Spy vs Spy {Russia and America}

[Russia]

It was an unfortunate situation to be sure, but one that could not be avoided. The now infamous “Berlin Tunnel” had been discovered just days ago, so naturally it was still all the press and media could go on about. Not that Ivan particularly blamed them for carrying on about the incident. It was “a breach of the norms of international law” after all, and had he not already known about the secret operation from the start, he would have been sharing in the shock and outrage of his citizens. To think that Western intelligence had been eavesdropping in on not only secret military information, but also on their personal calls, was infuriating to the East German and Soviet population.

Of course the KGB had known about the plans for the tunnel from the very start. They had been informed by their mole back when the plans were first being brought up. Not that they had done anything about it. Personally, Ivan thought they were being ridiculous by not stopping the tunnel from the start. How much information had America and Britain plundered before they had been finally been allowed to “discover” the tunnel and put a stop to the operation? All because unearthing the operation early on would have been putting their mole, Blake, at risk. As it was, the moody blonde nation found it incredibly annoying that they had to wait until Blake had been safely transferred before the KGB could arrange for the tunnel to be found and the secret operation revealed. If he had been in charge of these things, he would have risked revealing their mole and put a stop to the nonsense early on. As it was, all day he had been entertaining thoughts of strangling both America and Britain with the telephone wires they had so lovingly tapped. Simply for the fact that he had been inconvenienced, Ivan shared similar fantasies about murdering Blake.

Knowing about an operation going on right under your nose and not being allowed to do anything about it was the most frustrating feeling that Ivan could imagine. It was just sad how little say the actual country had in these affairs. Then again, his government being the way it was, Ivan was used to that by now. As powerful and influential as he undeniably was, and as easy as it was for him to push the other soviet nations around, in the long run he was still the dog at the end of Khrushchev’s leash: a fact that he was none to pleased with, but respected all the same. Ah, but now the world knew about the Westerners’ wire tapping operation, so it was perfectly acceptable to confront those responsible. After of course, he had a look at the freshly unearthed tunnel himself.

Thanks to all the rain they had received this spring, the ground was treacherously slippery in the cemetery, where the tapped cables had been discovered. Ivan had never actually been to the tap chamber or the tunnel itself yet, in spite of the fact he had been aware of its existence. What would have the point been, when he would not have been able to do anything about it anyways? His leader had made it clear that he had not been allowed to intervene. Despite this being his first time to the site, the tall blonde found it easy enough to locate, with all the people still taking pictures of the entrance to the tap chamber. Making his way past his comrades and down into the chamber itself he got his first good look of the tapped telephone lines. Seeing them up close was enough to temporarily knock the smile of his face, and again images of strangulation jumped to mind. At the moment, nothing seemed like more fun that getting a hold of America and Britain and beating them to a bloody pulp. Not that he would be allowed to do anything so fun, with his leader holding him back. But the idea of such a challenge was still thrilling to imagine. It was even more fun to imagine America on his knees pleading for forgiveness for the tunnel incident. Not that Russia was keen on the idea of forgiveness, but it would be fun to watch his greatest foe plead in vain.

Turning his sights away from the wires and the few Soviets who were examining them with a form of inappropriate awe, Ivan went straight down into the tunnel itself. For all his aggression towards the Western powers, he had to admit that the tunnel had an ingenious design. Wooden rails and an excess amount of sandbags greeted his violet eyes as he examined the already notorious tunnel. Sadly, Ivan was not the only one examining the tunnel, as several Soviets and East Germans were down there as well, prowling along with their flashlights and lanterns as if they could somehow uncover even more secrets. Pushing his way past a few of them, Russia started off following the tunnel towards the west, a few of the curious soviet explorers hot on his heels.

[unitedstates]

America paced around the warehouse. The tunnel had been discovered. He had always known that it was just a matter of time (those reds and their spies and their intelligence and the way they just never played fair but it’s okay because they would never last in the end never ever ever), that the tunnel couldn’t last forever. It was an amazing source of information though (maybe false information, damn that Blake), a veritable well of Soviet secrets, and damn if America was going down without a fight.

Why couldn’t have Gold gone the way Silver had? Silver had only been shut down when Austria took his sovereignty back, it had never been revealed by a dirty communist traitor spy (but in his mind, America knew. He knew why. Gold was so much more valuable than silver was, and silver had always been tainted by red- ruby rings with sterling bands, the eyes of Prussia with his hair- God rest his soul, wherever that poor bastard ended up-, the blood dripping off the cold steel bayonet as he rammed it into a soldier’s chest over-and-over-and-over). Silver had lasted four years to Gold’s measly one. If that bastard traitor dirty commie Ruskie-loving son of a whore hadn’t snitched on the operation to the Reds, they could still be functioning now. Siphoning info off the lines, cracking codes, attaining the knowledge the world needed, America needed to rid the itself of that dangerous pestilence, communism. Polio had been virtually wiped off the developed map by that Jew, Salk (whose heritage was only acceptable because his Ruskie family became Americans before 1918, before the Contamination), and America was determined to be the one who found the cure for communism.

(He injected vaccines all over the world, but he wasn’t sure he had the right mix of ingredients- he tried to block out the glaring failure that was Korea. America justified it to himself again- Im Yong Soo hadn’t wanted it badly enough, China had been backing the Northerners, and an armistice was practically a victory anyways. It wasn’t as if it would ever be violated- who would be stupid enough to do that, to point the minute hand of the Doomsday Clock to twelve?)

