Chapter One: The High Watermark

It was afternoon of July the Third. Two o'clock. Alfred stood there at a crevice in a long stone wall, which the men call the angle. It divided a field in the outskirts of Gettysburg. Alfred had a strong division of his loyal troops behind him. They reinforced the angle with a strong wall of their own. A long wall of navy blue. With determination on their faces, they awaited patiently the impending attack. They would resist the Confederate advancement at any and all cost. So would he. Alfred had been fighting him for three straight days. Today, he had to deal with a long artillery barrage. But he came through unfazed. Despite this, he felt strong. He felt invigorated and determined.

"This is it yet, bros!" he yelled to his troops behind him, but also to him across the field. "This is where the tide changes. I can feel it!"

Hazlett was up on the Round Top with his guns. The fight to secure it was fierce. Alfred was there with his Maine Regiment on the first day when they fought of his 'brother's' back for what felt infinity. Like a couple of alchemists, they turned the air into a black cloud of lead. The field changed hands five times in two hours. Hell, Alfred thought for a second that he nearly knocked Texas right off of his 'brother's' face*! But his kept their demeanor and they won the day. Perhaps even the battle. He was never prouder of his boys from Maine, the farthest Northern state pushing back the tide of the South. Now, they have the upper hand, and after many defeats at the hands of the impostor he was feeling strong again. For the first time in two bloody years, he felt that he was at full capacity. The blood was coursing through his veins unopposed. Aside from the guns on the Round Tops, there were more on Cemetery Ridge and even more stationed behind his position. Products of industry, they were the source of his strength.

Across the field, he was also amassing with his troops. For one last charge, something he hoped would break the stalemate. They saw each other. His 'twin' stepped forward in a gallant stride, as cocky as ever. "Hey, Union!" he shouted, fixing the stolen glasses on his face. "This is your last chance to just surrender the field to us. We'll let ya run 'way then! Jus' as ye always do!"

Alfred grimaced. "You're not getting passed," he yelled. "Your advance stops here, Confederacy!"

He chuckled heartily. "Good!" the Confederate States yelled back, "It's always more fun to beat ye after a battle." He turned back and gathered with his men.

The gray men began to slip into their positions. The Union were dazzled by the spectacle of hundreds of Confederate men marching in unison with their garish rad flags soaring gallantly. General Pickett walked ahead of them, and he stood beside the Confederacy."You ready to break this line, son?" he told his country. The Confederacy smiled, "Don't ask me loaded questions," the Confederacy chuckled. "Right, let's go then," he turned back to the gray columns, and addressed them. "Up men and to your posts. Never forget that today you are from ol' Virginia."

"Whatever you all do," Alfred yelled back to his men. "DON'T LET THEM THROUGH! NOT ONE! Their advance stops here!"

"YESSIR!" The troops saluted to him. Alfred turned back towards his 'brother,' and he awaited the charge. They were quiet. He saw some columns of his boys in gray moving forward slowly. They were silent. They weren't even yelling that rebel yell of theirs. "Do not hurry men and fire to fast," Alfred heard General Gibbon cooly declare, "Let them come up close before you fire. And then aim slow."

Alfred sighed as the suspense grew. He couldn't attest to enjoying, "this awful universe of battle," as one of his privates had put it earlier today during the barrage. His citizens slaying each other, it made him sick. Lincoln kept reminding him that there was a purpose to all of this. That out of all this destruction, something higher would be built. That he would be a stronger country. A better country. He hoped he was right. He knew he was, but he hoped for it still. Prayed for it. Because despite their red banner, underneath those gray uniforms were boys just as American as those in blue. To believe otherwise would make his 'brother' real. And he wasn't real - Alfred wouldn't accept him as so.

Tides and tides of gray continued to flow almost seamlessly into their respective positions. The silence created a shroud of suspense that descended on and blanketed the field. Alfred and his men transcended it. But so did the Confederates.

Alfred didn't think that he'd ever be ready for it, but then it split the air. "EEEEEHHHHHHHHHEYHEYHEYHEYHEYHEYHEYHEYHEYGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH! The rebel yell!

Hazlett ordered his batteries to fire. BAM! An entire column of gray boys went down. Cemetery Ridge followed suit. BAM! More Confederates fell to pieces. The cannons behind Alfred's group were given the command to fire as well. An entire legion of men of evaporated. Red flags were reduced to ash. Alfred felt some pains as entire columns of his people were wiped out in a second, but he remained steadfast. He had to be full of resolve to meet the one responsible for all this.

