lie.
- “Tonight they were to attack Berlin, something that had been announced as impossible” Göring claimed that such a thing would not be possible... The egg was kinda on his face with that one XD
- "Spitfire" probably the most famed British ship in the battle of Britain. They were praised for how fast they were~
- "Junkers" The Junkers were a type of German bombers. There were two different models of them.
- "they did owe this small band so very much" Based on a speech by Winston Chruchill. 'Never in the field of human conflict was much much owed by so many to so few.' It was made five days prior to the time of this post.
- "as short as they were on ships" Britain was actually at a disadvantage due to the fact they didn't have enough ships.
- "stiff upper lip" A term very often associated to the British due to the stoic nature & ability to face misfortune resolutely; indeed, it's still used to describe us today. Ironically though it's thought to be a term originating from America.
- “they can be a bit on the slow side” He's talking about the Hawker Hurricane, another British craft used in this war. They were about 30mph slower than the spitfire. As a note, this particular one is a Hurribomber...
- “Slow and steady wins the race. They're more resilient and better for longer periods of time.” The Hurricane was actually a lot more resilient than the Spitfire, and could thus take far more damage than the other. The Hurricane was described as 'being able to take more than a few hits', and was actually the key player in the Battle of Britain DESPITE the Spitfire being better known. They were responsible for destroying over half of the opposition... Something like 60% of all air victories? Idfk XD

- Props if you know where the title's from <3~

[scotlandthebrave]

For a few weeks now, he'd been splitting his time between his home in Edinburgh, and the RAF base at Leuchars, intensely studying his people's part in Britain's air attack strategy. Of course, he wasn't going to let on to Arthur that he'd been doing that. No, better to let the stuck up twat think that he'd been putting his time to frivolous use, getting drunk and pretending not to care.

England had his fierce pride and Scotland had his blasé nonchalance. All nations coped with war in their own ways. And the rest of the UK was well aware that Hamish always pulled it out of the bag when it came down to the crucial moment. The Republic of Ireland had opted for neutrality in the whole messy business. She was a smart lass, he thought, looking out for her own. But there was no chance that he could do the same. Even if he wasn't tied to obeying England's parliamentary decisions, he reckoned he'd probably still be fighting on his side. Some things were just worth it, and taking down the Nazis most definitely fell into that category.

Besides, nobody got to kick the shit out of Arthur except him.

It was a shame, he reflected. He hadn't particularly disliked Germany, as far as nations went. To be sure, the poor lad had an even bigger stick up his arse than Arthur, but he felt some measure of sympathy for the poor blonde bastard with the crazy boss. Being under Westminster's rule was pish enough, but at least he wasn't taking orders from some sociopathic Jew-hating version of Charlie Chaplin. Not that he was particularly fond of Churchill either, the right-wing, cigar chomping wanker that he was, but at least the old walrus stood a chance of leading the UK to victory. But regardless...poor Ludwig. And poorer Ludwig still for the fact that tonight, they were going to bomb the absolute shit out of his capital.

But war was war, and Scotland wasn't above pointing his finger and resorting to the playground school of moral thought; “he started it”.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand. As he lit up a cigarette in the taxicab and ignored the driver's pointed glare at his utter lack of manners, he sighed to himself. London was one Hell of a shit town, he decided, looking out at the smog and ignoring the fact that it was no different to Edinburgh or Glasgow. Just bigger, and more English.

The journey to Biggin Hill seemed to take forever and, by the time they reached the RAF base, Hamish had made his way through two cigarettes and was seriously contemplating cracking open his ever-present hip-flask. If nothing else, he knew that it would annoy Arthur if he showed up reeking of booze. He smirked a little at the thought, but the tiny hint of mirth died as soon as it sparked up. Because there were much more important things at stake today, for both his people and England's, and their old rivalries paled in comparison to the shadow that had fallen over all of Europe.

