Operation Red Herring (Countryhumans Alternate History)

Chapter 11

Third Reich was certainly an interesting individual. Or at least, that's what America thought. Even though he was less than a decade old, he acted ten times his age. It was quite odd, especially to America, who at seven years old (using July 4th,1776 as her birthday), wasn't even a country yet, and probably ate dirt for the fun of it. Not that she thought him being mature was a bad thing. It certainly seemed to help him, given which side was winning the war. However, she did find it odd that even though she was 22 times his age, he seemed to have the same level (if not more) knowledge and maturity as her. It seemed... unnatural, in a sense? America thought back to the letter she had written him years ago. At that point in time, she had thought she was writing to essentially a little kid. Now she knew better, obviously.

She tried not to think about that as she stood at the door to his office, a weird uneasiness in the back of her mind. That was weird. America quickly dismissed the feeling, before knocking on the door. She waited for a moment, before she heard a muffled 'enter' from the other side. She opened the door, cringing as the hinges creaked, making a horrendous noise.

"Hi." America said, standing at the door. Goddamnit, why did she feel so awkward? "Um, Romania said you wanted to see me?"

Third Reich nodded, glancing up from his papers. "Yes, I did. Have a seat."

She sat down in a black chair across from him, her eyes scanning the room. It was very well organized, with each object exactly in place. It was mostly monochrome, with different pops of color scattered about, such as the dark red curtains and the German book on his desk that had muted orange lettering on the front of its cream colored cover. It was all very pleasing to the eye, and reminded America of an image that would be on one of those thousand piece puzzles she never had the patience for. It almost seemed unnatural, like if America opened the closet, the true mess and disorder would come tumbling out.

The only thing she wasn't fond of was how dark it was. The curtains were drawn shut, leaving only artificial light to illuminate the room. It casted a yellow hue on everything it touched, and when America looked down at her pale hand, she noted that it looked like she had jaundice.

"How have you been settling in?" He asked, putting away whatever he had been working on.

"Well. Very well. You run a good operation 'round here." She answered, fidgeting with her hands. He nodded.

"Well, I'm glad you're settling in. And I do apologize for the whole press fiasco the other day. I hope I didn't cause you too much trouble."

"Nope. All good." She quickly responded. Too quickly.

He looked at her for a moment before nodding. "Good. Very good." Third Reich straightened a pen on his desk as he spoke. "If it did bother you, I'd understand. I dislike when people bring up my father as well."

"Weimar Republic?" She tilted her head slightly, "I thought you two had never met."

"We did, for about 5 minutes." He hummed, "Let's just say he wasn't too happy about my existence."

"Oh." America frowned. She hadn't spoken to Weimar very much when he was alive, but he had seemed like a nice young man. He was very timid, and honestly seemed sweet the few times they did speak. Then again, maybe that changed when he saw Third Reich. Afterall, learning that something exists that could lessen your position or power, even if that something is your kid, could do that to a man. She knew that from experience. Sympathy bloomed in her chest for the German in front of her. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged, "It doesn't really matter either way. He died shortly after our first conversation, so he got what he deserved. That's truly what makes me feel better about it." He smiled slightly, "Which brings me to why I brought you here. I'm told you're a pilot?""