Despite the hailstorm of bullets and bombs and the lightning storms of blood and guts, the grays kept coming and hollering all the way across the field. Alfred didn't fire at one of them, but his army did. More and more of his citizens were severed from the Earth from speeding balls of lead. Only group managed to reach the wall despite the near astronomical odds. His group. He came rushing up at the pace of hell.

"Here I am, North!" he yelled as he and the surviving Confederates ran towards them. Alfred and his men strengthened their hold. The mass of Americans collided into each other. The stone wall stood between them, except for the small breach. It was at this breach where Alfred and his 'brother' fought at each other.

"Grrrr! You're weak, Union! You're soft! You're bleeding heart liberal ideals you've been thinking have made you inferior! I'm America now!"

"NO!" Alfred retorted. "You're the weak one! You're nothing more than a delusion! You have no concept of what America is! OF WHO I AM!"

Alfred maneuvered his rifle in a gap between his 'brother's' and his chest, and he used the leeway to leg sweep him. The Confederacy fell over with Alfred on top of him. They both groaned as they went down. Confederacy tried to regain his balance quickly. Alfred did as well. Perched up against the stone wall, he pushed himself back up. Confederacy used his rifle for support. He left his side expose, and Alfred, with rifle still firmly in hand thrusted his bayonet into his side.

"GAH!" Confederacy let out a painful moan! "Goddamn!" he yelled. It hurt. It actually hurt. That can't be! He thought. Nations can't hurt from conventional weapons alone, unless…unless…. He fell backwards on the ground and writhed in pain. Alfred stepped over the wall, and looked down on him. His men started to crawl over. The Confederates who managed to hop the fence were all either captured or killed. A line of corpses littered the field behind him. The charge had failed. This battle was lost. Confederacy slowly rose as felt the strong urge to flee. Alfred held up his rifle with intention to stab him further. But he hesitated as a sensation overwhelmed him. He found that he couldn't do it. On his feet, South took advantage of his hesitation and painfully limped away back to the Confederate lines. Alfred dropped his gun and just watched his limping descent.

Once back, Confederacy limped up to medical tent. "Agh!" he yelled painfully, as he sat down. The medics immediately attended to him. "NO!" he yelled. "I'm a nation! I'm fine! Care for the people. Just bring me the whiskey."

The medics complied and went back to their patients. One of them brought him a whiskey. He proceeded to drink. "Oh, God! That's good." General Pickett walked his way. "Pickett!" he yelled. Pickett came over to him. Both of them felt a melancholic air in the other.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

Pickett didn't answer him. He had no words for his country.

Noticing his country holding his sides, he tried to ask, "Are...are you-" He stopped, and examined him. He saw his eyes. He already knew the answer.

Robert E. Lee rode up to the tent. "Pickett, there you are!" In a demanding manner. "Assemble whatever remains of your division. We might be able to do a counterattack."

"General," Pickett stood up. He looked up at Lee and yelled, "I have no division now!" He tossed his cap to the ground and walked away. Confederacy looked over and saw Longstreet slump in a chair. He limped over to him. "James," he asked, "ye alright?"

Longstreet left his trance and looked at his country. "This ground was of no strategic value," he said. He looked back away. "This is the worst day of my life."

Lee said nothing for most of the slow march back to Virginia. Confederacy rode alongside him as he had always done. He looked out at the battered men. He could feel them. Beyond demoralized. It hurt more than the wound in his side. It was so surreal. Not even a week before they were all energized and taunted the Northerners as they marched through Maryland and Pennsylvania. He was was energized.

Is this the beginning...? he thought to himself.

"Hey," General Lee addressed him.

He snapped out of it. "Yes, Uncle Bobby?" said the nation.

"Are you alright, son?" Lee asked. "Your wound...it's not too severe, is it?" Confederacy smiled and said, "I'm good. Just a bit licked. I'll get 'im next time, though." He believed, he thought. Lee tried to.

"I think I'll resign," he whispered to the nation.

Confederacy was taken aghast, "Ah? What're you sayin'?"

"Yessir," Lee continued. "This was all my fault. I believed us to be invincible and I was wrong to. I failed these men, I failed myself, and I failed you. I'm gonna resign."

"A younger man, a fresh man," he continued, "can perform this task better than myself hence forth."

Confederacy felt it - his sincerity. That was always his feature-most attribute, his genuineness. Despite this alien emotion, Lee remained fundamentally the same. Stable and proud, almost like a statue. The man was a true renaissance painting in motion. Confederacy didn't know what to say to this impossible man. He tried to imagine the Army of Northern Virginia with anyone else at the helm, but he didn't try too hard. He knew in his blood that God had not created any such man.