Finally, his taxicab pulled up at the air base, and he grabbed his travelling bag and made his way to the checkpoint of the Biggin Hill Aerodrome. He barely needed to flash his papers before he was being ushered through to the operations room.

He sauntered through the door with his customary casual swagger, fag still in hand. Almost a head taller than Arthur, with a shock of bright auburn hair and green eyes dancing with mischief, he had donned a blue RAF uniform especially for the occasion and had decided that he looked rather dashing. Of course, he would have probably looked even more dashing if he'd bothered to iron it, but nothing was perfect.

“A'richt, brother,” he sought out the smaller blonde immediately and frowned at the tense, tight lipped expression on his face. Normally he'd have found it amusing, but the reasons for the Englishman's stiff posture and air of grave trepidation. He decided to counter his sudden, overwhelmingly protective instinct towards the little bastard with an inappropriately broad grin and a snort of derisive laughter.

“Christ, ye look like Hitler himsel' jammed that stick up yer arse,” he declared, making his way over and carelessly exhaling cigarette smoke in his face. His grin faltered ever so slightly as he put a heavy hand on the smaller man's slight shoulder. He squeezed it slightly and nodded once, his only outward acknowledgement of his unconditional support for the other nation.

Wrinkling his nose, he pulled up a seat and looked around for an ashtray. Finding none, he looked around to make sure no one else was watching and flicked his cigarette end onto the floor. As he ground it into the carpet under his heel, he winked at the stoic Englishman.

“So...all set to piss down fire on the Huns then?”

[angelinehofstee]

Oddly enough, it wasn't raining right now. However, Belgium liked the change. Ever since she had escaped to the British isles, it seemed that every time she stepped outside she was greeted by rain. It would seem to fit the mood that she...and quite possibly the whole world was in...that is, if she didn't know for a fact that that was how it was in England almost all the time. For now, though, she gladly welcomed the sunny weather. The taxi she was in hurried down the streets toward the location she was instructed to be. With the sun out she could really see the English country side. It was quite beautiful, and, though not the same, it reminded her of her homeland too. It was a shame that the Germans were trying to ruin something so lovely. Then again...as of late, the Germans seemed to enjoy ruining precious things. She still hadn't forgiven Germany for his little stunt before in the Great War. Killing civilians, burning buildings that had no military purpose, and in general marching in like he owned the place...no that was something that she did not believe she would ever completely forgive. Now her face had a very grim expression, though it appeared she was still looking at the scenery. Seeing her reflection in the taxi window, she quickly changed it and dismissed her thoughts. The base was now in sight, and she wanted to look serious, but dignified at least.

She was on her way to an air force base south of London. They were planning on bombing Berlin, something Belgium had been itching to do since he had invaded again. Angeline liked to look proper of course. But in reality, she was a lot like her brother. She could be quite violent when angered. Even so, she wasn't strong enough to do anything with it. That was one of the things that she resented the most about being a small country. She wasn't too keen on getting over sea colonies at first, but she liked the way she felt once she had them. Important, prestigious, and powerful. But any time she was in a war within Europe, those feelings were all but tangible. Defeated defeated defeated. Even her own independence, was granted by someone else. As a matter of fact(Though she hates admitting it)...her brother's King had recognized her on a whim seemingly. And that was probably because of pressure from England. And after that, Germany overwhelmed her twice. But that made the prospect of destroying Berlin that much more satisfying.

Belgium also had to admit that she found this all to be a bit intimidating at the same time. She looked up to England a lot, and wanted to help in whatever way she could. From her being deemed a country to the Great War, she owed him more than she could repay. That is how she felt about it anyway. The Belgian air force had been massacred by the Luftwaffe. This was mainly due to her planes being outdated, but the memory still lingered, even with the promise of superior British aircraft. Belgium caught herself once again. She exhaled and looked forward. Going into a battle prepared to lose was meaningless. After all, that is how King Leopold III seemed to feel. Sometimes she really wondered what he was thinking. They had so much more to fight with, and he had surrendered. He refused to flee and come to England with her. It all seemed so suspicious. She hadn't been ready yet. She still could have fought against Germany. Her brother had at least been given the honor of being defeated when he was sure could give no more.

