I don't own Hetalia. If I did it would be more historically accurate and Canada wouldn't be such a wimp.

This is loosely based on the shelbourne lines that Canadian spies set up with other resistance fighters to get the downed air pilots out of Occupied France and back to Britain so they could continue fighting.

Alfred F. Jones had to admit that this time he was really screwed.

It was amazing what one learned about themselves when hurtling downwards to the ground at breakneck speeds in a plane after being shot down. What Alfred learned about himself was that maybe, just maybe he could be a little reckless seeing as it was such a thing that had him standing in the middle of a field next to a now totally useless plane.

That and he also finally realized how screwed he was.

Oh did he mention that this field happened to be in Occupied France. Yeah, fantastic right?

With a sigh that suspiciously sounded like a wine the American pilot turned to trudge onwards. Where? He had no clue but anywhere had to be better than here. German soldiers were surely on their way and Alfred had no intentions of going to a POW camp.

Alfred couldn't help but wonder how the hell did I get here? As he walked through a forest in the middle of the night, cold, tired, and hungry all the while keeping an eye open for anybody who might see himbecause being seen would be a really bad idea.

The pilot wondered why he joined this war. It was cold and brutal. People died by the hundreds without anybody giving a second thought. Unspeakable horrors were happening yet Alfred joined up anyways.

Which was how the young pilot ended up in Occupied France.

However, looking back on his choice, Alfred wouldn't have it any other way. He had always wanted to help people and be a hero. It was his calling in life. People needed help in Europe and he was here to give it.

"Some hero I managed to be..."

While he did try to keep his hopes up along the trek, things were starting to look grim. Even when the farm that was spotted earlier came into view it didn't mean that he was in the safe.

Perhaps the family living there didn't want to help or worse yet, were informers. Plus, Alfred didn't speak a lick of French. Still, there really was no alternative. Either risk getting help or wander Occupied France until he got caught by a German patrol.

And so the normally cocky, arrogant, loud mouth American used all of his skills from the crash course of training he got to sneak up to the house.

Alfred sat on his haunches at the door, ready to bolt, deciding whether or not he should knock when the door swung open.

At the door stood a young man, perhaps his own age, with feathery light blond, shoulder length hair. The stranger glared down at Alfred with unusual coloured eyes, violet-blue, and sighed.

"Un autre américain stupide abattu eh?"

*Another stupid American shots down eh?

Sorry for the bad French...(I had to use a translator)

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