He cursed aloud. “Dammit!” Slamming his fisted hand into the wall, he resumed his pacing. He remembered when he and England had found out that Blake (that man, oh how they trusted him, how he was one of the insider group, how their judgment failed them), and he narrowed his eyes, ignoring how his hand ached and slammed it into the wall again, a hole arising from the impact point. What if England had known the entire time? What if he was betraying America? What if he was one of them and the ‘Special Relationship’ cooked up by Churchill was just a way to get their defenses down before they struck?

The thought wasn’t new, and in the twenty-four hours (God, was it really so short? America hadn’t slept since he got the news, just tore out of the country on his fighter jet and was lucky Eisenhower had had the forethought to secure clearance for him to land, because he sure as hell hadn’t. Plane crashes he had experienced before. Being accustomed to the feeling of everything around you breaking, compressing, the bones in your body breaking before being devoured by flames, and then being reconstructed again didn’t make it pleasant) it had crossed his mind more and more.

Shaking his head violently, America slammed it into the wall too, and a new dent bloomed. He had to stay focused! If England was the enemy, he’d have to find out another time. His land was swarming with traitors (McCarthy was discredited, condemned, but that didn’t mean his figure of 205 was wrong), the world was swarming with traitors and- America flinched- if he heard correctly, his goddamned tunnel was swarming with traitors.

The microphone crackled again, and he leaned close to listen to it. America was the only one who had stayed behind, save the three CIA agents who always followed him when he was out of the country, but he rarely noted their presence anymore. Leave, they told him, any activity in the tunnel will be recorded on the microphone. Go sleep, we’ll come back in the morning. Then they left, having already recorded pages upon pages of transcription. The tape was running, they said. And now they were missing it as the incarnation of evil and filth and communism himself trotted merrily along through their tunnel as if he had been invited to Sunday dinner, and America would never, ever invite that devil to Sunday dinner!

From the center of the room, the entrance to the tunnel mocked him. Stop him, it cooed in a thick Russian accent, the sides of it twisting to form a crescent, a mocking grin, or do you think you can’t? Is baby America, still so young and looked down upon and condescended too much of a coward to go down there and do what needs to be done? Is little child Amer-

He silenced it by stopping his foot onto the opening, and tripped down, down, down, barely catching onto the ladder before the bottom of the hole rushed up to meet him. America climbed down the last few rungs, shaking only slightly, and pressed himself against the wall. Several yards down from him, he could hear footsteps. Drawing a gun from out of its holster at the small of his back, he cocked it and leveled it with his eye, pointing due East. Sticking close to the wall, he slid down the tunnel until he hit a curve. Around the curve, he knew he was there. The face that he saw in every nightmare, in every student flirting with Marxism, in every criminal locked behind bars.

He stepped around the corner and aimed the gun levelly at Russia. “What the hell are you doing down here, commie?”

[Russia]

It was amazing what a relatively small group of capitalistic dogs could create in secret, right under the noses (and feet in this case) of the Soviet military. Examining the well engineered passageway, Ivan couldn’t help the feeling of shame concerning his own countrymen and their lack of ability to pick up on hints. This little tunnel had been constructed and in operation for roughly a year, and not once had his people picked up on it’s existence, even after the KGB had decided to drop a few decently strong hints. Though he would sooner die than admit it, the tunnel’s mere existence was a praise to the Western allies, and a shame to his government. It would have been nice if the entire affair had been a propaganda victory for the Soviets, as they had initially figured it would be. Instead however, all the press appeared to be able to do was marvel at the technical ingenuity of the tunnel itself.

Feeling more than a little bitter, the curious communist neared a slight curve in the dimly lit passage. When an all too familiar face unexpectedly popped out from the shadows, it took Ivan completely by surprise and the instinctive urge to swing a pipe and smack the one responsible as hard as he could in the face, was almost overpowering. But, sad to say, he didn’t have his beloved lead faucet pipe with him now. People had a tendency to ask too many questions when he brought it along with him in areas with higher concentrations of people. Which was just as well since Alfred was holding a gun and the tall Russian had since learned that bringing a pipe to a gunfight never worked out for the best. Unless of course the pipe was only brought out to play after his adversary had lost their weapon.

“What the hell are you doing down here, commie?”

No sooner had the words been spoken before Ivan had his own firearm of choice drawn. It was a personal favorite of his, a simple Tokarev TT-30 handgun, which he was quick to focus in the general area of Alfred’s chest. America had taken him by surprise, and he was already inwardly cursing himself for not paying closer attention to his surroundings. He was in enemy territory after all, how had he been so foolish as to let his guard down?

“I’m having a look at your tunnel of course. With the press going on so much about it, you should have known I would have to come and see for myself.” He wore the friendliest of expressions outwardly, but underneath the façade, he couldn’t have been more bothered by the other man’s sudden appearance. To Russia, it was almost as though America were prowling the tunnel just to gloat over how clever he imagined his men were for supposedly “getting one up” on the Soviets.

“It’s nice to see that international laws mean nothing to you by the way. That you think you can just tap Soviet lines and expect us to be oblivious to the whole operation. It’s insulting.” Keeping the gun aimed for America’s chest, the violet-eyed nation felt an overpowering urge to pull the trigger. He wondered how many bullets he would be able to sink into the other nation before America was able to return fire. If the other man also had a semi-automatic, then there was little doubt that Russia would find himself riddled with bullets as well pretty damn fast. As interesting of a game as “see who could fill their opponent with the most bullets” sounded, now was not the time or place. Somewhere nearby, Russia could still make out the distinct sounds of the other Soviets and East Germans exploring the tunnel. If they were to hear gunshots, it would draw far too much attention.

And yet, Ivan was not willing to lower his gun so long as America still had his leveled. If the bespectacled country decided to instigate a gunfight, then so be it. He was not going to be the fool who put his weapon away in the face of an enemy.

