Tempest (Lithuania, Germany, Poland, Russia)

[Lithuania]

13th July, 1944
Vilnius, Lithuania

Dawn broke over Vilnius as a solitary brunette stumbled through the forest on the outskirts of the Lithuanian capital. He was forcing one foot in front of the other, drawn towards the roar of gunfire as though it were a siren call. It had been such a very long journey from Ludwig's home, and the perpetual fear of being caught with each border he passed meant that his nerves were in tatters, just as much as his stamina was. Escaping from Germany's house had not been such a difficult task. With Stalingrad lost and the German army losing their tentative hold on Eastern Europe, Ludwig had been painfully distracted, and barely home from fighting anyway.

He hadn't been entirely sure of the reason why now had seemed like the time for action. He'd played out most of the war in a state of helpless misery, shut away and mourning the destruction of his people from afar. But then, one night when his chest was racked with a pain so unbearable that he'd curled up in the coal cellar and screamed silently into his fist...he knew that he could no longer stay.

He liked his German captor. Strange though it was, the last thing he felt towards Ludwig was resentment. Ever since the night when the blonde man had bluntly informed him of the atrocities of the Holocaust, ever since they'd both frankly shared their raw, desperate pain with one another, he couldn't help but think of the austere Nazi as a friend. He was no more responsible for this mess than any other average German citizen who'd been swept up in Adolf Hitler's tide of destruction.

Toris was no idiot when it came to war strategy. He was more than aware of how crucial his capital was, to both the Nazis and the Red Army. He was in no doubt that it would eventually become a battleground for a showdown between Ludwig and Ivan and, while common sense dictated that he should stay as far away as possible, he couldn't leave his children alone. Not at a time like this.

And then there was the matter of Poland, his one time best friend and Commonwealth partner. Feliks had stabbed him in the back too, had selfishly laid claim to his capital...his heart. And for all he cared about the smaller blonde, the son of a bitch could go to Hell before he was going to take Vilnius. This was his land, and these were his children who were dying. Not Poland's.

Somewhere along the course of his journey, he'd managed to steal a rusty handgun and a uniform from a dead German soldier, trading his servant's clothing for something a little better equipped for combat. It was stained with blood, and much too large, but it would do. He'd made a point of ripping off the swastika emblem, and any other markings which denoted Nazi affiliation, but hopefully it would still have the added effect of allowing him to blend into the crowd of soldiers easily enough.

He wasn't even sure what his objective was. To gather as many of his children as possible and get them out of the city, into the forests, perhaps. There was no hope of him defeating Poland, holding back Ivan or persuading Ludwig to retreat. He tried to assess the situation in his head. Feliks stood no chance...at best, he would provide an annoyance to the two main aggressors. He wouldn't win, but he might do some heavy damage to either side. If Ludwig held the city, then the Nazi threat would still hang over Europe, and he suspected that most of the prisoners in the ghettos were already being executed even as he stumbled into the city and began to make his way through the streets.

But Christ...if Ivan won. It didn't bear thinking about. Although objectively Communism might be marginally...and only marginally...less destructive for his people, he still found himself choking with dread at the prospect of his ex-lover taking his capital city.

He kept to the alleyways and shadows as he made his way towards the city centre, inexplicably drawn to the main heat of the fighting. Where were the civilians? The whole place was being raised to the ground...one giant battlefield. Where were his children?

He held his breath and hid behind the ruined wall of what had once been a hospital, as some Polish Home Army soldiers ran past. He had six rounds in his pistol, and the last thing he needed was to be drawn into a skirmish with Polish rebels and waste valuable ammunition.

As they past, he sprinted for the next residential area, when suddenly there was a roar of explosion and he found himself diving for cover behind a pile of rubble. Coughing and spluttering, he looked down at his forearm to find a piece of shrapnel embedded there, and he pulled it out with a distressed whimper, splashing red onto his boots. What the Hell was he doing here? He was in no shape to fight, had no army to back him up. He rolled over and sat up clumsily, pushing his shoulder length hair out of his eyes and choking on the smell of sulphur in the air.

He became suddenly aware of the presence of a soldier beside him, German at a glance and extremely high ranking, judging by his uniform. The Nazi turned around Toris withdrew his dagger, uncurling slightly and adopting a defensive pose, akin to that of a cornered animal. He was still a nation, he could still have a fighting chance against an ordinary human being.

But then wide green eyes met cool blue and the dagger fell from his hand, hitting the dusty ground below with a clatter.

“Ludwig...?” he blurted out. And it might have been the other nation's army who were tearing his capital apart, but in that moment, he couldn't help but feel desperately glad to see a familiar face. Tears began to spring to his eyes as he stared at the German, his bottom lip trembling.

And in the next instant, he found that he was clutching the taller nation's arm, as he buried his face in his friend's broad shoulder and let out a loud sob.


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OOC: Vilnius Offensive is GO!!!

[Germany]

Angry outbursts of gunfire and the ground-shaking, window-shattering explosions of bombs, tank-canons, and other heavy artillery greeted the dawn of a new day over Vilnius. The fighting had started at least half an hour ago and, predictably, was increasing in intensity as soldiers on both sides awoke and picked up where they had left off the evening before. It never stopped, really. Nighttime was but a brief respite, a mere lull in the bloodshed and wartime cacophony. No one — German, Pole, or Lithuanian — could truly feel safe while he slept, even when surrounded by compatriots and allies in a supposedly secure area. Death could come in the form of a ratly sneak-attack at any moment, or even a tragic case of misidentification on the part of one’s own rightfully-jumpy allies.

It was a brutal place to be.

But Germany knew as well as any of his high command that holding Vilnius was vital if he were to retain his grip on the Baltic states and have any chance at all of reclaiming the surrounding territory he had recently lost in the region, so of course he had to be there. After the Soviets had pushed back the army he’d been fighting with he’d done the only sensible thing and retreated with the survivors to Lithuania’s capitol to reinforce the German presence there. Hopefully by concentrating the brunt of their Lithuanian might in the city where it mattered most — Vilnius — they’d be able to hold ground and reverse the Soviet winning streak, chasing their foes back to Stalin like frightened dogs with their tails tucked between their legs.

At least, that had been the plan.

Ludwig had never had great hopes of everything going plan to begin with — if there was a way anywhere for something to screw up it usually did, and with all the crushing losses he’d been suffering on the eastern front lately ( especially Stalingrad: that had been gutting[/i] ) and battle-strategy challenged Hitler still calling all the shots he had no reason to think the tide would start changing now — but for all the possible Vilnius scenarios he’d envisioned playing out the one that hadn’t crossed his mind was the one involving a bunch of aggressive and annoyingly tenacious Poles fighting fiercely for possession of the city. Sure, he’d long known the place was a hotspot for Poles, that Poland and Lithuania disputed the border and who owned what, but damn, he never would have imagined that even Poles would be stupid enough to try to take on his military again, not after 1939.

He’d given them too much credit. He and his men had encountered strong resistance from the so-called “Polish Home Army” all the way into Vilnius. Normally crushing them underfoot like the pathetic little underground vermin they were would have been a cakewalk for the Wehrmacht and the SS, but after the latter two had taken such a royal pounding from the Red Army fighting-fit soldiers and still-useable weapons and supplies were fewer in number. So many Germans had been killed, their weapons and ammunition stolen or completely destroyed. For the survivors aid was slow to arrive; supply-lines were constantly being sabotaged. Because of that Felik’s people had been and continued to be far more of a challenge than usual. And while Germany and his soldiers were forced to waste precious lives, time, bullets, resources, and energy dealing with stubborn trigger-happy Poles the much deadlier Red Army drew ever-nearer, grinning at the chance to spill more German blood.

They were barely outside city-limits now.

Peeking out at a smoky alleyway from the broken window of gutted house, Ludwig wondered whether the Reds would choose today to charge in guns blazing or wait a bit longer for the Poles to further weaken their shared enemy. From a Soviet perspective there were pros and cons to each strategy, and, were he in Ivan’s place, he wasn’t sure which he would go with. He knew which Ivan would go with — the violet-eyed sadist always had been the rush-in-headlong type — but if Stalin had ordered restraint for the time being then his nation would have no choice but to obey.

A flurry of sound and motion pulled his attention to the right-hand stretch of the street, where a single lonely Polish Home Army soldier burst from a thick cloud of dark gray smoke, sputtering and coughing while blood gushed from his left arm and thigh. He ran with his head down low and one arm over his forehead so as to make himself less of a target and maximize the protection his helmet offered, but it would do him no good.

Blue eyes focused intently on his soon-to-be victim, Ludwig deftly raised his K98 rifle and aimed for the patch of pale, exposed flesh directly under the helmet and a centimeter or two in front of the ear. He preferred clean, single-shot kills, both to save on ammo and to minimize the amount of pain felt by the victim. The man may be Polish, but he didn’t want him to suffer. He pulled the trigger.

Unfortunately, either his timing or his aim was off; the bullet struck somewhere on the helmet, causing the Pole to cry out and stagger into the brick wall of an adjacent building. Wounded, but still very much alive, he leaned heavily into the structure for support, breathing heavily while his whole body trembled and shook beneath him.

Damnit. Ludwig cursed silently, Must have been a glancing blow. He hated it when that happened.

Time to finish the job. Figuring the Pole to be in too much pain and shock to be much of a danger to him, and not wanting to use up anymore bullets than he had to, he leapt out the window and ran straight for him, flipping his rifle around in his hand as he did so.

Turned out the other man was not so dazed after all. He noticed him immediately, hatred burning through tired, watery eyes as he went for his handgun.

Ludwig reached him before he could finish drawing it. One strike to the face with the stock of his rifle and it was all over for the Polish soldier: his nose caved in violently with a sickening sound and his skull cracked audibly under the inhuman force of the blow. He was dead before he hit the ground. Ludwig took his handgun and slipped it into one of his inner pockets, then hastily searched him for extra bullets or anything else useful that he could either offer to a needy comrade or keep as a backup reserve for himself.

All he found was a combat knife.

Useless.

He and his troops were loaded to the back-teeth with those.

Leaving the knife where it was, he got up and wiped the stock of his rifle clean against the dead man’s uniform before tearing off towards the center of the city where, hopefully, he would be able to reunite with one of his best units and swap information with his direct subordinate.

Spending as little time as possible out in the open, he became death in the shadows, attacking every enemy soldier in sight and downing a fair number of them. But for every kill he made he found one of his own laying dead or dying on the ground, and his already-tattered spirits kept getting shredded more and more along with his pride the closer he got to his destination.

