We're going home

Chapter 1: Nice to meet you

December 7, 1941, the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, causing the United States to declare war on Germany and enter the war in Europe. American troops soon arrived in the battle field on the Ally's side in 1942.

Middle December

An young, bright blonde haired, American soldier jumped in to safety, his helmet falling off in the process. He slid down the dirt wall of the trench and dropped his gun down for only a minute. He looked around a bit as other soldiers prepared them selves, some shooting still, some completely motionless, like the British solider next to him. He silently stood against the wall, clutching onto his weapon, not in panic or fear but calmly. The American looked at him as he took his coat off a bit to reveal his pale brown uniform. He kept looking at the solider next to him, thinking he could have been shell-shocked like another young man he saw before; he looked up at the sky. "Even here, the snow is still beautiful." He said, watching each snow flake fall. He looked back at the solider to see if he responded, the Brit had peeked over at him. "You speak English?"

"Yes, I do." He said.

"Oh! Good! You speak!" The American gave a smile as the Brit ignored him and turned his attention to something else. The American looked over at him, trying to get his attention, the Brit looked at him a little more. "You have bright colored eyes, I haven't seen anyone with that bright of green before." The Brit turned his head back to him.

"Please stop talking to me." He said. "Put your helmet back on too, you'll get killed you git."

"I was only trying to chat." The American strapped his helmet back on. "And what is a git?" The Brit ignored him again. "So um… How long have you been out here?"

"Three years."

"Damn, seriously?" The American was in shock. "I've only been out here for a few months… you must of seen a lot huh?" The Brit nodded. "No wonder you're so quiet."

"What do you want from me?" The Brit said, clearly getting annoyed.

"Nothing, I just want to talk." The American gave a little pout. "There's nothing wrong with that right? Even out here?" The Brit sighed, he gave up and turned himself to the American, who smiled. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, nice to meet ya." He put his hand out.

"Arthur Kirkland." The Brit shook the young man's hand. "American huh?" He could just tell.

"That's right!" Alfred smiled. "I'm from Texas. What about you? You French?"

"Bloody hell no!" Arthur got annoyed. "I'm British you twit!"

"Oh…Wow, the British really do say bloody, Haha~" Alfred smirked. "So like, where you from? Like, a city, cause I know British means England right?"

"I'm from London. Where are you from in your…Texas?"

"Dallas." Alfred started buttoning his coat again with the realize of the cold wind. "So, how old are you?"

"It's rude to ask someone's age, especially when you just met them."

"Well I'm nineteen."

Arthur got a sad look. "You're young… You were drafted, correct?"

"Nope, I joined."

"W-What? Why would you join the army? Don't you get that war isn't a game boy?" Arthur yelled a bit.

"Trust me, I know that. But I have my reasons for joining."

"Oh? And what would they be?"

"Well, to help stop the war for one." Alfred spoke with such confidence. "Hey, you still didn't tell me your age! Don't get out of it, you sneak." He joked a bit.

"Fine, I'm twenty-three." Arthur said. "Happy now?"

"You're old."

"You're rude!"

Alfred laughed. "Hey calm down Artie."

"A-Artie?" Arthur questioned. "I'm not your friend, please don't give me a nickname."

"Fine," Alfred pouted a bit. "You can call me Al, that's what my bro calls me anyway. My friends call me Alfie, or even Ally to piss me off."

"Good to know…" Arthur looked away a bit. "So, I'm assuming you're in my platoon yes?"

"I think so, I was told to stay with that guy." Alfred pointed to another solider. Arthur looked over, one of the so-called leaders of the group, a average size man with long blonde hair, he was obviously French, which Arthur was a bit mad about. "They just threw us all together huh? Not very organized."

"It could have been last minute." Arthur commented. "I mean, I was switched multiple times throughout platoons. I've been in a platoon of all French soldiers before… They didn't speak English."

"That must have been bad."

"It was."

Alfred stretched his arms out a bit. "They haven't been firing; it's all silent."

"Yes I know." Arthur said. Alfred turned himself around, Arthur watched as the boy, stupidly, started to peek out of the ditch. Arthur's eyes widen and he quickly grabbed the American and pulled him back down. "You twit! You do that and you're dead!"

"But they stopped-"

"That means nothing! They are still there! They will fire if they see your bloody head!" Arthur yelled. Alfred looked at him and slowly got out of the Brit's grip, sliding back down against the dirt wall and staying quiet.

"Sorry…" He said. "I'm sorry…"

"J-Just…" Arthur looked away. "Be careful…"

"You two!" The French man yelled from down the trench. The two of them sprung up a bit and looked down. "Come on! We're moving out of here." His accent was heavy, it was obvious he had recently learned English.

"W-we're moving out?" Arthur asked, it seemed they always moved to different areas every time they were just getting comfortable with the newest one.

"Oui, that's right." The French man explained. "We've been ordered to start heading to Morocco."

"Where the hell is that?" Alfred looked toward the Brit.

"It's in bloody Africa, it'll take days just to get there… Never mind in the middle of war." Arthur watched himself as he stood up and started for the rest of the platoon. Alfred, not as carefully, quickly followed behind.

"Hey Arthur."

"What do you want now?"

"Can I keep talking to you?" Alfred asked, Arthur looked toward him. "We're not friends, but it'll be nice to have some kind of friend out here, you know?"

"You don't make friends out here lad." Arthur got a sad look. "You'll get attached, and you'll lose them."

"Can I just keep talking to you then?" Alfred asked. "We don't have to be friends, I just want someone to talk to." You're a strange man, Arthur thought. He looked at the American, he was smiling with confidence, he was so young, naïve. "Please, Arthur?"

It's nice to talk to someone, he thought. Arthur didn't return the smile, he didn't let down his serious face, but he nodded, "Fine."