“This was quite the operation you had going on here. How long did you honestly expect it to last?” He smiled pleasantly at Alfred, his right pointer finger tightening on the trigger slightly as he studied the other nation over with immense dislike.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

((I apologize for the length and dip in quality on this one. I wanted to have it done before I move tomorrow/today and it's 2 in the morning here.))

[unitedstates]

America didn’t flinch at the gun that was raised to his face- he expected it. What sort of supervillain would that commie be if he didn’t carry his gun everywhere? And to point it at the hero! My God, America wanted to blow his brains out right then. But as much as he didn’t care if those Soviet bastards behind Russia heard their beloved [? Maybe they all hated him, he didn’t know. Maybe they had all watched their relatives shipped off to Siberia one by one by one and had spent their childhoods toiling away on collectives and wanted their Motherland to diediediediediediedie] country crash to the floor, bleeding from his eyes and his mouth and the sides of his head, he knew Russia was a quick shot. He had been riddled with bullet holes and scars that proved as much, and as soon as he shot Russia, he would be killed himself.

Perhaps it would be fitting, to die with his most hated enemy here. Here, under the city they killed themselves. But another day, another place.

Still, America wasn’t going to lower his gun. Refused to lower his gun. Was physically incapable of lowering his gun, so long as he was in this tunnel with him. He narrowed his eyes when Russia began to speak, unable to hold back a condescending scoff.

“I’m having a look at your tunnel of course. With the press going on so much about it, you should have known I would have to come and see for myself.”

Sure. That was why he was down here. America knew the truth- knew that he was down here to mock him, to rub it in his face that Look I found your precious tunnel try to exploit information from us now you capitalist pig in that ugly accent of his. Maybe he even planned to follow it through to the end, to surface in their warehouse and in the west and slowly try to throw the Western government into complete anarchy. Then he would arrive, and tell the people that communism would save them and oh God he lost Korea no he didn’t no he didn’t he won that war he won it[/color] he couldn’t lose Germany too and soon all of Europe would fall[/I].

America always knew never to place his hopes on the Europeans, the traitors across the ocean. “Why by interweaving our destiny with that of any part of Europe, entangle our peace and prosperity in the toils of European ambition, rivalship, interest, humour or caprice?” Washington had asked the nation- had asked Alfred- as he left office. A twinge of shame hit him, and he felt his gun lower an inch, before he threw it back up, pointed straight at Russia’s head. He should have known better. But now he had to save Europe.

Russia wasn’t really a part of Europe anyways, he mused, contemplating what his blood would look like spattered against the concrete behind his head. Would it be tinged with yellow? He was some abnormal Eurasian amalgamation, anyways- unnatural, the world would thank America once the Soviet Union was gone. And at his hand- he could only imagine. How glorious that moment would be- it would be more beautiful than the moment he finally declared that he was “Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown.” The world would adore him, and America would be the only superpower.


“It’s nice to see that international laws mean nothing to you by the way. That you think you can just tap Soviet lines and expect us to be oblivious to the whole operation. It’s insulting.”

Russia was still talking, America realized, and he wanted to vomit at the sight of his “cheerful” face. Underneath lurked death and corruption and pure evil. He ignored the actual words he spoke, though he laughed. America, disregarding international law? The hypocrisy was hilarious, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was holding a fully loaded pistol ready to off at any moment, he would bend over and laugh until he died. Who had decided that his satellite countries really didn’t need those stable domestic governments he had promised them? Who had ignored every facet of every treaty that opposed his expansionistic and diabolical plans?

Oh right. The nation who was still standing in front of him, who was still flapping his gums. America heard footsteps approach from behind him, staying in the shadows. It seemed his tails had followed him down the rabbit hole. They didn’t come out- not yet. The last time one had tried to interfere in a Russo-American confrontation, he had, well… America had attended his funeral out of guilt. They stayed away from then on- silent support. All America needed for protection was his baby, his colt- he ran his thumb across it, finger steady on the trigger.


“This was quite the operation you had going on here. How long did you honestly expect it to last?”

Finally. A direct question. America had wondered how long the communist was planning to sit around and chit-chat. Not that he didn’t enjoy it- it only made him sick to his stomach, red flash across his eyes, and fill him with a murderous intent.

“Honestly? America drawled, a smirk blooming on his face. “I’m surprised your goons managed to find it at all. I thought it’d still be there after I nuked your sorry ass. I never expected you to be so competent!” The statement wasn’t entirely true. America was scarily aware of how competent Russia could be- the face, grinning and bloodsoaked with the hairs and flesh of the countries he gobbled up on an iron platter sticking out of his teeth, haunted his dreams at night. But America wasn’t some weak eastern European, whose entire history had been partitions and losing and gaining himself. He was the United States, and by definition, more competent than this monster.

He flicked his gun down, aiming it at Russia’s heart. Or rather, what would be Russia’s heart if he had one. That was probably why he was freezing all the time- the complete lack of a circulatory system could probably do that to you. He’d lost it a long time ago, America figured, to a man named Lenin. Russia’s hand had been cool when they shook over the transfer of Alaska, but not ice.

“How does it feel, to be so completely penetrated? Does it hurt, that your officials kept this from you, let you be violated and have information taken away? Does it feel like a betrayal?” America’s voice was mocking, almost a coo, if it weren’t for the fact that it was laced with hate and contempt and total superiority. The paranoia from earlier had mostly slipped away, replaced by the overwhelming loathing he felt whenever he was forced to look at that face.

[Russia]

“I’m surprised your goons managed to find it at all. I thought it’d still be there after I nuked your sorry ass. I never expected you to be so competent!”