How could this be happening?! Even weakened by the Soviets, surely his men could put up a better fight than this. It was sad, embarrassing, and infuriating all at once.

Where the hell are the SS?

Despite the fact that Vilnius had been an SS stronghold, relatively few of the Germans he had come across in the past few days — alive or dead — were members of the SS. Making his way towards a hospital, he wondered what had happened to the missing majority, whether they’d gotten trapped by the enemy somewhere or were simply mounting an offensive in a different part of the city. They weren’t known for their bravery, true, but they were too well-disciplined to run off. For all intents and purposes they were the fourth branch of the Wehrmacht, and most were good shots — they’d better be after all the target practice they’d had, especially the damned Einsatzgruppen — so it would definitely be a plus if they were out there somewhere putting themselves to good use.

He had just passed the hospital and turned down a fresh street when he caught sight of something all-too-familiar hurtling menacingly towards him through the air. Reflexively, he dove behind a large pile of rubble that had once been a small house and covered his head, and not a moment too soon. The ground shook with the explosion; he could feel the heat of the blast warming the air above and to the side of him, smell the sulphur heavy in the air.

Way too close for comfort, but at least he hadn’t been hurt. Rising into a crouch, he readied his rifle and turned towards a blur of human movement off to his side.

His finger shied away from the trigger when he saw it was other Germans. Their backs turned to him, they disappeared into the ruins of a building without ever realizing he was there. Seeing no signs of enemy activity in the immediate vicinity, he was just about to make a run for it and join his comrades when yet another explosion rocked the area, echoing the fury of the first.

What are they firing at?!

It couldn’t be the Germans he’d just seen dart into the building, that was completely in the wrong direction…

Someone was behind him. He could feel their presence, hear the shifting of their weight close by.

He whirled, prepared to use his rifle as a club…

…and stopped dead at the sight of a German uniform and a familiar face framed by shoulder-length brown hair.

Toris?!

Their eyes met, and a look of total surprise swept his face as he took in the sight of his Baltic drawn up into a defensive stance with a dagger, his posture akin to that of a cornered mouse.

Toris recognized him at the same time and dropped the dagger. “Ludwig…?”

For some reason, he seemed almost uncertain.

Still taken aback by the sudden appearance of his servant-and-friend in a place where he definitely should not be, Ludwig could only stare in helpless tongue-tied wonder as the Lithuanian grabbed his arm and began sobbing into his shoulder.

And then it became painfully clear why Toris was here: he was Lithuania, and Vilnius was his heart. With all the carnage and widespread destruction that had been devastating the city he would have been experiencing severe heart-attacks — or at least some kind of intense pain in his chest — for days, along with a pronounced feeling of loss, despair, fear, and anything else his people might be feeling or experiencing. A nation always knew when something horribly wrong was happening to his people, even if he didn’t know exactly what, even if he was thousands of kilometers away from home with little or no contact with the outside world. Ludwig himself knew all too well how that worked.

So it was understandable that turning Vilnius into a battleground could drive Lithuania to disobey orders and set out for his capitol. He was here to try to help his people — his “children”, as he affectionately called them — in some way. How the hell he imagined he was going to do that, especially without his own army and in such a weakened state, was beyond the blue-eyed nation. But he couldn’t blame him for trying. Were situations reversed, he’d move Heaven and Hell to get to Berlin and do as much as he could for his people, even if he had no strength left in his body, even on the verge of death.

The moment of surprise passed. But rather than return to its usual austereness, Ludwig’s expression instead softened with compassion. Reaching out with his left arm, he pulled the brunette a little further into him and gently patted his back a few times in an attempt at comfort.

“Hallo, Toris.” he greeted in a shade of sorrow, “I know why you’re here. You want to help your people, don’t you?” He felt the other nation’s tears leeching through his uniform, warm and wet, and his sadness deepened into something that wholly wrenched at his heart.

Bad enough he wasn’t doing well — he didn’t want to think about what might happen to Toris if he lost. Not that Hitler’s plans for Lithuania would promote his health and survival, but if Ludwig could hold on to his servant nation at least he would be able to comfort him in his last days, which would be infinitely better than what Ivan would do, which would be make the rest of his short existence pure, agonizing Hell.

“I can help you with that.” he continued, his voice strong, yet fraught with hints of kindness, “Stay with me and I’ll protect you while you…do what you need to do.” And there would be no problem, he was quite sure, because most Lithuanians were on his side, especially here in Vilnius, where, not too long ago, he’d witnessed a fair number of them participating in genocide with the zeal of any Nazi. He wasn’t sure what exactly Toris planned to do, but whatever it was it probably wouldn’t hinder his efforts to keep the city. More than likely he’d just try to herd them into a bomb-shelter or some other safe-haven somewhere.

He was on the cusp of saying more when he heard someone approaching, their boots crunching a little too audibly over the debris. Staying low, he pivoted towards the source, instinctively drawing up his rifle.

When he saw who it was his very next instinct was to aim and shoot to kill.

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A/N: And there it is! Feel free to screw up his aim, Liet. ; ) Poland, do whatever you need to avoid injury — that bullet isn't supposed to hit you.

Also, the mention of the relative lack of SS members is referencing the fact that at least two major units of them gave up trying to hold the city on July 9th.

[Poland]

Feliks was not a morning person, nor a combative person, despite there being so many mornings and so much combat throughout his life. So waking up so damned early in the morning to go fight with some already-damned-to-lose Germans just didn’t appeal to him the way it seemed to with some of the others. Surely, he was just as against the Wehrmacht as any other sane, compassionate person, but for him, anger and bloodlust were two distinctly different things, the latter of which he scarcely felt towards anyone, and furthermore, never felt so early in the day. And he was just so… so tired, too tired to get up.

Urban warfare was too… exhausting of all of their resources, and more destructive by a landslide, but it did allow for more cover than any other setting. He wasn’t so bitter as to constantly look at the horrid side of things. Besides, he had a cause, too, to retake Wilno as his very own. And their cause was just, of course, Wilno was his city to retake. The Red Army shouldn’t even play any part in that, yet as soon as Poland woke up, cradled in the relative safety of a secured building near the center of the city, the first thing he’d had the displeasure to hear had been hushed whispers telling the arrival of the Red Army. Feliks thought.

Poland had to smile humorlessly at those who thought that the arrival of the Soviets could be a good thing. They did have a common enemy, yes. But that didn’t change the fact that the two of them would forever be at each other’s throats. When he thought like that, so knowing and so bitter, he felt older than he had in a long time. He didn’t like that feeling, he didn’t even enjoy the semblance of wisdom that came along with it. However, after what Russia had done, what Russia had so carelessly shown him, he saw it as a proven fact that Russia was not approaching Wilno’s gate to help him. He didn’t know how exactly, but in his wake, Russia almost always brought some kind of misfortune.

Still, after taking in all of his worries for that day, and almost methodically ridding himself of them, Feliks wasn’t too horrified about his circumstances when he left safety that morning, and entered hell.

Hell was a place that he’d been to very often, he thought. It wasn’t Wilno, per se—though Wilno had been a sort of hell for him in 1920—but it could be anywhere, warfare. Warfare was hell, what with all of the blood-curdling screams and the chaos and complete destruction and the bodies. This particular time, both sides weren’t doing so well on retrieving bodies, so they scattered the street, stripped of anything useful by now. Following loosely behind his squadron , he peered down at them, trying to spot ammunition, cartridges, rifles, pistols, something. Such things were becoming scarce to the Poles, and, from their unusually bad fighting, the Germans too. The situation wasn’t entirely awful. Wasn’t his Home Army winning? Wilk said they were in a stalemate. That was somewhat disconcerting, but Feliks didn’t take the words too seriously either. They had made great gains already.

He didn’t like to lead squadrons, but he didn’t quite enjoy following either. And they knew he was wonderfully and strangely different, so they let him do what he wanted, have his own little chaotic, unorthodox fight. And he, in turn, generally kept them in sight, or served as the necessary messenger between squadrons because he wasn’t limited to being affiliated with one; he was with the force in its entirety.

But that meant stepping into dangerous waters alone, too.

The others ran through the destruction-ridden area with haste, none wanting to get involved with the heavy fighting in the area. Feliks, disdainfully aware of his own morbidity, took the time to pick whatever useful supplies he could from freshly downed soldiers from either side. Gross and necessary work, too, and without it being quite so necessary to join in the direct fighting, which he was so very tired of. As he bent down to so shamelessly pick the cartridges from a fallen Nazi, there was an explosion nearby. He heard it before he felt or saw it, and just the sound caused his stomach to sink. Eyes wide with surprise and impulse, Feliks snatched up what he could and darted from the street into a building, heart pounding uneasily.

He was not very cautious as he entered, either, and it seemed only by God’s graces that no one else was in there—a forgotten, desolate building—it was no target, especially as the fighting moved up the street. Feliks slipped towards the window, with quiet steps and loud breaths, peering out into hell. He was very satisfied to see that the explosion had made targets out of Germans, that it was their charred bodies in piles littering the ground for once. He almost chuckled at the unpleasant intensity of his own contempt, stepping outside of the building. He somehow felt drained of energy as he went, trudging over wreckage, convinced that the area was empty of soldiers. All the same, he tried to figure which would be the appropriate way to go. He wasn’t so good with navigation in Wilno, admittedly, but he’d never speak such a thing aloud. The city was his, whether or not he could become lost there was irrelevant. Everything looked different and seemed the same, like there was no definitive answer as to where he should go. He could only look around, up and down and across and all over.

Was it sad that what he saw bothered him more than any number of dead bodies?

It might’ve, if Feliks was concerned with keeping track of awful things. It was bad enough to see Ludwig—what a surge of hatred it caused to see him—but it was so much worse to see Lithuania with him. It took him less than a moment to recognize the other despite his face being obscured, and he wished he hadn’t, wished he’d had the sense to run instead of still and stare. He felt a thousand things at once, wondered a million wonders, and it all was reduced to shocked numbness when Ludwig, bloodthirsty, virulent Ludwig, who’d caused everything, who’d done everything in his power to hurt everyone, who was alongside the devil in terms of cruelty… that Ludwig seemed to reach out and gently pat Lithuania on the back.