She stepped out of the taxi and proceeded to the room as she was instructed. Walking past security, she tried to get the last of her somewhat random thought patterns in order. England seemed like the type that would cut to the chase, and she needed to be ready. Still, the plans that they were going to carry out were not all known to her. The blonde was sure England would explain later...but she wish she knew of them now. Belgium opened the door to the room she was told to go. People were running everywhere, getting things ready...

"Hello, and good morning!" she said, addressing the two nations that were already present. She had a small smile, but it didn't last very long. She wanted to look serious, even though she was killing herself, trying to hold in her excitement. She recognized England immediately...but the other took her a few seconds. "Oh....S...Scotland." She thought to herself. Belgium had not really met him before but she could see the small resemblance between the two. Otherwise, they looked quite different. But Belgium wasn't all too surprised. Nation siblings didn't always look alike; her Brother and her were perfect examples. She walked up next to them. She was a tad at loss for what to say. Asking "How are you?" would be a quite a stupid question, but she couldn't think of much else. She could tell that not everything was ready and it could take some time. So she opted for just being quiet as of now.

--------

Sorry about the shortness of it, but I did try best I could. I really wasn't sure about the weather, or time so I made it up. But I will correct if need be!

Fixed! I'm sorry! >< Yah you put it there, and I totally missed it. I focused in on "Biggins Hill".

[albion]

“Christ, ye look like Hitler himsel' jammed that stick up yer arse,”

Scowling he gave a short snort, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Piss off, Firecrotch, no one asked you.” Because sometimes you just didn't want these things rubbed in your face. Oh he know he probably looked like someone had rammed an oak sleeper up him, but that was better than seeming like some wind broken stick. With France gone he'd become the last main line. If he needed to be the face of this war then so be it, but he'd not allow it to be one of broken despondence. He was the damn well United Kingdom, England... Yet the hand on his shoulder drove something else home that he perhaps tended to forget.

The United Kingdom didn't just involve England.

To the nod he gave something that could have been a flicker of a smile. They were a band of brothers, blood and tears lost to create a union far stronger than whatever the hell that blasted kraut could come up with. He was soon finding this to be a lonely war... And yet at the same time it was far less so than many of the others he'd involved himself in. Funny really. It took the near destruction of Europe for the pair to consider even getting along. Perhaps that was just a testament to their oh so wonderful relationship.

“So...all set to piss down fire on the Huns then?”

Well of course. What a stupid question. “Of course. Just as soon as you stop trying to destroy my carpets with your bloody fags.” With a huff of distaste he yanked a draw open. “Everything's in order, we're just waiting for everyone to arrive.” There were times he wondered how exactly people could take so long, yet in all likelihood they weren't. Time was screwing itself over well and truly, it had really been nothing more than a few hours, which is frankly what it took to traverse this little nation of his. They couldn't be all that far away, but right now it truly did seem too far to contend with. He wanted this underway now, he wanted those bastards to feel why exactly it was an utterly shite idea to screw with the English Empire. He'd make them regret this, even if he had to etch the words of hate into their damn blackened hearts he'd do it.

Hearing the tell tale footsteps of another approaching he didn't miss a beat in turning to face the new comer, holding only a mild surprise by the fact he was faced by Belgium. He was surprised that she was here really, that she was involved in the war at all if he was frank about thinks. He wondered briefly if she thought she owed him any sort of favour. Che, as a whole none of it had owt to do with him, his people had just done as they pleased. Personally he'd cared little, not when it came to another's independence anyway.

"Hello, and good morning!"