Russia laughed slightly at the comment. How he would have loved to fill the overly confident American full of holes right then and there, before tearing him to pieces and finger-painting with his blood all over the tunnel walls. It would be a message to all other westerners, who were so ignorant and bull-headed that they clung to their capitalistic values like flies to a rotten carcass. He supposed he should have taken the statement with a grain of compliment, since despite the mockery, it did imply a certain amount of competency on his people’s part. However any positive point to his foe’s words were washed away by the nuclear threat. It was a powerful reminder to the fact that they would probably kill each other someday, and perhaps the world with them. At the rate they were going, the day probably wouldn’t be far off.

His eyes followed America’s gun as it was lowered to point at his chest. Unfazed, the violet eyed Russian steadied his own firearm to point directly at Alfred’s heart in response. If he wanted to play it that way, then Russia was all too eager. A shoot-out in such close corridors would undoubtedly be interesting. There was nowhere to hide, no way to get out of the enemy’s range. Then there was the promise of extra casualties from the people who were also exploring the tunnel at the moment.

“How does it feel, to be so completely penetrated? Does it hurt, that your officials kept this from you, let you be violated and have information taken away? Does it feel like a betrayal?”

In spite of the friendly smile that remained firmly on his pale features, Russia’s eyes narrowed at the remark, and America’s choice of wording. Not to mention the tone itself, which made his hand tighten on the gun he was holding. In truth, he couldn’t feel too betrayed because he had known from the start. The workings and dealings of the KGB were no secret to him, even if they were to many of his common people and military. It could be said that Ivan himself was very well connected and informed when it came to secrets of state.

“Only as much as I imagine it hurts your pride to have your secret little operation uncovered and on display for the world. Not that your operation was much of a success really. All those calls you monitored and recorded and you still didn’t get any information of use.”

Truth be told, Ivan was actually not sure as to what kind of information had been leaked to the blue-eyed enemy in front of him. He of course hoped it was all useless, but since the lines had been in direct contact with Moscow, it was hard to say what had been slipped. One thing was for sure, he owed Alfred no allegiance whatsoever, and was perfectly content to lie, in hopes of throwing him off any information he may have of importance.

“You must be feeling incredibly silly right now, to have wasted so much in time and resources on a failed operation like this. I’m personally amazed you could get up the nerve to drag yourself down here.” Keeping the gun leveled, Russia moved closer to his American foe. He was not particularly afraid of the other nation, and was not going to make a show of backing off and heading back towards the east. It had been the blonde Russian’s intent to search the tunnel, so he was going to finish searching the tunnel if at all possible. America, or no America. To step down would be an unforgivable act of surrender and cowardice as far as he was concerned. Not only would it go completely against his overly dominant nature, but such an act would only stroke his capitalistic foe’s ego even more. And as overly confident and full of himself as America was, he really didn’t need the extra ego boost. What Russia thought he needed more than anything right now, was a bullet to the skull.

How fun it would have been if he could corner America alone with his pipe. That would be a much more engaging confrontation. Going hand to hand with his greatest foe was a thing of dreams for the unhinged, sadistic Russian nation. Ivan would win of course, or so he envisioned. How could it possibly go any other way?

“Now why don’t you be a good little capitalist pig, and get back to your master.“ Confidently, but vigilant at the same time, Ivan made to pass America. It was his intent to continue on and see where the tunnel took him.

[unitedstates]

America watched Russia’s gun also lower to his heart, and he felt inclined to laugh. Aw, the man was mimicking his actions, isn’t that sweet? They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but America would rather risk bad luck than look into this mirror. Too bad humans would probably be caught in the crossfire. But, a dark, stray thought ambled across his mind, there are two, almost three billion people in the world, and a good, American baby would probably be born to replace them.

He didn’t blink or betray his disgust at what he was thinking, because frankly, the disgust was overridden by the thought that that was a very good idea, indeed. He’d do the world a favor- he’d take out the Enemy and a couple of enemies at the same time. It was only fear for his own life (what would the country do without him? He had to be there to make sure that the upheaval in the Communist Party was being fostered, nurtured, McCarthy couldn’t do it alone. Besides, it was an election year) and those of his men that kept him from pulling the trigger. Better not to let Russia know- if his copycat was doing him justice, anyways, America already knew this would be a standoff.

“Only as much as I imagine it hurts your pride to have your secret little operation uncovered and on display for the world. Not that your operation was much of a success really. All those calls you monitored and recorded and you still didn’t get any information of use.”

America laughed aloud, his lips curling upwards in the wake of it, his eyes trained on Russia. He was bluffing so obviously- America himself had looked at the information, and there were pieces of it that were, quite correctly named, gold. Unless they were being deliberately fed bad information, but America doubted it. He had to doubt it. He forced himself to doubt it as he felt a cloud of paranoia come upon his head, but- oh God, what if the information was bad?

The thought was terrifying, because if the Ruskies were so well organized that they could not only infiltrate into the deepest levels of the Anglo-American workings, they could feed bad information through their subordinates without even letting them know it was bad, who knew what else they were capable of? The damned Soviets were brainwashed, but it was the brainwashed people who were the best followers! Some part of his mind prodded that thought, whispering that maybe, maybe the American government was brainwashed into hating Co-

The thought washed over him like cold water, and it cleared his vision. He no longer saws spots, but that Russian bastard, suddenly several feet closer to him. America startled, only slightly, but obviously enough, and he cursed himself. He missed whatever the other nation just said, too, the only remainder the warm air floating in front of them, the echoes of some mispronounced syllable. He tightened his bicep and jerked his chin upwards, glaring at Russia. The man was still approaching him, and he didn’t like it. His finger tightened on the trigger, and behind him he heard the tell-tale shifting of clothing.