Feliks was furious, but he wasn’t sure who he was furious at. At Ludwig, there was that regular, endless hatred, and new bitterness because it all wasn’t enough-- he’d taken Liet away, too? Everyone was taking Liet away. And he was furious at Toris, because he just let them, and he was on their side, and… Poland felt his hand come to rest on the copper eagle adorning his uniform. Then he felt everything else. Bristling betrayal, for one, and such unbridled contempt he wasn’t sure what to do with it. There was fear, for himself and for Liet, heartless bastard though the brunette was. Sadness, because maybe he was completely solitary in a way. And a seedling of something, some horrible disappointment that sucked everything else in with it. That needling, thorny thought that maybe Toris wasn’t who Poland had taken him to be in the first place.

Poland had figured Lithuania was still upset about Wilno—he shouldn’t be, he thought stubbornly—but he had harbored not even one thought that Lithuania would side with Russia or Germany, and definitely not that they would look so disgustingly, devastatingly… close.

All of this was held and felt within mere moments.

Then, Germany stared right at him, and Poland stared right back, defiantly and angrily and knowing, knowing that of course, Germany had a rifle on him, and of course, the mongrel’s first damned move would be to lift it to life once more. He wasn’t aware of commanding himself; he wasn’t really sure how he did it, but evidently his legs understood what the rest of him didn’t, because he moved, ran and stumbled, just as Ludwig fired his wasted bullet. It couldn’t kill Feliks, not really kill him, but even a temporary death in such a place would be incredibly inconvenient, and a bullet to the head would be painful. No fear of death plagued him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t preoccupied with the scene at hand, the obvious friendship his ex-best friend and one of his worst enemies shared. He stilled completely, but with a kind of lax ease, staring down the barrel of Ludwig’s rifle. And he knew he had to say something despite everything, so he said what came to mind and could hardly mask what he felt.

“I’ve really been waiting for you to come, Germany,” Feliks was smiling before he knew it, mirthlessly, challengingly. “But I totally thought you’d be off getting your ass kicked somewhere else, and I’d never get a chance to do it myself!” Briefly, he glanced at Lithuania and then back at Ludwig. He couldn’t seem to keep his voice entirely steady, as he shouted, “I can’t believe you, Litwa. Why are you… why are you with him like that? You do know that that is Germany, and he is trying to kill all of us, right?” He laughed as if none of it was happening, laughed as if there’d been no trace of tragedy in his life for years. “You can be so dumb sometimes, Liet. Too nice. That or you really do know everything that he’s done, and yet…” Feliks frowned, glowered at the mismatched duo. It was only a few moments after that when it occurred to him that it would be prudent to have a weapon on hand too, and he quickly tried to steady his own rifle, fumbling with it as he did with everything else.

[Lithuania]

He'd expected at least a perfunctory reproach from the German, for running away, for breaking the orders and rules that the blonde man held so dear. But the sorrowful compassion in his voice told Toris that things had gone long past that point. Everything was falling apart, and none of it mattered now.

“Stay with me and I’ll protect you while you…do what you need to do.”

“I don't even have a plan...” he mumbled, looking up with tear stained cheeks. “I don't know...”

He was cut off abruptly as Ludwig raised his rifle as a figure approached them. The brunette's head snapped up, his hand reaching for his own pistol, but he stopped short of drawing it when he saw who was there.

Instinctively, he reached up to grab Ludwig's arm again, to beg him to hold his fire, but a shot had already rang out. Luckily, Poland managed to stumble out of the bullet's trajectory, unharmed. Lithuania peered guiltily over what was left of the demolished wall, taking in his old friend's war-weary appearance. He looked gaunter, and there was no familiar spark of mischief dancing in his eyes. Instead, he just seemed so very bitter, the mockery of smile on his lips set into a hard, joyless line.

“I can’t believe you, Litwa. Why are you… why are you with him like that? You do know that that is Germany, and he is trying to kill all of us, right?”

Toris stared at his one time best friend mutely, his mouth open slightly. He couldn't repress that instinctive feeling of guilt, for being friends with an enemy of his oldest ally. But then, Poland had ceased to be an ally the moment he'd laid claim to Vilnius.

“You can be so dumb sometimes, Liet. Too nice. That or you really do know everything that he’s done, and yet…”

He watched Poland ready his weapon and instinctively he clutched at the barrel of Ludwig's rifle, shooting him a desperate, imploring glance.

“Please, hold your fire!” he begged, his statement directed to both parties. “Polska, why the Hell are you even here? This is not your territory, no matter how much you keep insisting it is. This is my capital...my heart...” His eyes flashed angrily at the smaller of the two blondes. “If it wasn't...then it wouldn't be hurting so damn much. Why can't you just get the Hell out?" He sighed, unable to quite shake his nagging concern for the Pole. "It's not even safe for you to be here anyway.”

He looked at Ludwig and then back to Feliks again. “And stop being so dramatic, Polska. I know you two don't like each other, but Christ...he's going to help me try to get my people to safety, and that's all that matters right now. He's not the monster you seem to think he is!”

He looked again to Ludwig, eyes wide and pleading. As angry and unrepentantly defiant as Poland was, and as much as his army seemed to be giving a fair account of themselves against the Nazis, Lithuania was still fairly certain that Germany had the potential to do a lot of damage to the smaller nation.

“Please, just let him go,” he implored. “He shouldn't even be here anyway. I know you let him go without seriously hurting him before, so can't you just do the same again?”


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OOC: As a side note, in past threads, Ludwig has been somewhat less-than-honest to Toris about how badly he'd hurt Poland. Hence why Toris thinks that Feliks is overreacting a bit.

[Germany]

Damnit! Ludwig scowled ferociously as his shot completely missed the odious Pole. All because he’d stumbled — stumbled at just the right moment. His own damn clumsiness had saved him. Damnitdamnitdamnit!

“I’ve really been waiting for you to come, Germany,” Feliks started, a little jackass smirk blossoming on his face. He stared down the barrel of Ludwig’s rifle as though he had evaded the first bullet through finesse rather than pure dumb luck. “But I totally thought you’d be off getting your ass kicked somewhere else, and I’d never get a chance to do it myself!”

“Do it yourself?” Ludwig echoed in an octave of disbelief, shocked that even Poland would be stupid enough to say such a thing to the nation who had kicked his ass up one side and down the other both personally and militarily. He would have said more, but Poland was wagging his tongue again — loudly — chewing Lithuania out for being friends with Germany, laughing at the little brunette for being too dumb and too nice.

I’ve let you flap on long enough. Glacial eyes narrowed murderously on Feliks, picking out his nasion and sending an imaginary bullet where a real one would soon be.

The Pole went for his rifle.

Ludwig made to jerk his own into killing position, but stopped abruptly when he felt resistance. Eyes jumping swiftly to the source, he was a little surprised to see Toris clutching the barrel, though he knew he shouldn’t be. Not only was Toris a pacifist, he had always had a soft spot for the infuriating blonde, even when he was trying — quite literally — to steal his heart.

“Please, hold your fire!” Toris shot him a pleading look before turning his sights on Feliks, and it was obvious that his request was aimed at both of them.

Grudgingly, Ludwig let him hold his rifle down. He was very curious as to what the sometimes-plucky brunette would have to say about the matter, whether or not he would feel like the monkey in the middle between his two warring friends who hated each other’s guts or whether he would actually side more with one of them.

“Polska, why the Hell are you even here? This is not your territory, no matter how much you keep insisting it is. This is my capital...my heart...”

You tell him, Toris. A thin, cruel smile came to Ludwig’s lips as his Baltic went off angrily on Poland, telling him to get the hell out. It was about time Lithuania stood up to his obnoxious former commonwealth partner, and in that moment Germany was immensely proud him, even though he had to go and mess up a little at the end by sighing worriedly as he mentioned it wasn’t safe for Feliks to be there.

Toris paused for a moment, restless green eyes alighting on Ludwig, and the German stared back at him with gleeful approval. Their gaze held for less than a second before Toris turned back to the other effeminate man and told him to stop being so dramatic, that Germany was going to help him get his people back to safety and that was the important thing.

“He’s not the monster you seem to think he is!”

Ludwig swelled mightily with satisfaction, deeply touched but slightly surprised that his servant would stick up for him like that. Sure, he and Lithuania were friends now — Toris had been there to comfort him and help him through his darkest hour, and he had done the same for Toris, even rescuing him from the sadistic and insane bastard fuck-up of a nation Ivan for good measure — but he still could not, would not give the Baltic the freedom he knew he longed for, and he knew he knew it. They were both suffering because of Hitler, and Toris had told him that chilly December evening in front of the fire that he didn’t hold him accountable for his boss’s atrocities, that he didn’t blame him personally for all the misery and terrible things going on in their lands, but god, Ludwig hadn’t realized just how much he really meant it until now.

It was refreshing, and much appreciated. Apart from the other Axis nations and perhaps one or two secluded others, no one ever bothered trying to defend Germany’s morality these days. They were all convinced that he was a monster, that his worldviews and feelings were the same as his boss’s, that he would shoot a child in cold blood purely for being Jewish.

Toris was facing him again, large, pleading eyes shimmering with moisture. “Please, just let him go. He shouldn't even be here anyway. I know you let him go without seriously hurting him before, so can't you just do the same again?”

Ludwig winced inside, the lie he told three years ago coming back to bite him in the ass. He hadn’t let Feliks go without seriously hurting him back in ‘39; he’d beat the hell out of him, tried his damndest to wipe him off the maps. Had he and his people succeeded in quashing all Polish resistance, and had the Polish government not been able to go into exile the way it had, Feliks would be dead. Truly dead, not the temporary kind of dead where one woke up next to one’s boss after a while. At the very least he'd wind up in a coma that would end in his death once most of his culture had been stamped out.

But when Toris — poor, miserable Toris, beaten, bloodied, sickly, and emaciated with a gaping knife-wound under his collarbone and a back quilted with layer upon layer of old and fresh whipmarks — had sat up in bed and worriedly sought assurance that he hadn’t harmed the Pole too much Ludwig had abandoned his policy of brutal honesty. Lying had been the only way to keep Toris calm and easy to work with. Besides, ignorance was bliss; he had figured he was doing his newly-acquired servant a kindness by giving him one less thing to worry about and be overly emotional over, especially since, at the time, he’d just came out of a hellish situation and was a complete mental, emotional, and physical wreck.

But now…

Now he was torn between his desire to put a bullet in Poland’s brain and his desire to remain the hero in Lithuania’s eyes. If only there were a way to do both.

