Short Stories [CountryHumans]

10. Radio (1958)

A/N: I hope I gave Italy and Brazil appropriately old-fashioned sounding callsigns. Also, I don't remember all Ham Radio etiquette, but I tried my best.

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"CQ, CQ, CQ, this is India-One-Alpha-Lima, I1-AL, I1-AL standing by." Italy's voice played through Brazil's headphones, slightly distorted by the radio.

"Heya, I1-AL, this is PP-RZ, Papa-Papa-Romeo-Zulu, you're a solid 5-9, over." Brazil replied, following Italy's choice of speaking in Italian, if only to avoid the confusion of his Portuguese skills. Or lack thereof.

"PP-RZ, good to hear from you, you're a 5-9, How's it going? You said you had something to show me? Over." Italy

"Yup. Move to the frequency I told you about. It should sound like static, but, well, hang around on it and you should be able to hear it, over." Should be. Brazil had already checked it happened on a different receiver and was pretty sure it had nothing to do with his gear.

"Keeping it a surprise, are you, PP-RZ? I'm moving up, meet you back here in three minutes, over."

Following Italy's lead, Brazil moved up to the frequency, adjusting it until the static filled his headset was at its clearest.

A hum could be heard over the headset. Static crackled through, like wind over a microphone. But as Brazil listened, it became less of a machine's crackle, and more like the whistle you would hear in a draft outside.

As he listened, the other sounds emerged, as the wind seemed to pick up.

Under the gale, he could start to make out an indistinct chatter, voices overlapping with each other. Focussing on the sound, Brazil could just about make out sections, "Biyolenteng Bagy-" "-nondasyo-" "-ovat tuule-". Definitely words, although not in any of the languages he could speak. He attempted to transcribe them to the list of words from the last time he visited, spelling them to the best of his abilities. Someone else would have to cross-check them to find out which languages they were from.

Then the wail of a faraway siren started up, faint beneath the howl of the wind.

Having not heard any other sounds on his previous attempts to listen to the frequency, Brazil returned to the frequency he'd previously been on. It took Italy a few minutes longer to join him.

"That's... weird." Italy clearly had no better understanding than Brazil did, "And you said that others only hear the static? Over."

"Yeah. No idea what it could be, everyone I've spoken to over the air thinks it's something related to the Americans or Soviets, but something like that wouldn't be Cold War-related, over." Brazil had a small stack of transcribed notes on how other radio hobbyists described it, none of which mentioned wind. A few had mentioned experiencing vertigo, though.

"No chance," Italy responded, "if it was, we'd know about it. Have you tried contacting it? Over."

"I figured you'd want to be there when I did. Can you transcribe?"

"Sure. Just hope that it doesn't turn out to be the Americans's new, shiny nuclear activation method." Italy laughed, "I'm moving up, hear you there, Over."

Brazil rotated the dial, moving up to a higher frequency. He waited a moment,

"Hello? Is this frequency in use?" He asked.

No response, just the static.

"This is PP-RZ, is this frequency in use, Over?" Again, the static began to build up to the roar of passing wind.

"CQ, CQ, CQ, This is PP-RZ, is this frequency in use, Over?" Brazil felt almost as if the wind was whipping away his words, as if he were standing in the middle of a storm. He feels like shouting would be the only way to get anyone to hear him over the tempest.

"I1-AL, can you hear me? Over." For a moment, Brazil thought the wind was about to die down. And then his stomach flipped as the sensation of freefall overtook him.

"What is this frequency?" He knew that, logically, he was sitting in his room on stable ground, but frigid wind seemed to be hurtling past him, pressing against him, stealing his body heat.

Brazil reached out to the radio to switch frequencies. It was too easy to move—the phantom air currents made him overcompensate in expectation for resistance that was not there. Trying to reach for the radio, his hand collided with it.

Catching hold of the dial, Brazil paused for a moment. Certain that he could switch frequencies if he needed to, he focused on listening.

The words hadn't started up again, nor had the siren. But something was there, faint rumbles, although the boundary between reality and memory and expectations had been blurred by the storm to the point that it was impossible to tell if the distant crashes were radio distortion, anti-aircraft fire, or thunder.

He turned the frequency back down.

"PP-RZ, did you talk? I wasn't picking you up, over."

For a bizarre moment, he nearly responded that this was the second conversation with Italy after having just fallen out of the sky. But that didn't make any sense. The effects of that frequency, or whatever was playing through that frequency, were disorientating.

"Yeah, I did," he responds. "It felt more... real, when I talked. I don't know. More like wind?" He wasn't sure how to explain it. "Over." He added, as an afterthought.

"Well, for a possibly haunted radio frequency, it seems fairly harmless, over." Italy said.

Brazil doubted Italy would sound so lackadaisical if he had just felt like he'd been thrown out of an aeroplane, so Brazil had to conclude whatever he had just experienced was either some sort of cognitive malfunction or only affected those who tried to contact it. The latter theory seemed more likely, as it validated the claims of the humans who had experienced vertigo when trying to talk on the frequency. He also quite disliked the former.

"I am going to add that as a quote for my report." Brazil said.

"Make sure you credit me, Over." Italy said.

"In fact, you might want to test talking for yourself." Because it would actually be funny to give Italy the full wind tunnel experience, "I'll append your full statement to my report so we can cover all our bases, over."

Italy's response was cut off.

"-from Montevideo-" A third voice crackles through, unclear from being on a slightly lower band. The two pause for a moment, seeing if the newcomer would speak again. "CQ, CQ-" managed to filter through.

"Sure, I'll do that in a bit, I haven't got a Uruguayan yet, PP-RZ, I'm going to hop down to a lower frequency and say hi, Over and Out." Italy left to talk to the man, off to add another location to his list of contacted peoples.

Brazil considered waiting to hear the aftermath but decided against it. Switching off the radio, Brazil sat back in his chair and massaged his temples. Being on that frequency had given him a bit of a headache.

The next day, when Brazil entered the UNHQ, he found a rather laconic report with a rather miffed note from Italy on top.

He included both in the full report.

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A/N: The magic element will probably tie into something I'll write later, but I'm still figuring out that plotline. I'll definitely intend to do Italy and Brazil's first meeting and why they are friends, but it's taking a bit longer because I want to research some things first. 

All reads, votes and comments are appreciated :D