“Now why don’t you be a good little capitalist pig, and get back to your master.”

Russia started to pass him, and America moved in front of his, raising himself to his full height and lifting up his chest, trying to broaden himself as most as possible. Planting himself in the middle of the tunnel, America narrowed his eyes at Russia- he would reluctantly accept the Soviets having discovered the tunnel’s existence, he would reluctantly accept the Soviets’ existence, but there was no way he’d facilitate either.

America smiled innocently, as if he weren’t mere feet from Russia, as if he hadn’t moved the barrel of his gun to point right into the interior of Russia’s. Maybe, he thought, if I take him out I’ll take out the tunnel too, and they’ll never get any information from it. It was a wild, implausible thought, but it made him happy.

“And why don’t you get back to raping women who are starving to death? And then starving some more to death? Then killing some children because they’re starving?”

There was a general Nation code of conduct that looked down very strongly on bringing up past war crimes. They all did something definable as an atrocity at some point, and very few still commented even on Germany’s recent sordid past, or the creation of the word genocide. Such conduct codes were usually ignored between America and the Soviet Union.

”And speaking of masters,” America emphasized the last word, “I heard your latest disapproves of your last. I wonder how that felt for you, when people started shooting themselves in the head over it.”

The question was posed innocently enough, and America had to wonder if Russia even knew he knew the contents of Khrushchev’s “Secret Speech.” Thank God for Israel, hmm? He took a step forward and metal scraped lightly against metal. Hopefully he’d drive the other nation back, back into the arms of insanity and the dead man in the mausoleum. Maybe his ‘union’ would even fracture and collapse from this man, and wouldn’t that just fracture America? Hilarious.

[Russia]

Russia’s attempt to slip past America was quickly hindered by the other nation, who planted himself directly in his path. Standing there in the center of the tunnel, the other man appeared to be trying his best at looking intimidating. If America had not been such a powerful rival, the act would have been more amusing than anything. The fact that it was America however, and not some lesser nation, successfully killed any humor in the situation. In spite of the extreme levels of aggression Russia felt concerning his foe, it would be an insult to himself to think of America as anything less than what he was. A global superpower. He was a danger to everything that the Soviet Union stood for; an enemy not to be written off. When it got right down to it, in order to be a rival with someone like the Soviet Union, America would have to be a competent and decently powerful nation.

“And why don’t you get back to raping women who are starving to death? And then starving some more to death? Then killing some children because they’re starving?”

Ivan’s smile faltered momentarily at the remarks. America’s insistence on bringing up past war crimes was aggravating and unacceptable. That being the case, it was always this way for them it seemed. The codes and guidelines that other nations were keen to follow, were quickly cast aside by both America and Russia when they entered verbal confrontations. Regardless of the regularity of these confrontations, America’s implications were still very irritating and undeserved in Russia’s mind. He had not raped starving women. The same could not be said for his Red Army, who sometimes appeared to be willing to rape anything in sight. But Ivan himself had better control than that. Starving individuals were usually nothing to look at and far less energetic. Not exactly his idea of fun. Better to go for someone with some amount of strength and vigor to them.

As for the starvation, Russia considered that to be no fault of his either. Stalin had been the one responsible for that. It had been Stalin who had instigated the famines that lead to so many deaths of men, women and children alike. Russia himself would not have inflicted such a thing on his own sister. Given their bleak outlook and horrible conditions, the killings of the children seemed more like mercy killings. What crime was there in putting someone out of their misery? If America was ready to get up on his moral high horse again, Ivan knew some less than heroic things about him too. Such as the fact that during Stalin’s induced famine on Ukraine, the western world had known about the terrible famine that was going on and chosen to ignore it for the sake of profit. They may have been naïve enough to not realize what was going on at first, but by 1933, there was no way that America could not have known about the suffering. How could America point fingers at Russia when he was unwilling to upset trade agreements with the Soviet Union, in light of the fact that Stalin was knowingly starving millions of people to death?

“And speaking of masters, I heard your latest disapproves of your last. I wonder how that felt for you, when people started shooting themselves in the head over it.”

Ivan tried not to let his mild surprise show on his face. How did America know about the “Secret Speech?” Although, a better question might have been why was it even called the “Secret Speech,” when it actually was not very secretive despite the text not being publicly disclosed. Simply being referred to as the Khrushchev Report, would have been much more fitting. America suddenly moved forward, and Ivan fought the instinctive urge to back off and give himself more room. Instead, he kept his ground and forced his trademark innocent boyish smile back onto his face.

“People can overreact to these things. Those who were weak enough to go to such extremes deserved death.” He stated simply, keeping his attention fixed on the other nation. Having witnessed the horrors of Stalinist repression in ways that not very many others alive had, Russia himself was more in favor of Khrushchev’s criticism. Lenin’s Testament had proven right about Stalin. He had abused his power and done some less than productive things. The main thing that came to Russia’s mind was the purge of the leading officers of the Red Army. He had just known that was going to some back to kick him in the ass later on. Which it had. Even though Ivan agreed with the speech on several areas, it had its problems, and the shock and disillusionment that spread like wildfire through the Soviet Union was not so good for the political faith of his people. As the suicidal extremists had proved, perception of leaders and governments were taken very seriously.

“As for war crimes and less than noble acts, you have had your fair share of them as well, America. Not that I actually partook in any rapes of starving women personally. Instead, why don’t we talk about your lack of a response to certain famines? If you’re so eager to play the hero all the time, why is it that you did nothing to help Ukraine? You were more than happy to sign trade agreements with me while that was going on.”