His eyes bore fiercely into Poland’s, his mouth twitching a little with irritation and utter disdain. The mere sight of the other nation was enough to irritate him on the best of days, but here and now, with his army in tatters, things looking hopeless, and the Poles being complete assholes to both his and Lithuania’s people the feeling was amplified tenfold.

“Lithuania is right,” Ludwig snapped, glaring death at the nation who imagined he was too good for it, “This isn’t your fight. This isn’t your city. You don’t have any more cities, remember? I don’t know what the hell you and your people are doing here or what you hope to accomplish here, or why you’re not in Auschwitz right now, but if you give a rat’s ass about any of these Poles out here you’ll get them the hell OUT of mine and Lithuania’s territory and back underground, because I’ll kill every one I see. So will Ivan and his damned Red Army, once the Wehrmacht is out of the picture.” A Polish soldier raced by right then. Jerking his rifle out of Toris’s grip, he pointed it towards the fleeing man and fired, his ears ringing with the familiar thunder. But his aim was too hasty and the Pole slipped away unharmed around the side of a building, oblivious to their presence.

Annoyed but unwilling to pursue, Ludwig turned his attention once more to Feliks, and when he next spoke there was a wry, sinister leer in his voice. “Even if I’m defeated do you really think Russia’s going to let you have Vilnius?”

[Poland]

“Do it yourself?” he saw Germany say, watched that expression of complete doubt and incredulousness unfold on his face. Feliks didn’t see why his words warranted that reaction at all, so he just responded as if Ludwig was the one being unrealistic.

”Well, duh!” he called back, hip cocked as well as his rifle, sounding very matter-of-fact about it. Whatever humiliations he’d sustained thanks to Germany had sloughed off like they were absolutely nothing at all, dispersed into thin air. He wasn’t dead; he had no reason to fear Germany and sure as hell no reason to act meekly around him. But then, there was also Lithuania to consider. Taking his eyes off of Germany completely (though his rifle was still at the ready) he glanced at Toris with a nearly pained expression—his mouth was drawn still, but his eyes showed very clearly that he was having difficulty accepting the fact that Toris and Ludwig were standing together like that, and moreso, accepting the fact that Lithuania could be scolding him so… so hatefully. He thought he’d gotten over that a few years back, but evidently not.

Liet begged the two of them to hold their fire, and Germany didn’t drop his rifle, but let Toris hold it downwards to the point where it was harmless. Feliks rather carelessly let his position fall as well, but kept the firearm close to him. He eyed the two of them from across the road with equal parts suspicion, anger and disappointment as Lithuania turned to him and started to talk, his voice tinged with hardly masked frustration, resentment, even—

“That’s not true!” Feliks shouted in response, because it wasn’t. “This city is like, like one percent Lithuanian!—“ or, it was before 1939 at least—“And I’ve been taking damn good care of it, y’know, and there was a vote and the League of Nations said it was my city so it’s my city, Li—Liet. If it wasn’t, why would I be here, fighting for it? It’s my fight, so you’re the one who should go home—oh wait, do you have a home still? Or do you live with Ivan? With Germany? Don’t you have a people? Why don’t you go fight for them, then, ‘cause they’re not here and neither should you be!” He was sounding more and more sharp as he went on, and found himself shaking like Latvia—but not with fear or nervousness, with his own frustration. He didn’t like the feeling, so he tried to take a deep breath, find calmness in fresh air, but all he had when he breathed in was sulfur and war.

“And stop being so dramatic—“

“Dramatic?!” Feliks shrilled once, and then twice to show how obviously wrong Lithuania was. “You’re wrong, Litwa.” He said softly, and shook his head and shouted it so that Lithuania and Germany and anyone else on the damn block could hear, “You’re wrong-- you know that? Don’t you know that’s Germany? That he’s a Nazi? Don’t you know what he’s done?” He pointed one finger at the offending nation, the savage, classless, merciless nation, and it trembled slightly. He stilled it, and gripped the rifle tighter with his other hand, shifting his weight so that it didn’t leave him off-balance. He spoke as if he couldn’t possibly be wrong. “He’s more than a monster, and you just don’t know it—“

Lithuania seemed to tell Ludwig something then, and Poland squinted—no, he had that pleading look. He was… was asking Germany to give mercy to him? Poland didn’t know what to think—it was classic Lithuania, but he didn’t understand how the brunette could hate Feliks so much and then insist on Germany’s not harming him. Well, gee. Too late for that, Poland thought as he watched the two of them share some kind of unspoken conversation, watched unclear thoughts pass through their minds.

Ludwig looked at him. In response, Feliks stiffened and glowered back. He wasn’t exactly sure what else to do—geez, shoot him? But Lithuania would be mad. He knew he shouldn’t care if Lithuania was mad— wasn’t he already?--
But then Ludwig spoke, and as his stare, his words and voice were filled with fresh and scathing venom. All the same, Feliks couldn’t help but feel a little pleased at the fact that the other nation was bothered, so he found enough reason to smile in response to Ludwig’s most pointed glares.

“This isn’t your fight. This isn’t your city. You don’t have any more cities, remember?”

“Don’t you dare say that to me—“ he responded immediately, but Germany continued. He did have cities. When the Allies bombed the shit out of Germany like they promised to, it would be Ludwig lacking the cities… And Feliks would be laughing with glee when Ludwig and Gilbert died and they burned somewhere in hell, definitely. But that was the future—ideally—and this was the present.

“You don’t share this territory with Lithuania. Don’t make me laugh, Geeeermany!” He shouted out, cupping his one free hand around his mouth and picking up his heavy rifle so that it rested on his shoulder a little. “’Sides,” he said a little less loudly, “you sure haven’t been doing a good job killing all of us so far~ But I’ll give you credit for the fact that it took me like, nine months to fix my ribs, so thanks for that and everything else!” Despite all of his years of existence, those nine months of constant pain in his torso were agonizingly long. And he had Germany to thank for that—his gaze flickered over at Liet; he should know, know that Germany did more and more than that, because he seemed so convinced that poor victimized Germany couldn’t hurt a wee fly. Feliks couldn’t even imagine how Germany could’ve duped his ex-best friend into thinking that, but then again, Lithuania had always had some sort of penchant for seeing what little good there was in both people and nations. Feliks didn’t want to see Germany’s good side, not when it was so grandly eclipsed by all of his wrongs. Whatever lies he’d told Lithuania couldn’t change the facts—Feliks felt satisfied with that, and his satisfaction brought him relative calmness.

He was about to say something else when one of his boys unsuspectingly stumbled right through the tense air. Before Poland could even take a step forward, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Germany had already lifted his gun, and before Feliks could blink, he’d fired. But the Pole scurried off as if he’d heard no one fire a gun at all— having taken a somewhat anxious step forward, here Feliks stood still and watched the soldier go with a pensive look on his face. Poor kid must’ve reaped deafness of battle or something; if enough guns and bombs went off in your face, it seemed you stopped hearing things altogether. But such things weren’t applicable to nations, despite how Feliks wished he could be deaf at times—if only that were the case. Then he wouldn’t have to listen to Germany’s gruff voice, the poison in his very tone, the way he so solemnly doubted Feliks.

Alas, Feliks wasn’t deaf. But praise God, at least he wasn’t mute.

“We’ll work something out,” He said dismissively, though he really doubted the validity of that statement. But even he knew it wouldn’t do well to have Germany knowing that Poland and Russia were… less than cooperative allies. Hastily, he changed the subject. “Oh, hey. You said ‘even if I am defeated’, y’know. If you’re accepting the fact that you could lose, it just means you’re definitely not as confident as before. Obviously I’m gonna take back Wilno,” he remarked breezily, “and Russia’s Red Army won’t be able to do a thing about it.” Again, less-than-true, but true enough in Poland’s mind. If they could drive the Germans out, maybe they could take their supplies before the Red Army approached. Maybe they could stand some chance.

He almost forgot Lithuania. He wasn’t really sure what to do concerning him, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna sit around all day and meditate on it. Dismissing any inhibitions, Feliks said, albeit with some sort of hesitant drag on his voice, “So. Litwa. You’re either on my side or not, so… I guess I should know now. Are you on my side, or not? I…” he sounded unbelievably awkward. He cleared his throat, and tried again. “I know you’re super upset at me ‘cause of before, but don’t you think this isn’t the time for that?” Geez. Wasn’t Liet supposed to be the sensible one?

-----

ooc:

He doesn’t think Lithuania’s people are in Vilnius, ‘cause the last time he checked, the entire place was ~*Polonized*~ from the bottom up. Actually, while Lithuania did have historic claims to Vilnius, Poland claimed that Vilnius was full of Poles, so they should have it… but those “Poles” were probably just Polonized Lithuanians for the most part. Poor Liet. D:
The vote he’s talking about is the vote of ’22 when, after the Poles took over the city, there was basically this vote on ‘should Vilnius become part of Poland? y/n?’ in Vilnius and it was voted that yes, it should, and then the League of Nations was like ‘oh cool, you guys fixed it. Good.” And Lithuania was like “Not really I’m still pretty pissed. Not talking to you for a while, Poland.”
So yeah.

[Lithuania]

Toris clenched his fists in anger as his former Commonwealth partner continued to insist that Vilnius belonged to him. The damn vote didn't matter! This was his capital and these were his children. He could feel it in his chest, a dull, sickening ache as they suffered.

And Feliks was shouting at him now, at the top of his lungs and Toris couldn't help but wince, couldn't help but shove his hands in his pockets and clench his teeth. It was heartbreaking, to see the happy-go-lucky blonde in such a desperate, passionate state of hurt. But Feliks had got it wrong, hadn't he?

“He’s more than a monster, and you just don’t know it—“

Toris eventually opened his mouth to protest, but Ludwig cut in.

“This isn’t your fight. This isn’t your city. You don’t have any more cities, remember? I don’t know what the hell you and your people are doing here or what you hope to accomplish here, or why you’re not in Auschwitz right now, but if you give a rat’s ass about any of these Poles out here you’ll get them the hell OUT of mine and Lithuania’s territory and back underground, because I’ll kill every one I see. So will Ivan and his damned Red Army, once the Wehrmacht is out of the picture.”

Auschwitz? Surely Germany was just trying to rile the smaller blonde. Toris couldn't possibly believe that Ludwig would voluntarily send anyone to such a place. But still, Ludwig's words sent a wave of anxiety through him, and he found himself involuntarily wrapping his arms around his stomach as he looked at the German with wide, panicked eyes at the mention of Russia.

The exchange was unpleasant, but he reasoned that Ludwig was probably trying, in his own awkward and aggressive way, to get Poland to clear out. Better that than opening fire on him.