Holding back the involuntary eye twitch at such damn stupid words he instead gave a short nod. “Hallo,” he offered, cutting himself off there. No matter how polite it would be to respond to that comment in kind he'd do no such thing, not until this damn war was over and the Krauts had been shoved harshly in place. It would happen.... It had to happen.

"How are you?"

Oh how he wanted to snap. How did she think he was? His blasted country was under attack on a near nightly basis. He'd become the last force that had any sort of chance at stopping those bastards, and she really thought to ask that? There were some things he would alas not dignify with an answer, no matter how rude it was not to do so. This was indeed one of those things. In the end it was probably best that way though lest he end up saying something he perhaps didn't truly mean. It had happened before many times, and no doubt would happen again. It was simply kinder this way, even if it would perhaps not really seem it at the end of the day.

Turning to matters of greater concern he shifted on his feet slightly. “Were you both informed of what we will be doing?” If not he'd fill them in, but if so things would go all the faster. He hoped it would be the latter notion.

[scotlandthebrave]

“Piss off, Firecrotch, no one asked you.”

At this, Scotland let out a delighted cackle, leaning back in his chair and watching his brother's irritation. But when he met England's eye, he did so levelly and with no trace of malice. After all, they were playing on the same team for this one.

The door opened and Belgium joined them, a pretty, prim little thing who he barely knew but who, in his opinion, needed to get drunk more often. Having said that, in Hamish's opinion, most people needed to get drunk more often. If Hitler had taken a few more drams and killed a few less Jews, then Hamish probably wouldn't be sitting in Biggins Hill, reluctantly about to bomb seven shades of shit out of Ludwig's homeland. For a brief moment, he vehemently envied Ireland's neutrality.

"How are you?"

“Aye, braw,” he answered gruffly, with a twinkle of a smile. “Cannae complain, hen.”

That was a lie if ever there was one, he reflected. He could complain really fucking loudly about a lot of things. But Scotland had his own form of stoicism which was just as measured as England's famous stiff upper lip, so he continued to lean back in his chair, keeping his posture carefully careless and trying not to catch his brother's eye.

“Were you both informed of what we will be doing?”

Stick-Up-His-Jacksey Arthur was impatient to get down to business, and rightly so. It was an unpleasant task that lay ahead of them and the only option before them was to grit their teeth and get on with it. He was tempted to crack one of his sarcastic, dry jokes, to wind England up and get a reaction from him. But the dark circles under the blonde man's eyes made him think twice.

“Aye...” he replied, his voice firm and quiet. “Cannae say I'm happy aboot it, but war is war and we protect wir own.” Running a hand through his shock of auburn hair, he withdrew a slim silver case from his breast pocket and pulled out another cigarette. He put it between his lips with solemn contemplation for a few moments before digging around in his pocket for a match, striking it on the table and lighting up. “The lads up in Leuchars have been thrashing oot the details wi' your boys, Arthur. An' ah reckon between the two of us, we could outfly anythin' the Huns decide to throw at us.”

He glanced at Belgium doubtfully for a moment, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. “D'ye ken how tae fly a plane, lass?” he enquired.

[angelinehofstee]

England's stiffness at her greeting and question did not come as a surprise for her. Even if they hadn't been silly things to say, Belgium had always seen England as a little harsh. He seemed to be that way to almost everyone. So Belgium wasn't upset or offended, though she did regret not saying anything more...substantial. Oh well, they can't all be winners. The blonde wouldn't let it get her down.

It was a good thing Scotland smiled because Belgium had to repeat the words in her head to extract the meaning. In the mean time she took the smile as a good thing and smiled back. He certainly seemed more laid back.

