Eagle Squadron

He lands and vaults out of his plane, and he's yanking off his helmet and fumbling with his flight gear and looking around him all at once, trying to take everything in and trembling in a kind of frenzied excitement, coming down off the rush and the high and finally being here.

He sees England coming toward him, still in his own flight gear, his eyebrows all knotted up and his shoulders tight like he's about to start hollering. "What the bloody hell do you think you're—" England starts, and America grins, because he's got a feeling what's coming next.

England just stops, and his mouth snaps shut, and he swallows, and then he says, all quiet and unsure, "America?"

There's a bruise on England's cheek and deep violet shadows under his eyes like bruises, his lip's been split and scabbed over, he's awful thin beneath the gear that makes anyone look bulky, and his hair's all tousled, and, despite his buttoned-up uniform, he doesn't look anything like the stuffy stuck-up autocratic imperialist America can't help thinking of him as, still. But America's changed a heck of a lot, and he guesses this's a reminder that sure enough England has too.

"Come on!" America says, and flings his arms wide. "Aren't you happy to see me? Wasn't I great up there, England? Wasn't I awesome?"

"What are you doing here?" England says, his eyes gone all big, so green and shadowed and tired. "I thought—you've been saying you weren't coming, America."

"Got nothing to do with America," America says, and winks. "This's me. Airman Alfred F. Jones, at your service, England, sir." That squares England's shoulders right back up, and his chin rises, and America feels a rush of warmth 'cause that means he is helping. "Only for the moment," he hastens to add. "Don't get any big"—by which he means old, out-of-date, colonial "—ideas now."

England sighs, and it's a shaky sigh, gone all trembly with relief. "I wouldn't dream of it."

America grins at him. Jiminy, it's good to see him, alive at least, if not exactly well. "So!" he says. "Can't stay for all that long, but for now, I'm your very own American hero, in the flesh. Just point me at 'em and your troubles'll be over!"

"Good lord," England says, "what a load of rubbish," but his mouth's gone all relaxed in the way he doesn't quite smile sometimes, and America can't stop smiling himself. Well, y'know, he can smile enough for the both of 'em.

Finis.

Historical Notes:

1. The Eagle Squadrons were fighter squadrons of the Royal Air Force formed during World War II with volunteer pilots from the United States. While many US recruits simply crossed the border and joined the Royal Canadian Air Force learn to fly and fight, many of the early recruits had originally come to Europe to fight for Finland against the Soviets in the Winter War. The first Eagle Squadron was formed in September 1940, and became operational for defensive duties on 5 February 1941. The three Eagle Squadrons were numbered 71, 121, and 133. Of the thousands that volunteered, 244 Americans served with the three Eagle Squadrons; 16 Britons acted as Squadron and Flight commanders. Through September 1942, the squadrons claimed to have destroyed 73½ German planes while 77 American and 5 British members were killed. 71 Squadron claimed 41 kills, 121 Squadron 18 kills, and 133 squadron 14½ kills. (Most of this information from Wikipedia, which I admit I have abused in these notes).