He almost jumped out of his skin as Ludwig tore the rifle from his tentative grasp and fired on a nearby Polish soldier. Much to Toris' relief, he missed. Biting his lip, the Lithuanian looked to Feliks, torn between anger at the Pole's continued insistence on laying claim to his capital, and the instinctive concern he'd always felt for Feliks, no matter what stupid and selfish things he did.

“...But I’ll give you credit for the fact that it took me like, nine months to fix my ribs, so thanks for that...”

Toris looked to Ludwig inquisitively at this, blinking a few times, momentarily confused. But Feliks continued to rant before he could form the inevitable question.

“So. Litwa. You’re either on my side or not, so… I guess I should know now. Are you on my side, or not?”

Poland's question caused his stomach to lurch horribly. He stared at his former...no, not former, never former...best friend and winced, biting back tears. Swallowing hard he couldn't keep the unspoken apology from his expression, the guilt he felt at not being able to tell the other nation, without reservation, that he would back him to the hilt, the way he'd done centuries ago. Things were such a mess now, everything had fallen apart and he was caught in the middle of a sequence of events which, from where he was standing, seemed to lead inevitably to his own death, no matter the outcome. Objectively Poland didn't stand a chance. Perhaps his resistance battalion could just barely hold out against the Nazis, but the Red Army would decimate them.

“I'm on your side enough to tell you to leave before you get hurt,” he said eventually. “Things are already too dangerous and if Ivan shows up...it doesn't even bear thinking about. This isn't your city and your men shouldn't be dying here. Go home, take your children with you and leave me to do what I can for mine.”

He shrugged helplessly, fixing Feliks with tired, resigned eyes. “Polska, I'm in a really bad position either way. No matter who comes out on top, there's nothing good in it for me. I'm on my own...I don't even have an army to speak of. I'm not here to fight anybody...I just want to get as many of my people to safety as possible, before I run out of time.” His voice cracked slightly. “It's the only thing I can do now.”

[Russia]

So far, Operation Bagration was proving to be successful for Ivan and his Red Army. There was a sort of pride to be had in not only managing to hold Stalingrad against all odds, but now forcing the Germans back increasingly westward. It was slower progress than he would have liked, but they were steadily gaining ground now, and that was all that really mattered. So long as he had Ludwig and his forces retreating from his lands, he was happy. He would force them out of Eastern Europe, and then pursue them all the way to Berlin if he could. The happy images of his forces finally decimating his enemy’s capital were encouraging.

Having first encircled Vilnius, Russia was certain the day would end in Soviet victory. The Germans could not retreat. Not easily, anyways. They had them trapped, and all that was left was to crush them underfoot and claim the city. Of course Germans were fierce fighters, so that was easier said than done. Circling a city and cutting the Germans off from their neighboring army group was one thing, but actually killing them all or forcing them to surrender would be much harder. Ivan was confident that they could do it though, and that he would re-claim the former Lithuanian capital quickly.

Wandering the smoke-filled streets, the Russian nation vaguely wondered where Lithuania even was. Watching over Ludwig's personal home no doubt, like the good little servant that Ivan knew him to be. The thought made him frown as he picked his way through the building debris that crowded many of the streets. The artillery units were tearing this place apart. One thing was for sure, Lithuania had to have been feeling this attack in some way. This was his heart, wasn’t it? It would serve him right to have to deal with some pain for daring to double cross Ivan the way he had though. The memories of his mild-mannered little servant putting up no resistance and welcoming the German forces was enough to pull his cheerful smile into a frown. Toris was probably a long ways away from here, but still, he would take delight in seizing his heart from Germany. After he had completely defeated Germany, he would be able to find and re-claim Lithuania himself as well, and drag the naughty servant back home to be punished for his betrayal.

Vilnius was alive with the sounds of war, and had been since Ivan and his Red Army had first stepped into the city. From the deafening explosions of artillery, to the constant sounds of gunfire that were accented by the soft whimpers of pain from the dying, it was a very noisy place to be. The Polish Home Army was also here, fighting alongside he and his men for the time being. It was no mystery to him why Poland was so keen on freeing the city from German hands: he thought he had some claim on Vilnius for some strange reason. It seemed silly to the Russian since he viewed Lithuania and the surrounding areas as belonging to him. Germany may have temporarily captured them, but Ivan owned them by right. Ivan owned Toris by right. He had since breaking up the Polish Lithuanian Commonwealth, and as far as he was concerned, always would.

A noise off to his right caught his attention, and the stocky Russian immediately raised his rifle, taking careful aim at the human form emerging from the smoke. Disappointment shone in his eyes when he saw the uniform of someone from the Polish Home Army decorating the young man. As fun as killing Poles sounded, he had more important foes to focus on. Lowering the rifle, he split off on his own, leaving the other Russians who had been with him to secure the area. He wanted to go deeper into the heart of the city. He wanted to find Germany himself. The sooner he could kill Ludwig, the better off his own forces would be. He was certain that Germany must be doing the same, wherever he was. They seemed to seek each other out every major battle they were in.

Though the morning was still young, he knew the plan was to split the German forces here into two separate pockets in the city. Divide and conquer. He was not sure where Ludwig would fall though in those plans, having not seen the German nation anywhere upon his first entry into the city. There had been chaotic fighting before Ivan had even set foot in the area, and locating anyone in the fray was going to be difficult. Getting to the heaviest area of fighting though sounded like a good place to start his search for the enemy nation.

Pausing only every now and then to fire at anything that looked German, the Russian moved quickly through the small alleys and streets. He knew the general direction to go, but was unfamiliar with the city and had to guide himself strictly by the increasingly loud sounds of fighting.

Another Polish soldier suddenly darted in front of the Soviet nation’s path, and Ivan stopped for a moment in his tracks, hearing the sound of a rifle being fired so very close. Someone must have been shooting at the man. Which meant either one of his men forgot the Poles were on their side…or a German was close. Shoving more bullets into his rifle, Ivan ducked down and moved forward cautiously, using the large amounts of debris as a sort of cover as he moved towards what sounded suspiciously like chatter. What was more interesting, he could have swore at least one of the voices was oddly familiar.

“So. Litwa. You’re either on my side or not, so… I guess I should know now. Are you on my side, or not?”

Litwa?…. That name was definitely familiar, as was the annoying voice speaking. Excitement coursed through the bloodthirsty blonde- Poland sounded like he was addressing Lithuania himself with the question. Already, the unhinged Soviet was envisioning being able to kill Germany and then immediately drag Lithuania back home as well right after this battle. It would be far better than waiting for the end of the war to hunt his former servant down.

The sound of Toris’ voice confirmed his idea, and Ivan crept forward faster, finally pinpointing them as being behind a large chunk of stoney rubble. Getting right up to the piece of broken off building, Russia peered around the corner, a sly smile coming to his pale lips as he noticed that not only were Toris and Poland there, but Germany as well. Instantly he started to form plans for killing Germany, arresting Poland after he had done his part, and then seizing Lithuania and forcing him back into servitude where he belonged.

Shaking with excitement, Russia carefully took aim for Ludwig. He wanted to catch the enemy country in the head, but Toris was a bit too far in his way from his angle, so he lowered his sights in hopes of getting a chest shot. A blast of nearby artillery shook the area, and Ivan accidentally found himself pulling the trigger too soon, resulting in a shot that went wide and hit a piece of debris slightly too far to the right of Ludwig. Mentally cursing his slippery trigger finger, Ivan tried to focus the rifle again in hopes of catching the German before he could move. But his enemy had shifted, and Ivan was faced with the sad fact that the noise of his rifle firing at closer range had given him away just as it had given Ludwig’s location away when he had fired at the fleeing Pol.

“Здравствуйте, Товарищи!” He called in a falsely happy tone. “I expected you both to be here Germany and Poland, but I’m wondering what made you decide to show up, Litva. Grow tired of taking care of Ludwig’s house already?”
_____________________
((Translations: Здравствуйте, Товарищи = "Hello Comrades" Also, thank you for allowing me to mention Ludwig as having moved a tiny bit, Lud. ~ ))

[Germany]

“We’ll work something out,”

Had he been in a better mood, the flippant statement would have garnered a low, sinister chuckle from Germany. Typical Poland to give the future and what it may bring absolutely no thought. It was a large part of the reason why he was always getting subjugated and partitioned — these things tended to happen when one lived only in the moment and never planned ahead.

Felik’s tone was really digging under his skin now, especially the mockery with which he had drawn out the middle of the first syllable of his name a moment ago and the way he had gleefully pointed out how hard his people were to exterminate, as though the Red Army and the role they had played in weakening the Wehrmacht was of no pertinence whatsoever and Germany’s soldiers were just succumbing to the mightiness of Poles in action.

Right.

Like that would ever happen.

“Oh, hey. You said ‘even if I am defeated’, y’know. If you’re accepting the fact that you could lose, it just means you’re definitely not as confident as before. Obviously I’m gonna take back Wilno, and Russia’s Red Army won’t be able to do a thing about it.”

…the hell? Ludwig stared at the other nation as though he had just declared himself President of Earth, a slightly comical look of dumbfounded amusement sweeping his fair features. Which universe do you hail from, Poland? Sure as hell isn’t this one. How Feliks could treat the matter so lightly, and with such certainty that he and his band of ragtag Poles would emerge victorious in their designs on ‘Wilno’ was beyond the German. He was either deeply stupid, trying to get a rise ( which would also involve a fair amount of stupidity on his part ), or suffering from pie-in-the-sky syndrome.

“Of course I could lose,” Ludwig growled in response, “Unlike you I haven’t lost touch with reality. But if I do it won’t be because of you and your people, and you can bet — ” he stopped abruptly, a shining in the edge of his peripheral drawing his attention immediately to the second-floor window of the half-destroyed building across the street to his left.

To his relief, it was merely the new morning sun glinting off a lustrous piece of exposed piping. Not a sniper with him in his sights. His nerves settled a little: months of experience in Stalingrad had conditioned him to be hyper-aware and nervous of any shiny glints of sunlight, especially when they came from windows.

Toris and Feliks hadn’t even noticed.

Figured.

“…either on my side or not,” Feliks was saying, “so… I guess I should know now. Are you on my side, or not?”

The question was clearly directed at Toris. When the Baltic didn’t answer right away Feliks tried to sweeten the deal by saying that they should let go of the past and sweep aside their differences for the sake of teaming up and getting rid of the Nazis together so that Poland could have Vilnius.