England asked a very important question, and Belgium had somewhat of an answer. Luckily the older brother answered first, and Belgium once again had to really concentrate to catch anything. But she opted not to so she could concentrate instead on how she'd answer when they turned to her. She knew what she had to do, yes. But... could she do it? Well she'd try anyway. Besides, while death was painful, chances were she wouldn't actually die anyway. Her worry was, if her true capital was Brussels, even though her prime minister was with her here....where would she go when she came back? She hoped not Brussels, where King Leopold the III was, though she missed it. Belgium had not been in a war yet where she had "died" while she had both a Prime Minister and a King. She wanted to ask the two men, but that would make her seem even more air-headed right? Though she knew for a fact they were older anyway... If she went to her King, then she would be in German...territory. The thought of Brussels being called that made her want to puke. In any case, being captured by German forces again would be the last thing she wanted. And she couldn't trust Leopold.

As Scotland asked the question, the smoke that he had just taken in came out and filled the air. The only section of that group of words that Belgium caught was "...fly a plane" and it sounded like a question. She felt bad for not being able to understand him; she'd have to study on that tricky accent later... Now she could fly a plane? Yes. Could she do it well when combat was involved? No. Belgium much preferred hand to hand, soldier to soldier, which is why these current wars frustrated her so. She'd rather wait in a hidden area and send down fire with a rifle than fly a plane and do it. But the times had changed. Regardless, she didn't want them telling her to just go back. No she wanted to contribute as much as possible.

"Yes." she replied abruptly, looking as confident, but serious as she could so they wouldn't question the answer.

Then the thought reached her, that she could also be problematic if they were the type to try to help her if her plane was in trouble. That idea made her worry more than actually going down.

"But..." she looked for the words to say. "I admit I'm no where as near as good as you two are..." she decided to be honest. "If I get in trouble, don't try to help me. I don't really like feeling guilty about anything, you know. I just want the mission to be a success." She added, trying to sound casual but to the point. It's how she felt really. She didn't want any "Oh no, we'd never do that!We'd help you out!" Though... she was pretty sure England wasn't that type, Belgium wasn't totally sure about the both of them, and she need to make it clear. She'd feel so much better if they just agreed. And she hoped they could see that. If the mission failed because they were having to save her for lack of skill... she'd rather crash and burn.

" I'm pretty anxious and excited at the same time. To be honest... I just want to get it over with... So, when exactly are we leaving? "



___________________

King Leopold the III surrendered abruptly without telling the Belgian parliament or the British and French forces. This led an unprotected space for some of the retreating British and French armies. Leopold said he did it to protect Belgian lives. However the Belgians, and even Winston Churchill deemed him a traitor pretty much. I mentioned him in the first post, but forgot to put this just in case you didn't already know.

And I apologise for the late-ness of my post!

[albion]

“Aye... Cannae say I'm happy aboot it, but war is war and we protect wir own.”

He was right of course, but Arthur would be damned if he ever agreed with the Scott. There was little doubt that he’d rather wrench his own bloody teeth out than do so, though in the end even he knew that it was rather difficult to deny what was right in front of you at a given time. “None of us are happy about any of this, yet here we are again.” Again because the last Great war should have been just that; the last. It was that damn German though. The little prick had gotten far too big for his boots, trying so hard to outshine the already established empires. It was true Poland was not Arthur’s concern. The little crossdresser was of no use to him really, but it was the principle. Where would it stop once it had started?

This of course had to be nipped in the bud sooner or later, and thus war. Already though he wondered if cost would outweigh the prize… If there even was one. Of course though things wouldn’t be that grim for him, his people were strong and their spirit was stronger. After tonight he hoped that resolve of theirs would harden in the belief that regardless of what the Krauts did the Allies would lash back with a force tenfold of that which had initiated it. Rule Britannia and all that, eh?

“D'ye ken how tae fly a plane, lass?”
"Yes."

He had to admit that was no small blessing. It would have been mildly more problematic had she not been able to, yet of course it had been likely that she would. You didn’t get far anymore were you unable to deal with the skies. He supposed they did have a certain charm to them, even if the waves were more his thing.

"I admit I'm no where as near as good as you two are... If I get in trouble, don't try to help me. I don't really like feeling guilty about anything, you know. I just want the mission to be a success."