[unitedstates]

America wasn’t sure whether he was more disappointed or pissed off that Russia did not flinch at his displayed. In any case, he knew that the feeling was peppered with the somehow complacent feeling that is the total lack of surprise. Of course he wasn’t surprised- it was the Soviet Union, for God’s sake. That didn’t make him wish that the freezing bastard (America swore up and down the Mississippi that he didn’t have a heart, no matter how many times he witnessed it fall out- he was too cruel, too inhuman a joke! he could make a joke! to feel life rush through him like that. Besides, he couldn’t think of any major Russian rivers that could make up his blood vessels, and what good is a heart without vessels?) would at least take a step backwards from him. But if he didn’t, that was fine as well. The other nation’s smile had slipped a bit, and for America, this was confirmation that he was getting to him. He grinned widely, unpleasantly, drumming his fingers against the Colt even as Russia began to speak.

“People can overreact to these things. Those who were weak enough to go to such extremes deserved death.”

Typical response. Yes, those who were weak deserved death. Those who were walking home from buying groceries deserved death, too. And those who waited around in train stations. Horror stories from the labor camps of the USSR had filtered over to the States, to him- stories of men being coerced by “long-lost old friends” to step away from their wives for a moment, only to find themselves suddenly arrested and on their way to the Gulag. Officers, rumor had it, just had a quota to fill, and fill it they did, whether it be by arresting criminals, their women, their third cousin-in-law twice removed, or the nice fruit vendor they pass during the summer seasons.

So America simply matched Russia’s gaze, schooling his face to be unfazed. Many an interaction with other nations had been almost lost because of his tendency to react obviously and emotionally to whatever they said. It was hard, sometimes, being among the youngest and among the ones who still actually gave a shit. Obviously the others didn’t, if they did they would have all joined his crusade to crush communism into the dust. He wouldn’t be held back by Dwight and the rest of the government, either. They were blinded by trade agreements and mutually assured destruction and diplomatic relations. During the day, it was so easy to agree with them. Another war would be horrible, another war (another war with such massive, widespread nukes) would undoubtedly spin the world into chaos, and honestly, it really wasn’t worth it. Then he would lie in his bed at night, or he would find himself in a tunnel with Russia’s face looming over him, and he’d think, No, no, they have it wrong. McCarthy, McCarthy was right even if he had been discredited and dismissed years ago is right and they, they have to be hunted out. Picked off. Destroyed.

He struggled to keep the pure hatred and anger from shining through. It was, of course, no secret that he hated the Soviet Union, or even vice versa, but he’d be damned if he’d be the one to falter and show it first. He heard footsteps behind him, the agents cautiously approaching, and he edged to the right, to more fully block them from Russia's view, when he began to speak again.

“As for war crimes and less than noble acts, you have had your fair share of them as well, America. Not that I actually partook in any rapes of starving women personally. Instead, why don’t we talk about your lack of a response to certain famines? If you’re so eager to play the hero all the time, why is it that you did nothing to help Ukraine? You were more than happy to sign trade agreements with me while that was going on.”

Red flashed across his vision. How dare he, how dare he insinuate that the lack of action was worse than, or even equivalent to, deliberate and malicious deeds. He bristled, and had he been a canine, a low growl would have escaped his throat. The smile on his face dropped for a moment, before returning full force, grip on gun tightened Given the circumstances at the time, what the hell could he have done? The country had been falling into practical chaos, with the interval between the helpless Hoover and the revolutionary Roosevelt, a time when the economy deteriorated rapidly and there was no one there to stop it. Approximately the same amount of people in his country, if not more, were unemployed and starving themselves, and he didn’t have the resources to allocate overseas, especially not to Europe. Washington’s words had rambled through his head, and he did what benefited his people.

(He didn’t like to think of how he was then, now that it was his sworn and proclaimed duty to protect the world. But he could look back at himself and understand why he did it, and on the worse days, even pine for those simpler times, of the frontier and politics as usual.

Then he remembers riots and his people ripping each other apart over race, and wonders if he’s not idealizing it just a touch.)

So he smiled, a misleading grin. “I had my own troubles to deal with. I can’t go off saving the world when I’m falling apart myself.” He tilted his head to the side, wondering. “Not that you would know the difference between poor and prosperous times, I’m pretty sure they’re all just cycles of arrest, starve, murder, repeat. But if you think about it in simple terms, maybe you’ll understand.”

[Russia]

The other nation’s immediate and very brief look of contempt made it clear that America did not at all appreciate having his own darker secrets brought up. The façade of happiness was quickly back in place, but it did nothing to dull Russia’s spirits this time. He knew he had bothered America far more than the other was willing to admit, and that in and of itself made the whole trip to the tunnel suddenly worth it. Getting under Alfred’s skin was something that Russia thoroughly enjoyed, even if his feeling of victory was often short lived. Which, it usually was, considering the fact that America had the annoying habit of bouncing back and getting even with him.

Then again, that was the way things always were between them now. Since the end of the Great Patriotic War, their relations had become an endless cycle of challenges and confrontations; not to mention, paranoia. Everything America claimed to stand for, Russia was quick to oppose and criticize. Likewise, America wasted no time in disagreeing with Russian ideals and values. They really did appear to be on completely opposite ends of the spectrum. It was amazing that with tensions so high and such bitter hatred between the two of them, that they had yet to openly attack each other. The fact that they both had nuclear weapons and influence was possibly the main thing holding them back, as ironic as that was. As much as Russia wanted to bring America to his knees, he was not eager to face the consequences of all out nuclear war. As exciting as the idea sounded, and as insane as he could be, he was not so stupid as to think there would be no major negative effects on himself from such a conflict.