Okay, so he hadn’t used that exact wording, but Ludwig saw right through him, knew that Toris did too. The Lithuanian was sweet and good-natured, but far from stupid and far from thrilled with the idea of gaining freedom from Germany only to lose his capitol to an old rival who had once been his friend. It probably stung him cruelly that their people were dying all around them and all Poland was worried about was taking Vilnius for himself, taking one more thing away from a nation who had already lost so much in the last few years.

Does Poland even know the extent of it? Oh, but he would have to with all the ghettos and concentration camps my people built in what was once his house. Then again, he never did pay attention to anything serious…

Frowning in annoyance, Ludwig watched Feliks carefully while he pondered these questions, his eyes sharply attuned to the Pole’s every minuscule movement. Physically he could wipe the floor with Feliks anytime anywhere — even now when he was weakened considerably from what he had been at the start of this war — but guns leveled the playing field. He didn’t like Feliks having a gun. It meant he had to keep his guard up around someone who shouldn’t even be a threat, that failure to do so could result in severe injury or even false death to his person.

Also, lately Hitler had gotten into the annoying habit of demanding the truth from him about how he had ‘died’ whenever he regained consciousness next to him. It would be awfully damn embarrassing to be forced to reply “Poland shot me”.

For now, at least, Feliks’s body-language indicated that he was more interested in defense than offense. His rifle was cocked and ready, but then so was his hip — actually he looked more like a boyish female dancer striking a pose than a Polish soldier, and in that moment Ludwig couldn’t help but to feel a little silly himself for taking something so ridiculous so seriously, even if it had a firearm and called itself a nation-spirit.

Still, better safe than sorry. His own rifle was cocked and ready in his hands, pointed in Feliks’s direction but lowered to rest against his leg to show that he was willing, for the time being anyway, to let Feliks yap. Keeping in a crouched position without moving much was a bit uncomfortable, but Ludwig had endured far worse, and he was capable of staying like this for hours if he had to.

After a few moments of tense silence Toris gave a predictably pacifist reply that involved Poland taking his people and leaving before they got hurt. Which was exactly what Germany himself had suggested, minus the going home part; Poland couldn’t go home when he technically didn’t have a home to go to.

Not that Ludwig really cared what he did or where he went so long as he hauled his ass out of here and kept away from his people, and if he ended up having to send him away himself via a bullet so much the better.

He was so focused on Feliks that he found himself wholly unprepared for the next words out of Toris’s mouth, and the intense sorrow and guilt which hit him like a wave when they were spoken.

“Polska, I'm in a really bad position either way. No matter who comes out on top, there's nothing good in it for me. I'm on my own...I don't even have an army to speak of. I'm not here to fight anybody...I just want to get as many of my people to safety as possible, before I run out of time.”

Letting down his guard for a moment, Ludwig turned to look at his friend’s face, the ice-hard expression he wore melting away with concern as he took in the utter helplessness he found there.

Toris looked so tired, so wearied, beaten, and resigned. Like he had been through the fires of Hell and back. His dull, sad eyes reminded Ludwig of the Jews he had encountered in the ghetto, and in Auschwitz…

“It's the only thing I can do now.” Somewhere in there Toris’s voice cracked, and Ludwig’s heart with it.

For a moment, Feliks didn’t exist. It was just him and Toris, alone and suffering together like they had that one night in December years ago when Ludwig had first learned what “The Final Solution” really entailed, when he had tried and failed to reason with his boss and been cruelly punished for it, when he had feared he was losing his humanity.

When he had broken down and cried.

The memories….they all surged back in a dark swell of emotion.

“Hey,” he said gently, forcing a small, sad smile. He kept his finger on the trigger of his weapon and the Pole in the corner of his eye just in case, ready to react instantly at the first hint of hostile movement. “You’re not on your own. I promised I would do everything I could to help you — ”

The rest of what he was about to say was lost in the deafening thunder of heavy artillery hitting nearby. The ground trembled under their feet. Pieces of loose rock, wood, and metal shook free from their lodgings and slid down the debris barrier.

Even with his ears all-but-bleeding from the sound of the explosion Ludwig heard the rifle-shot that occurred almost simultaneously plain as day. He sprung to full height at once and leapt backward, his own rifle flying to his shoulder while he braced his legs against the tremors in the earth and looked about wildly, trying to locate his would-be assassin. Poland obviously hadn’t fired on him, but he had a strong feeling the shot had been meant for him and not Toris.

He was not left wondering for long; a nauseatingly familiar voice called out in Russian at the same moment he saw the ash-blonde hair and the distinctly recognizable face of his worst enemy. “I expected you both to be here Germany and Poland,” Russia continued in Shaykomay, sounding way too happy, “ but I’m wondering what made you decide to show up, Litva. Grow tired of taking care of Ludwig’s house already?”

“Russia.” Germany spat like name like an insult, his eyes narrowing and his lip curling up in a snarl, every muscle in his body instinctively tightening. He wanted so badly to shoot the enemy general dead right there, but they both had their rifles trained on each other — there was no way to fire without also being fired on in return. Worse, he had his back turned on a rat. A Polish rat.

Pulse quickening, he stared straight into Ivan’s violent violet eyes, his own burning a fierce blue with fight. “Toris,” he began quickly, not daring to look at the other man, a slightly-tense edge to his otherwise calm voice, “keep the Pole from firing on me and I’ll make sure Ivan never touches you.”

Whatever Ivan did to him, at least he could still fight back. Toris, on the other hand, couldn’t defend himself from Russia’s cruelty on the best of days, let alone a few steps away from death. If Ivan caught him now he’d be tortured without mercy and beaten to a bloody pulp for no other reason than the fact that Ivan liked to watch him twitch in pain and hear him plead in vain for it to stop.

Ludwig wasn’t about to let that happen.

But in spite of his good intentions the fact remained that he wasn’t in the best shape himself right now, and if this fight-waiting-to-happen turned physical he honestly didn’t know if he was even capable of even holding his own with Ivan anymore. He wasn’t on his deathbed, but he was a mere shadow of the powerful nation who had struggled with Russia up in the top floor of an old church in Stalingrad a year and a half ago. Ivan had been losing strength too — that much was a given — but lately he’d been on a winning streak, and that tilted the odds in his favor.

He’d just have to make sure it didn’t turn physical.

Thankfully he still had his rifle.

And his wits.

“So, Ivan,” he called out almost conversationally, his entire tone and demeanor shifting towards the friendlier end of the spectrum, “Feliks here was just telling us how he’s going to take ‘Wilno’ and you won’t be able to do a thing about it.”

It was hardly a new trick, stirring up animosity between reluctant allies, but hey, Feliks couldn’t help but anger people, and Ivan had a quick temper, so the odds that it would work beautifully were actually pretty good. It would take Ivan's mind off Ludwig and keep him focusing on Poland instead. And when the dissent got heated enough, Ivan just might forget for a fatal moment who the more dangerous of the two was.

[Poland]

Feliks was feeling the weight of his own promises of centuries past, and it seemed to crush him little by little. He struggled with it, thought about it—he was a nation of misfortune, of an inauspicious and peril-ridden past, and he could blame those misfortunes on other nations with ease. The partitions were the fault of the three Black Eagles; this world war and the last simply the result of ambitious, pigheaded nations. His betrayal of his best friend, their short and seemingly everlasting conflict? For that he could only blame himself, it seemed. He couldn’t excuse it, and the presence of something—guilt, or regret, or bitterness with himself?—loomed large within his mind. He wanted to convince himself otherwise. Lithuania didn’t want to be on his side anymore, so it wasn’t Poland’s fault if he had to take what he wanted by force. It’s not like he was eager to do the unscrupulous things he did. And it wasn’t like he wanted to drag out their hardship, or make difficulty between them.

It didn’t work. He couldn’t reconcile it. And Liet wasn’t going to let him redeem himself or anything, Liet wanted him out, out of Vilnius and out of his life, probably. Feliks bristled, and felt sorry for himself, and moreso for Liet, and most of all felt angrier with Germany than ever. Maybe they could have fixed it, if there wasn’t this huge war being waged. “Liet…” He started miserably, retaining the whine in his voice. He wanted to insist that Wilno was his. He took a look at Lithuania. He didn’t.

“But Toris… I don’t want to leave. And I’m sick of leaving you with psychotic assholes, you know, so I can’t just leave and I can help you too, if you want, I could help you—“ he paused, noticing Germany was simultaneously speaking to Lithuania. He didn’t hear his words or meaning, but he stiffened and called out to him irritatedly. “Don’t talk to Liet when I’m talking to him, you świnia, I’ll--”

“Здравствуйте, Товарищи!”

The sound grated against his eardrums; his rifle was up in seconds though he wasn’t entirely sure who to train it on. Quite possibly he could’ve killed one of them since they both seemed dead set on shooting each other—which Feliks wouldn’t have minded, really—but if he shot Russia, the ally of his ally who was supposedly going to help him, there would probably be more than one ramification. If he opted to shoot Germany, he’d be alone with Russia. And Liet would be Russia’s first priority. Rather than put himself in either unpleasant situation, he let his rifle drop, but held it steady and close to himself.

Ivan had arrived way too early for Poland’s liking, and filled Feliks with a sort of anxiety that Germany hadn’t been able to instill in him. He stared at the ally of his ally, certainly no friend of his, and seethed unnoticed. He was well aware that Russia had no plans to help Feliks regain anything of his the way he wanted. He just wasn’t sure what to do about it. He couldn’t determine which was the lesser of two evils—he hadn’t ever had a more fitting moment to use the term than at that second. On one side, Russia, and on the other, Germany. He almost wished they were still buddy buddy and working together in some sort of malicious friendship or something. If that were the case, he wouldn’t have to choose, Poland could just take Lithuania and they could—

He straightened out, his mouth agape in a rather unsightly way as he thought without really thinking. His eyes fell on Lithuania who stood on the other side of the debris-covered road. It was no distance at all. He hardly felt his legs move, scarcely heard his mind form any words or coherent thoughts—but he ran, and ran quickly and without delay and he probably stumbled over the rubble but he didn’t find the time to care for stubbed toes and minor inconveniences like that. It was alarming and somehow exhilarating to be in such close proximity of Germany for the first time since being conquered—what a loathsome word—but that came secondhand to securing Lithuania and pulling him far, far away. Ludwig seemed distracted anyway, speaking to Russia. Feliks didn’t catch his words or the gist of what he was saying, only that he was pronouncing Wilno totally wrong, just like a stupid, undereducated German—

He distanced himself from those thoughts, and looked rather sheepishly at Lithuania when he neared him close enough to touch. But he wasn’t shy at all in action, no, shamelessly he encircled his free hand around Lithuania’s wrist and yanked and ran with surprising velocity when it seemed like he’d had lead in his boots moments before. Lithuania was like lead though, too, and Poland wanted to tell him through his huffing that he needed to get away from the two of them so hurry the hell up, Liet, geez, but was too focused on getting away. Fate, or God for some unreasonable purpose, was pulling the four nations into one street block and someone was bound to get hurt and Lithuania was weak, fragile and the one without the gun but that was okay because Poland could help him, protect him, save him just like he said he would years and years and years ago!