With a snort he cast his eyes to the window, falling into the apparent range of ‘I really can’t be arsed with this’. “Don’t say such things,” he stated flatly, leaning against the wall by the sill. “It’ll do you no good to get yourself killed, and frankly it’s a pain in the arse for me to lose another ship. If it’s safe to help then you help, naturally.” He was a dick but he wasn’t heartless, and despite the harsh context of the words when digging deeper it was perhaps more genuine than it first seemed.

He’d lost too many good men up there, brave soldiers who should have returned home to be honoured as the heroes they were. When you were up there your squad was all you had, and the faster she grasped that the better for all. Whilst he most certainly didn’t condone thoughtless heroics that got yourself killed… Well it was only good practice to help if you could.

“You’re no good to us dead.” Even if the death wasn’t permanent it was still a bother to have someone out of commission for a while. They truly needed every man they could get, even if said man was a woman.

" I'm pretty anxious and excited at the same time. To be honest... I just want to get it over with... So, when exactly are we leaving? "

“Shortly. Once my boys give us the go ahead we’ll be on our way. There’ll be a quick debrief to be had, and then they’ll fit you a plane and kit you up.” Obviously they wouldn’t be able to do all that much until the moon was brought out to hide them against the silky black that was so damn good at blotting out what was above until it was too damn late for you to really do all that much about it. This was the aim.

“And don’t you dare blow your bloody fags in one; you’ll bugger up everything in it. Damn wait until you can light one for victory.” He huffed out at his elder.

Never the optimist it was far easier to combine it with a sharp insult that really meant nothing. He knew well enough that even his dick of a brother wasn’t thick enough to do such a thing. With such fine machinery you’d have to be nigh on insane to even consider doing such a thing. Scotland may not have been the brightest crayon in the box but even he had his limits, and for once there was some faith in it that this was not on the edge of them. Were it so there would no doubt be an utter loss of whatever respect there was between them.

[scotlandthebrave]

Scotland frowned a little at Arthur's harsh reply to Belgium, but he couldn't argue with the statement. She was no good to either of them dead, and her attempts at being selfless were no use to either of the Brits. There was no point in sending her out alone to get shot down, and losing a valuable plane into the bargain. Every single loss of a jet tipped the balance in Ludwig's favour.

Besides, Hamish had another more pressing concern, namely what would happen if Belgium were to be shot down and captured by the Nazis. He was certain that he could keep his mouth shut, even under torture, and that Arthur could do the same. After all, the Englishman might be a ponce, but he was spiteful and angry enough not to give the war effort away. But Belgium, the wee lassie with the big, earnest eyes, might break a little more easily, and Hamish did not want to take that chance.

He let his younger brother take charge of the situation. This one was his operation after all.

“You better no' gie me a shite plane,” he snorted under his breath.


“And don’t you dare blow your bloody fags in one; you’ll bugger up everything in it. Damn wait until you can light one for victory.”

At this, Scotland laughed openly. “Ah'll smoke wherever the fuck ah want tae,” he informed his brother with a grin. “But naw, yer right on this one. Once I'm in that plane, I'll not light up again until after we've cleared the sky of every last Hun.”

Getting to his feet, he glanced at Belgium, before placing a heavy hand on her shoulder and giving her a sympathetic smile. “Listen, lass. Yer man Arthur's a nippy sweetie, and that's no lie, but neither of us are gonnae let ye go down in flames. We're expecting ye to hold yer own in combat, but ah'll be keeping a wee eye oot for ye, and if you get yerself in a mess, then all ye have to do is shout for me on the radio.”

He grinned and winked at her. “Any Hun starts getting too close for comfort, and I'll blow 'em out of the sky faster than two shakes of a lamb's tail.” He smashed his fist into the palm of his hand and laughed for good measure. “Adolf H is gonnae rue the day he started a square go with the United Kingdom.”