But peace could only last so long, and as their little encounter in the tunnel was proving, tensions between them were just getting worse and worse. Looking into his enemy’s cold blue eyes, Ivan had to wonder how much longer they would play around like this until all hell broke loose and they were tearing each other to shreds. How much longer before the nukes were flying and they were plunging the world into yet another great war? Of course to think that the rest of the world would just sit back and watch from the sidelines would be silly. With nuclear force being used, it was reasonable to think that many of the other nations would be quick to claim sides and attempt to protect their own borders.

“I had my own troubles to deal with. I can’t go off saving the world when I’m falling apart myself.”

Of course America would make such a claim to attempt and save his own image. Wasn’t he supposed to be the “hero” though? The dashing figure that risked everything to save others, no matter what the personal costs to himself may be? His statement just showcased that no nation could ever really be classed as such. When it got right down to it, they all placed themselves above other nations. If anyone would be deserving of a heroic title, Ivan figured it should be him. Not only did he play a pivotal role in the defeat of Nazi Germany, but he had the more sensible government that cared not just for money but people themselves. At least, that was how it was supposed to be. Issues such as questionable bosses with questionable motives aside, Russia was pleased in his belief that he had the most noble form of government, making him a more noble and heroic nation as a whole.

“Not that you would know the difference between poor and prosperous times, I’m pretty sure they’re all just cycles of arrest, starve, murder, repeat. But if you think about it in simple terms, maybe you’ll understand.”

Had there not been other people within close proximity, Russia would have attempted to shoot the other nation where he stood for such a comment. The worst part was, that under some leaders, America’s simplistic notion of “arrest, starve, murder, repeat,” was entirely fitting. Of course, Russia himself was not so bothered by concepts such as murder; even would he should have been because it involved his own people. As far as he was concerned, people blew these things out of proportion and made them sound worse than what they really were. So a few enemies were starved to death in camps? They surely deserved that fate for being enemies of the state. Why should Russia mollycoddle and pamper enemies with luxuries such as food? As for the arrests and murders, things were actually better now, than they were under Stalin’s leadership. The mass murders of he and his fellow Soviet nations’ people had lessened a great deal, so why should he be bothered by the small cases that didn’t really matter in the long run?

Hell would freeze over before Russia would allowed America the satisfaction of admitting that there was any grain of truth in his accusation. The problem now was debunking the entire statement and somehow turning the tables back onto his rival.

“Of course I know the difference between poor and prosperous times. More so than you I am sure. And you are reading way too much into nonsensical rumors, America. Just because we don’t shower our enemies in comfort and luxury like you do, does not mean we are being cruel and inhumane to them. They get exactly what they deserve.” His eyes slipped from America’s face, momentarily focusing over the other man’s shoulder to where a few shadowed figures were just visible. “I see you brought friends. Afraid to come down here alone? You must have known I would be searching this tunnel myself.”

Russia was being completely silent about the fact that he himself was not the only Soviet in the tunnels at the moment. Granted, they were a little ways off still, and he had not actually encouraged them to follow at all. He glossed over the possibility that America was in the same predicament with his own people. He was thoroughly in love with the possibility that America would ever be afraid of him in the slightest and tried to read fear into any of his enemy’s actions when he could.

[unitedstates]

America couldn’t stand the attitude that Russia was emanating- contemptuous, communist, and just all around annoying. He suspected the nation had seen through his façade of well-being- not a terribly difficult thing to imagine, considering it was rather piss poor, but he’d been hoping it would have held up at least through another couple of rounds of conversation.

Apparently not. Well, he’d always been told he had a terrible poker face, that he was a stupid, insensitive child, that he could be read as easily as one of his poorly written novels (which, he had always insisted, The Great Gatsby wasn’t)- England did like insulting him. Anyways. He was losing it, grasping at straws- and oh God, did Russia move closer again? He couldn’t have. Not when America was pointing a gun straight at the void where his heart should be, not when the damp of the underground tunnel and the wet blanket of his overly content people were shaking me twitch with suppressed coughs.

Russia did not, could not, was not allowed to have the upper hand here. Russia was barely allotted the clothes on his back and the food in his belly, Russia spent millions for defense, but not once cent for tribute to the middle and lower classes, to give them anything more than what they needed to not freeze to death during the night. Not that Russia had middle or lower classes, those were for capitalists that allowed their citizens to rise through the ranks, not for communists who decayed in either their caste or their grave.

“Of course I know the difference between poor and prosperous times.” America still sincerely doubted it. Prosperity was profit, was a capitalist term, and he was tempted to throw this into his face, but he was concentrated on the drip-drip-dripping of water and the spider crawling on the wall over Russia’s shoulder whose eyes, he would swear, shone purple. “More so than you I am sure. And you are reading way too much into nonsensical rumors, America. Just because we don’t shower our enemies in comfort and luxury like you do, does not mean we are being cruel and inhumane to them. They get exactly what they deserve.”

America smiled, and it was slightly shakier than before. He hated spiders. “Your people are your enemies? Hate to see what you do to your friends.”

And speaking of “friends,” Russia had seemed to spot his own. “I see you brought friends. Afraid to come down here alone? You must have known I would be searching this tunnel myself.”

Red flashed across his eyes, the color of blood and anger and the National Anthem. That damned hypocrite. His voice wavering only slightly, he responded as flippantly as he could manage, “Apparently deny their existence. Don’t pretend like you can’t hear those footsteps behind you.”