"I hope you won't," was all he said. "I hope you won't."

The township of Gettysburg was bipolar this evening. Alfred had just returned from visiting a few makeshift hospitals to console and commend the wounded and also to take accurate count and memory of those who gave their last full measure of devotion. The horror and the sorrow there poisoned the air. The smell of death perpetually loomed. There men getting arms and legs sawn off, sometimes both. But this camp might as well have been a different country. The men here, they danced on their two legs. A group who recognized him raised their glasses to him with their two arms. They sang "Battle Hymn of the Republic," and "The Stars and Stripes Forever," like a gospel choir. They celebrated their triumphant victory, and they had every right to. But Alfred couldn't join them. The war meant a different thing to him than it did to them. He was envious of his people - that they could just forget the war for this moment and celebrate as if they'd just conquered the Earth. Alfred couldn't forget that the war was still ongoing, not even if he wanted to. Right now, General Grant was shelling Vicksburg after its long siege. He could feel it happening right now as he walked.

He reached Meade's tent and took the liberty to enter. "Ah!" Meade exclaimed in relief as he poured himself a whiskey. "Ah, Alfred!" he said. "How you doing?"

"Just got back from seeing the wounded. They're managing."

"Let me pour you a drink." He poured some whiskey into another glass. "You had quite a day. Well, three."

"Boy, isn't that an understatement!" Alfred chuckled slightly. He took a sip of medicine. "Geez! Reminds me of one of Ireland's signature brews!" Meade laughed at that.

"Cheers," he toasted. "To a great victory." Alfred accepted the toast. Then he stared into his brown glass and remembered the field today. Meade grew concerned with the long silence.

"Alfred," he inquired, "are you alright?"

"Hmm, yes, I'm alright," Alfred said.

"It's just that you seem a little out of it. I thought you'd be excited with the victory and all."

"No, I'm glad we won. It's just-" Alfred searched for a way to put it succinctly. "It's just...I had him today. On the battlefield." He looked at his general. "I had him and I let him go. I was certain that I could've killed him. I felt that it was so, and yet I didn't do it. And I can't figure out why."

Alfred returned to the brown glass. Meade stood up and put his hand on his shoulder. "You should trust your instincts," he said. "I could've pursued Lee and I didn't. I wasn't going to loose any more men. Not after these three days."

He reflected on his general's words and they made sense. But he couldn't find complete assurance in them. He sipped the whiskey and coughed.

"Agh!" he groaned. "I'm still to young for alcohol, I think." Meade laughed again. He checked his pocket watch. "Well, perhaps you're one more year there. Happy birthday, son."

Alfred smiled. "Thanks." It was July the Fourth. He had almost forgotten. He downed the remainder of his drink and said to Meade, "Thanks, Meade. I think I'm going to go out an join the troops if you don't mind. He stood up and walked toward the tent flap. "Of course," he said while smiling. "Go on right ahead.."

He left the tent and ran up to a group of his soldiers. "Hey bros!" he proclaimed. "We really kicked the Confederacy today! So Let's PARTY! WOOHOO!" His soldiers exalted him and raised them on his shoulders. They marched around with him, and they all sang at the top of their lungs, "The Star-Spangled Banner!" .

Alfred stood up on a platform and waved his flag over the chorus of partially drunken soldiers as they sang the big finish.

"OH SAY DOES THAT STAR-SPANGLED-

BANNNNNER YET WAAAAAVVVVE...

O'ER THE LAAAANNNNND OF THE FREEEEEEEE

AND THE HOME OF THE BRAAAAVVVEEE!"

It was the most beautiful rendition of the song that America will ever hear.

To Be Continued...

*It's funny because the attempt to seize the Round Tops at Gettysburg was done by the Texan Regiment. And America's glasses represent Texas. Just some Civil War humor there for any history buffs.

A/N:

I hope any Civil War fans enjoyed this story. Even if you're not the most adept at Civil War history, I hope you enjoyed it, too. This is the first chapter of at least a three-part story I wanted to do about the end of the American Civil War as it is one of the parts of history I feel I know well enough to write a story about. There aren't enough historical Hetalia fics oddly enough seeing as how there is literally thousands of years to choose from. I will probably upload the new chapter in about a week. Please REVIEW if you like the story as well as "Like," and "Follow," it. I really love the reviews and they give me the inspiration to continue stories.

Thanks and I hope to see you all again.