The redhead sat back down in his seat and put his muddy boots up on the expensive mahogany desk, withdrawing yet another cigarette and lighting it. His posture was perfectly relaxed, nonchalant even, but it was a studied effort. He was chain smoking to take the edge off his nerves, and there was absolutely no joy in his eyes, despite the careless grin he wore plastered to his features. He had no desire to start raining down fire on that poor German bastard, had no desire to start taking out his capital, or risk the bombing of innocent civilians. And while he wasn't concerned for his own safety, or that of his brother's (he was well aware that England could handle himself), his heart went out to little Belgium. For her first aerial combat experience, this was bound to be brutal.

“Belgium,” he said, and his face took on a sombre expression. “Dinnae choke on us, ok? There's no room for nerves in this operation. We'll have yer back, but once yer in that plane, ye don't think about anything else, 'cept for staying up in the sky and taking down the fucking enemy. No pity. No fear. No surrender. Got it?”

[angelinehofstee]

"I understand fully."

Belgium calmly accepted England's response. Well, she would have rather had the whole "No, we're fine with that" response. She would usually be a little infuriated at the comment, that she, was worth less than a plane. But she knew why Arthur had said these things so she pushed the slight anger to the back of her head. This was a war after all right?

Though England seemed more stressed than he usually was in these situations. But of course this would be the case. The whole fate of Europe, maybe even the rest of the world, rested on England's shoulders, didn't it? Belgium remembered the last war, all seemed lost, but America came and he and England seemed to turn everything around. This time though, the United States seemed adamant about not entering the war. So England really was the last man standing... But that was why she had to give her best effort, and Scotland as well.

Speaking of the devil.

He got up and came over to him, Belgium's eyes watched as he came over next to her and patted her on the back a bit hard. She didn't budge an inch though and just looked up at him as he spoke. He told her he'd help her out, and something about a "nippy sweetie".

"...and I'll blow 'em out of the sky faster than two shakes of a lamb's tail."

Belgium laughed a little and then grinned. "What a bold statement! I think I'll hold you to it!" she replied, her grin widening a tiny bit. Unlike England who made her feel very stiff, Scotland helped her feel more at ease.

The tall man went back and plopped onto the chair, putting his dirty boots right on the table. No doubt, Belgium thought, to annoy his little brother. Normally Belgium's mother like tendencies would have come out by now. Usually she'd scold someone for doing something that lacked so much finesse, but this was war, not Sunday school. Since he was expecting him to say more she had been watching him as he went to sit. His posture was very relaxed seemingly, but his eyes looked tired. And once again he lit a cigarette. Though it was a pipe, when her brother was upset or frustrated, he lit up as well. When he some oversea happening had not gone in his favour, the whole house was filled with smoke. He wasn't a nervous smoker, more like he used it to blow off some steam. Scotland seemed so ready for anything, Belgium hadn't thought about how he might be stressed as well as England.

"We'll have yer back, but once yer in that plane, ye don't think about anything else, 'cept for staying up in the sky and taking down the fucking enemy. No pity. No fear. No surrender. Got it?"

Belgium chuckled a little. She didn't mean for it to sound belittling though it might have. She wasn't sure if he understood how she was feeling. She did have a little fear, fear that she wouldn't do enough damage or become a problem. But fear of the enemy, or sympathy was not something she possessed. No, she wanted revenge. The Great War had been a humiliation, and the invasion of her home this time had been as well. Defeat defeat defeat. Finally she would be given the chance to destroy Germany's home, as he had hers. As a matter a fact, her calm demeanor now was simply good manners. But that would probably fade away once Berlin was in sight. She would destroy everything she saw. But that placid attitude must be what threw the Scotsman off, Belgium reasoned.

The blonde smiled, "Oh don't worry, I have no problem with killing any Germans or destroying anything if that's what you are trying to say. I won't feel bad and turn back. You can count on me to do as much damage as I am able." She gave a small, quick nod.