It was a conjecture, a both proverbial and literal shot in the dark. He thought he heard the murmurs of men and the rustling of coarse, government-spun wool somewhere in the annals of the tunnel, but he couldn’t be sure over the rushing of his own blood in his ears. (Sounds like California,[/color] he mused to himself- or, more appropriately, like a hurricane crashing against the coast of Miami, drowning drowning drowning them.) He knew Russia well enough to know that he wouldn’t be allowed to come without back-up, stuck up cowardly pricks that he and his boss were (and always had been).

Or he thought he knew Russia. He suspected he didn’t, not really- the Soviet Union was an easy enough mystery to unravel, with planes and photographs and spies infiltrated deeply in Moscow. Piecing everything together, he realized that the Hungarian rebels were being brutally slaughtered, that the Russian civilians were being shipped off to Siberia for the most trivial of reasons, that they were developing even more nuclear weapons. It was a constant, something he could observe and measure.

But Ivan Braginsky- oh, he was a variable, one whose value could range from anything as simple as 4 to something as complex as 453i.

But you needed imaginary numbers to work airplanes.

You needed them to fly.

And that was what America found himself doing (illogically? Perhaps), gun in one hand and the other balled up in a fist. He threw himself at Russia, putting all of his weight behind the punch and grasping the revolver as tightly as it could because he never knew when that i would be squared and he’d have to face down something negative.

[Russia]

“Apparently deny their existence. Don’t pretend like you can’t hear those footsteps behind you.”

The annoyed Russian silently cursed his fellow Soviets for not staying out of hearing shot. Would it have been so hard for them to have just stayed way back by the tunnel entrance? Their lack of ability to read his mind and know when to stay away was irksome and he was half tempted to shoot them for making him look like a hypocrite and ruining the moment. There were too many people here for comfort. Again he couldn’t help but fantasize about them having met alone. Then there would have been nothing holding them back. He might have even had the satisfaction of watching his blue-eyed rival shiver in fear and plead for mercy before being shot in the face at point-blank range. Of course even if he had suddenly decided to plead, he would not have been shown mercy. Mercy was a thing for servants who misbehaved every now and then and were corrected for it; it was for lesser nations, who didn’t really matter in the long run anyways and had no power to do anything. It was not an option for stronger foes, who were in constant competition. Those should be dealt with as unmercifully as possible as a testament to one’s power. Or so Ivan reasoned.

But no, America wasn’t cowering or pleading, and there were other people in the tunnel to distract and keep them from an all out gun-fight. Russia kept his disappointment and annoyance hidden behind his joyful expression as the sounds of footsteps behind him drew nearer.

“товарищ генерал?”* A voice from somewhere behind him questioned quietly, still managing to echo slightly through the tunnel.

Russia kept his eyes glued to America, trying to ignore the advancing curious Soviets and silently wishing they would turn and head off. All the better if they took America’s “backup” with them.

“генерал Брагинский? кто там?”*

“I didn’t insist on their company. Unlike you, I don’t require escorts.” It was a pathetic attempt to try and separate he and America’s positions once more. To make America look more pathetic and needy than himself. But especially now that one of his own people had spoken up, Russia knew there was no way he could claim that he was alone, and that America was just hearing footsteps where there were none. That Alfred was just imagining things and was in fact the only one with people present in the dank tunnel.

Prepared to try and convince his fellow Soviets to go back towards the east while he handled the American problem, what Russia was not entirely prepared for was his American foe to suddenly throw caution to the wind and physically assault him. He had gotten to America; that much he had been sure of, but he had not expected the other nation to lunge for him. Not with other people around on both sides. After they had been aiming their guns at each other without any shots fired, the confident Soviet nation had been fairly certain that America was not going to shoot him. Not now. A part of him had foolishly assumed that because there was to be no gunfights, that the confrontation would eventually end with America backing off and leaving the tunnel altogether. It was a silly, completely nonsensical idea, and one that Russia himself should have known better to assume about his equally as proud and powerful enemy.

His foolish assumption was proven wrong however, as America’s balled fist caught him in the side of his face; his arm coming up to block just a little too late. He had turned in time to avoid the blow catching him face on, and potentially breaking his nose. His jaw was not so fortunate, and a fiery throbbing immediately overtook the place of impact. For all his perceived faults, America did know how to throw a punch.

A flash of anger immediately overtook the feeling of pain, and Ivan almost dropped the Tokarev pistol in his hurry to attempt and return the hit with one of his own. Barely managing to keep a grip on the sleek black pistol, he clenched his left hand into a fist and lashed out at America’s face. The intended blow was fairly general, but he was hoping he could catch the enemy nation in one of his eyes; maybe breaking his glasses in the process and sending some painful shards into those infuriating blue eyes. The suddenness of the counterattack however, meant that he had no real time to plan out the punch, and had just as likely of a chance of it going astray altogether. The range and accuracy of blows was so much better when he had his pipe in hand.

Vaguely, Russia became aware that the struggle had only served to draw the other Soviets to the scene quicker, and he heard their footsteps pick up pace before stopping altogether somewhere nearby. None of that mattered anymore though. The only thing that was of interest to him was his struggle with America, and his attempt to inflict pain on what was without doubt his strongest enemy. Not at all happy that America had been the first to attack, he was at the same time simply thrilled and excited that he would be able to unleash some of his pent up aggressions for the other nation. Even if it was on such a minor, pitiful scale as a fist fight. There was still a feeling of sadistic glee to be had from the petty conflict.
___________________________________

((I apologize for lack of depth in this one. I didn’t want to power play obviously, and as a result fight scenes tend to be less lengthy for me. ))

*товарищ генерал= Comrade General (They had many Generals floating around in the Soviet army around this time, many of which were associated with the KGB.)

*Брагинский = Ivan's last name of course. XD

*кто там? = "Who's there?"