Most importantly, Poland could redeem himself. But he wasn’t sure if Lithuania was going to let him.

(( świnia = swine, pig, such such. Poland also likes to play the hero sometimes, guys. ))

[Lithuania]

Germany and Poland were both talking to him at once, both pressing offers of help on him and he swallowed hard, gritting his teeth. He should have been grateful, despite everything that was going on. But even if they both wanted to help, he suspected that neither of them really could.

“Ludwig...Feliks...” he began anxiously, but the rest of his sentence died on his lips as an artillery blast shook the ground and he found himself burying his face in Germany's shoulder, clinging tightly to his arm.

He barely registered the gunshot, but the next sound he heard caused him to seize up, paralysed.

“Здравствуйте, Товарищи!”

He kept his eyes closed for another second or two, unwilling and unable to look up. He barely realised he was doing it, but he was biting so hard on his bottom lip that he almost drew blood. And eventually, at the sound of his name...or, at least, the name which Ivan had given him...he opened his eyes and found himself staring into the merry violet eyes of his one-time captor.

They said that Hell had no fury like a lover scorned. Toris had a distinctly sick feeling that, for all Ivan's outward smiles and nonchalance, he was about to find out just how true that idiom was. And the fact that he was clinging to Ludwig's arm and wearing a German uniform would only re-enforce every paranoid thought about Toris' fidelity that Ivan had likely allowed to fester over the duration of the war.

Ludwig murmured something to him, about protecting him if he could keep Feliks at bay, and he nodded, barely daring to even acknowledge the tiny thrill of hope that the German might really still be able to help him.

“Ludwig...please be careful...” he said, but the Nazi was already taunting Ivan, trying to turn him on Feliks. And as grateful as Toris was for Ludwig's efforts, he couldn't bear the thought of Russia setting his murderous sights on his one-time commonwealth partner.

“Ivan...please...I...” He began, but a hand closed around his wrist and he looked up with wide, startled eyes to see Feliks urging him silently to run, all but hauling him away from Ludwig's side. Poland was stronger than him...everyone was stronger than him right now...and he found himself stumbling after the smaller blonde in a kind of panicked daze. He glanced back over his shoulder, tried to catch Ludwig's eye desperately.

But then, hadn't Germany asked him to stop Poland from firing on him? And at least running away meant that wouldn't happen.

Feliks was breathing hard and he realised that it was his fault, that he was dead weight. He tried to quicken his footsteps, clumsily in a dead soldier's boots which were much too large for him. They'd barely made it to the other side of the street when Toris tripped, falling onto his palms with a jarring thud, barely noticing the way the ruined paving stones skinned the heels of his hands.

Clambering up onto one knee, he wavered for a moment before hauling himself to his feet. He looked back at Ludwig, at Ivan and then at the ruins of his city and he bit his lip and shook his head. It was over. It had been over from the moment that the Red Army had set foot in Vilnius and no amount of running would change that.

Feliks was strong, spirited, indefatigable even in the most impossible circumstances. Toris had forgotten how to fight, to resist. And Christ...he was so very tired.

Reaching up, he threw his arms around Poland's neck, pulling the slender man into a desperate embrace, holding on to his friend tightly. Perhaps it wasn't the most appropriate time but, if everything was really going to Hell, he didn't want Feliks to think that he hated him. He was so very angry about his betrayal over Vilnius but, in that moment, the five and a half centuries of friendship they'd shared outweighed everything else that was happening around them. He remembered the Commonwealth then, and his bossy, impractical and utterly loveable companion. He thought about the way that Feliks would talk brashly, then freeze with fear on meeting strangers. He thought about all the battles they'd fought together, and how they'd kept each other's spirits up through the most dire circumstances. But this wasn't the Commonwealth, not now, and even if they ran, even if they kept running, it was only a matter of time and inevitability before Ivan hunted him down. And before all of that happened, his idiot of a friend had to know that he loved him, unconditionally and despite everything.

Glancing off to the side, he wrapped his arms around himself as the sound of artillery fire shook the street once more and rubble began to fall from a nearby church tower. Looking his friend in the eye, he shook his head.

“There's nowhere to run to. And Ivan can't take me...not as long as the Germans still hold the city,” Toris whispered desperately. “I know you hate Ludwig, but he's the closest thing that I have to an ally right now.”

The Polish Army were Hell-bent on fighting the Nazis, but if they cooperated with the Red Army, then Toris would almost certainly end up back in Russia's hands. And suddenly, looking at the tall, violet eyed man, all his secret, locked-away fantasies of reconciliation with his former lover evaporated in sheer terror at the prospect of what Ivan was going to do to the little brunette when he got a hold of him.

“You know that if you tip the balance in Ivan's favour, then I'm done for. And maybe I'm running out of time anyway, but please, Polska...”

[Russia]

The German had been quick to recognize him, and just as quick to raise his own rifle. Ivan still did not have the best view of his enemy though, and was waiting for the other man to move just a little and open himself up better. He could deal with being shot at in return so long as he took Germany out. Ludwig was by far the biggest threat for him and his people on this battlefield. Removing him from the equation was definitely worth risking a gunshot wound. But the German remained stock still for the time being, and Poland was being ridiculously slow on the draw today. The Pole could have surely gotten off a decent shot at Ludwig by now. Germany was focusing mostly on him, and did not seem to be sparing much thought to the Polish nation not far from him. So why was Feliks not shooting?

Russia had the distinct feeling that the reason for Poland’s reluctance to fire had something to do with the fact that Lithuania appeared to be holding onto Germany in the same fashion that a drowning man would cling to a raft. It was downright disgusting to see, and he couldn’t honestly blame Feliks for once if the other nation was simply too shocked and sick by the sight to attempt and pull off a shot. The traitorous little Baltic was decked out in a German uniform as well, as though he somehow thought he would be able to rush to Germany’s aid. The idea of Toris attempting to help the Germans kill Russians was both comical and infuriating. The brunette would definitely need to be severely punished for such actions once Ivan had gotten rid of the German problem and was free to drag the Baltic back home.

Germany was saying something to Toris, and Ivan was quick to jump to the conclusion that he was relaying a battle plan to the his ally. His finger tightened on the trigger of his rifle at the idea. Did Germany really think that he could take both him and Poland with only Lithuania’s help? All the fighting and recent losses as of late must have been messing with Ludwig's mind if that was the case. Even someone as inept as Poland could surely take Lithuania down with ease right now.

“So, Ivan, Feliks here was just telling us how he’s going to take ‘Wilno’ and you won’t be able to do a thing about it.”

Ivan laughed at the statement. It sounded like something Feliks might say, being the stupidly bold nation he sometimes was. In the past, Ivan might have taken the threat to heart and been more concerned, but not now. With his recent winning streak, it was hard to feel threatened or worried about Poland doing anything to hinder his plans. Let the Poles help him to take the city again if they wanted. He planned on dealing with them as well once the Germans had been defeated, so what did it matter what Feliks thought about Vilnius? “What a silly thing to say. Everybody knows that Vilnius belongs to Litva, and he belongs to me.” The violet-eyed blonde spoke as matter-of-factly as though he were stating that the Earth was round. As far as he was concerned though, there could be no doubt that Lithuania was his property, and that anything he viewed as Lithuania’s also belonged to him.

“Ivan...please...I...”

The Russian was so caught up staring at Lithuania as he spoke, that he didn’t even notice what Poland was up to until it was too late. Violet eyes widened with surprise as the Pole grabbed onto Toris’ wrist and suddenly pulled him away with him. Where the Hell are you going with my servant, Feliks? His smile slipped, and he suddenly remembered that he had to deal with Germany before he could deal with Poland. The agitated Soviet had no idea what Poland thought he was doing by running off with Toris, but the fact remained that if he attempted to do something about it while Germany was still present, he would end up paying Stalin a visit instead. And that would not be pleasant. Failure was something that his boss simply did not like to see, and Ivan abhorred the idea of trying to explain that he had been "killed" by Germany while chasing after Poland.

Firing off a quick shot at the German, Ivan ducked down all the way behind the rubble again. Ludwig had a gun as well, which would make trying to properly take aim at him a bit more difficult. The rubble made for a nice cover to hide behind, but in order for him to shoot Ludwig, he would have to open himself up for being shot too. As much as he disliked his German foe, he was perfectly aware of the fact that Germany was not known for being a bad marksman either. The best way to go about killing him would surely be to switch locations and take him out by surprise.

Creeping to the edge of the rubble heap, Ivan scanned his surroundings for any other areas he could sneak over to and use as cover. There was a ton of debris laying about the streets-especially since part of a church had been shaken free from the last blast of artillery-but most of it would require him to move out in the open to get to it, which would ruin his plans anyways. Annoyed, but still determined to kill Germany quickly, the Russian decided to simply do as best as he could from where he was and wait for any opportune moments to move. Leaning into the open a little, he searched for Ludwig once more through the sights of his rifle.
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((Apologies for the fail! post. I wanted to give you more to work with, but it’s hard without knowing what exactly Ludwig will be doing. Next time I will give you more that you can use though. Oh, and feel free to shoot at Russia all you want, Lud.~))

[Germany]

A/N: Language warning! Also, shame on you guys for ruining Ludwig's little plan! xD lmao

_________________________________________________

“What a silly thing to say. Everybody knows that Vilnius belongs to Litva, and he belongs to me.”

The façade of friendliness that Germany wore on his face slipped. It was true that Vilnius belonged to Lithuania, but the little Baltic did not[/b] in turn belong to Russia, and it was maddening to hear this overgrown caveman state his ownership as though he had already crushed Germany and his soldiers. So slowly as to be nigh undetectable to his violet-eyed foe, he pulled the trigger of his rifle up tight, kept his eyes piercing Russia’s as though he were trying to burn himself through the other’s soul. The K98 was as light as a feather and as still as granite in his hands, the sickeningly cocky face framed by a circle of metal all that mattered.

Any minute now the Pole would be his insulting, silly, argumentative self, and Russia would lose focus.

Once he lost focus, he’d be dead.

“Ivan...”

Something was wrong. That wasn’t Feliks spouting off at the mouth. Hurried, awkward footsteps reached his ears, the sound of someone running.

“please...I...”

Toris stopped abruptly. Ludwig felt him being pulled off of his arm, sensed Feliks beside them even as he spotted the Polish nation in a blurry haze of motion and ill-defined features out of the corner of his eye. His first instinct was to whip around and smash Felik’s face in with the barrel of his rifle, but he knew better than to take his eyes off of Ivan for even half a moment. He’d just have to trust Toris to keep his former commonwealth friend from taking advantage of his and Ivan’s standoff. Hardly a comforting thought, but unless some of his men showed up here very soon to help him it was the best he could hope for.

The pair retreated.

Damnit! Fucking Polak! Ludwig clenched his jaw, silently fuming at his misfortune. This was not[/I] what he had been hoping for. It just figured[/i] that the one time Feliks would choose to keep his mouth shut would be the one time he needed him to say something stupid and highly offensive.

Well, he had a real knack for always knowing the best way to piss the most people off in any given situation, Ludwig had to give him that. At least he’d wiped that annoying smile off Ivan’s face; no doubt the impatient Russian was upset at the prospect of having to fight past a nation who could actually put up a decent fight before he could even give chase.

Something in Ivan twitched, and in that split-moment Ludwig knew what was coming. He instinctively dropped, not even sparing the tenth of a second or so it would take him to pull the trigger of his own rifle.

But Ivan’s trigger-finger — and the bullet — were faster than he was.

All Ludwig had time to register was an explosion of fire and thunder from the muzzle of Ivan’s weapon before his helmet jerked his head back violently and the earth slipped out from under his feet. His finger accidentally squeezed the trigger of his K98 as he fell backward, sending a shot up into space. Somehow, he managed to keep his head up, and his shoulders took most of the brunt of the impact. Dazed, pain and asphyxiation nonetheless immediately alerted him to the fact that his chin-strap was biting savagely into his throat, crushing his windpipe; he quickly pulled it loose and over his chin with his left hand.

He’d been lucky. His head hurt where his helmet had smashed into it and from the trauma of being jerked back, and he’d have a red mark on his neck for a short while, but the bullet had only nicked the top of his helmet.

So this was something like how that Polish soldier he’d shot earlier must have felt. Ouch.

I have to get up. NOW! It was the first fully coherent thought to race through his mind since right before he’d fallen. Instinctively, he knew he was done for if Ivan saw him lying on the ground like this; the bloodthirsty, treacherous Bolshevik would not for a second hesitate to finish him off. So even though he had not fully recovered his bearings, he forced himself up onto his knees, let habit guide his hands and fingers to prepare his rifle for the next shot even as he pointed it in Russia’s last known location.

Ivan was nowhere to be seen.

Unsettling.

Detecting no immediate dangers, he rose fully to his feet, his eyes sweeping the area for any sign of the enemy. He could hear them nearby — battlegrounds were so very rarely quiet — but he couldn’t see anyone.

Where did you go, you Russian bastard?

Ivan was on the other side of the debris pile. He had to be. But Ludwig didn’t know exactly where on the other side, or where he was slithering off to, and that made him nervous. He could be ducked just out of sight right under the place he’d last seen him, or he could be on the other edge of the pile by now.

An artillery blast brought down part of a nearby church, providing more cover for their battlefield. Fun.

Ludwig’s heart sank as the last lingering effects of his temporary daze wore off. He had a bad feeling about this, especially since enemy troops could wander in at any moment. As much as he’d like to think his soldiers would arrive and back him up, he didn’t have a lot of faith in that happening. Hell, he didn’t have a lot of faith in holding onto Vilnius, but he was bound and determined to try his damndest, both for his and Lithuania’s sake.

Lithuania. He risked a quick glance backward, saw his servant and friend having what looked like a private little chat with Poland several meters away and across the street.

Hmm. It wasn’t too[/i] far.

His eyes darted back to the rubble pile.

No sign of Ivan.

No sign of any other enemy troops.

Might as well risk it. If it works it’ll benefit both of us, and if it doesn’t another gun won’t make Poland any deadlier.

His mind made, Ludwig rushed back to the debris pile until he was almost standing in it. Ducking, he scurried quickly along its length, shifting his rifle into his nondominant hand as he moved. With his right hand free, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the pistole he’d stolen from the Pole he’d killed earlier. When he’d reached the point he’d been aiming for — the tallest part of the debris pile where a massive chunk of building wall extended a good meter above his head — he stood up and faced Toris.

“Toris!” he yelled as loudly as he dared, “Catch!” He threw the gun towards the Baltic, careful to aim a little more to the side of him, the side that didn’t have Feliks. He didn’t wait to see if he’d actually catch it or even reach it, however; by yelling he’d just given away his location, and he knew it.

A small panic fell over him — why had he thought that would be a good idea? He had to move.

Now.

His eyes fixed on the piece of freshly-fallen church, and he raced for it as fast as his legs could carry him, banking on the idea that Ivan would be unprepared and not expecting him to rocket out across his field of vision right then and there even if he did happen to do so. As he passed through a nerve-rendingly uncomfortable open space he saw his nemesis crouched behind the edge of a rubble pile like a big rat. Reaching the chunks of church wall, he veered sharply left and threw himself behind it, his heart thundering in his ears. He waited a few seconds, listening and watching for friends and foes alike as he tried to formulate a sound plan of action.

[Poland]

Liet fell. Poland whirled around on his friend, face red, panting with frustration and desperation. He looked down his nose at Lithuania, rising so very slowly from the ground, as if he’d just like to lay there forever as the troubles passed them by. No, Feliks agreed tiredly, that’d be nice if troubles would just do that—run by while you took a well-deserved nap. “Liet,” he said with an edge of chastisement in his breath, and eyes that asked why? a thousand times over. He didn’t understand; to him, his plan was fine—take Lithuania to a safe place. Escape Russia and Germany. Let them destroy each other like Poland prayed every night. But something was holding Toris back—was he still angry? Poland’s shoulders fell; he leaned in, racking his brain for something right to say—

Lithuania stood up and seemed to stumble into a tired hug. Poland stiffened at the bodily contact, but relaxed quickly enough. It’s just Liet. Liet, who isn’t upset with me. He smiled at the thought and any animosity between them seemed to dissipate. At the same time, Poland felt as though exhaustion was nearly seeping off of his friend, his hopeless, tired friend.

Toris pulled back and wrapped an arm around himself, still and listening—Poland too focused on the further destruction behind Lithuania for a moment, unsettled until the brunette spoke again, soft and gentle. Feliks strained to hear him.

“There's nowhere to run to. And Ivan can't take me...not as long as the Germans still hold the city. I know you hate Ludwig, but he's the closest thing that I have to an ally right now.”

“No!” Poland pushed his hands over his ears momentarily, shaking his head back and forth. “No, no, no! You just don’t understand, Liet. I can’t tell you all the things he’s done to me and mine, I really can’t right now. When this war’s over and we’re both still alive and well, you’ll hear about it, and you’ll see—“ He said hurriedly, passionately, grabbing Lithuania’s hand and shaking it with both of his between their bodies. “He’s really not a good person, Liet, I know you think everyone’s a good person, but Ludwig isn’t, no matter what lies he’s told you. Okay?”

He wasn’t sure if Lithuania wanted to even listen. Of course he had his mind on other things, maybe damnedly more important things, but…

“You know that if you tip the balance in Ivan's favour, then I'm done for. And maybe I'm running out of time anyway, but please, Polska...”

Poland felt as though he could have screamed aloud or ripped out his hair—or Russia’s hair, or Germany’s hair. He didn’t know what to do. Lithuania was not making it any simpler on him. “I don’t want Ivan to get anything from this,” He said fiercely; the unspoken words hung in the air. You don't always get what you want. He wanted to tell Lithuania right then what Ivan had done to him mere seasons ago, with that same innocuous smile, that childlike glee, about the bodies and the hole that was big enough for all of them. His hands slipped away from Lithuania’s, trembling slightly. He stilled them with sheer willpower, and looked at Lithuania with deadest eyes, in that stubborn stance of his, hands on his hips. “I don’t wanna hear that! Liet, I can’t, you know I can’t, I can’t let Germany get away with it… Please just come with me. I won’t let Ivan touch you this time. I swe…”

He couldn’t help but trail off, then captivated by the sight of Germany running towards them behind Lithuania. It was not a comforting sight at the time, but he doubted Germany had the capacity to ever be comforting to anyone truthfully although Lithuania obliviously thought otherwise. He threw something, and Poland flinched, thinking it a grenade—it wasn’t, simply a gun. He stared at it falling ungracefully through the sky towards Liet, snorting at the notion. Germany, master of warfare, had thrown a gun at them hoping to do some sort of damage?

But then he was occupied by the overwhelming realization that Germany was out in the open. Since he had already explained to Liet in that vague way of his what a bad person Germany was, Poland shouldn’t feel bad shooting his head off if given the opportunity, right? And if he could count on Ludwig's martial expertise to cost Russia one life before Poland shot him, then Russia would be out of the picture too! Both Liet and Poland would be safe-- that seemed like the best choice, way better than what Liet had suggested. Kill two birds with one stone!

Excited, Feliks blindly ran from Liet’s side, rifle at the ready as he ran straight through the street, uncovered by anything until he had the unbearably familiar feeling of being between Russia and Germany when both of them wore sights to kill—ah, didn’t they always? In that moment, he stumbled slightly and then hurried on all the faster. Perhaps it was probable that Russia would be training his sights on Germany and unprepared for Poland running across the open space like an idiot—hell, even Poland was unprepared for himself most of the time.

If there was a gunshot, or two, or three, he didn’t hear them, so focused was he on reaching the other side of the street—the seconds felt unbearably long as he did so, but he finally reached the hardly intact remains of what had once been a dainty Vilnius church, and practically hurled himself inside. He hushed his breath, leaning very still against the wall—if he heard footsteps approaching he would belt upwards, up the stairs, perhaps to the roof and jump to another building. If not, he would stay and shoot.

Feliks really didn’t know. But improvisation was unbelievably difficult. And Liet was left out there alone.