The Crap Hetalia Book

Gabriel Bielschmidt

5th August 1806

250 injured
80 dead 

The French Revolutionists aren't giving up. They're still fighting strong. Francis is urging them on too much. At this rate, this'll be the death of us. I'm not sure how much longer we can put up with this amount of casualties. If Francis doesn't give up soon, I fear it may be our duty to surrender.

I sigh and close my log book, glaring at the cover. Each day more and more men die, and each day things seem to get worse, and each day I wonder about her. What she's doing. Does she worry about me? I hope she doesn't, I told her I'd be home, so I will come. I always keep my word, and this has to be the most important one I've ever had to keep.

Carefully, I unfold the letter from my pocket, smoothing it out on my desk and read over the words. I already know them off by heart, every vowel, every accent, every full stop I already know, but I still love reading it. I can forget about the battle, about the dead and read over the sweet words as though I don't already know them. And every time, tears prick my eyes. It doesn't matter how many times I read it, I still cry. I'm only nine after all, and she worries about me. She shouldn't do. I'll be home.

"Gabriel?"

I blink, startled and turn around, jumping out of my chair to face my brother. "Gilbert?"

Gilbert frowns at me, couches down and peers into my eyes. "You've been reading Feliciano's letter again haven't you?" he chuckles and stands up again, wandering over to the log book and flipping it open.

"How did you?" I ask, tapping around my eyes to make sure they're not still watering. Stupid tears.

"The awesome me knows everything" Gilbert grins and looks down at the page. "Eighty dead today huh? Could be worse. Yesterday it was Eighty-two."

"How can you say it could be worse?" I sigh. "It couldn't be worse. People are still dying."

"Don't worry yourself about them little bruder" Gilbert shakes his head. "These people joined to give their life. They knew this was coming."

"But that's not the point" I snap. "The point is..."

"That you're too young to have been thrown into all of this already" Gilbert frowns. "Maybe you should take a break. I can take over from you for a while, keep watch on the men, lead them to some awesome victories. You can go see the dick and Elizaveta and Feliciano."

"I..." I trail off. I want to see them. I want to see them all so badly, especially Feliciano. Then I shake my head. "I can't. I can't just abandon everyone. They need me."

Gilbert sighs, takes my hat off and ruffles my hair. "You're dedicated I'll give you that."

I angrily slap his hand away, glaring and put my hat back on. "Whatever happens, I'm staying here until this stupid war is over."

6th August 1806

98 injured
13 dead

Casualties are considerably lower today which is good. Francis is still being persistent, staying where he is, waiting. Although the casualties today are lower than yesterday, we mustn't let our guard down, this could just be a considerably good day.

I smile at the page. Whoever knew the number thirteen could look so nice on a fresh, white page. The sound of shouts drags from outside. The French must be attacking. I leave the shelter and warmth of my office, stepping outside to the smoke. There is a clash of metal as the first person appears out of the smoke and someone to my right engages in a full on battle. I gulp, a sudden urge to run to my office filling me up. I fight it down by walking further away. A soldier in black in front of me is impaled and I wince. Already the number thirteen is climbing higher. I wrote that log too soon. Snarling, I draw my sword. The French man turns round and grins.

"Long time no see Gabriel" he purrs. Francis.

And then I knew. I couldn't keep my promise to her. This was where I was going to die. I may  as well not try. The Holy Roman Empire can't carry on forever; it has to fall at some point.

No.

I made a promise that I will keep. I'm not dying. Not today. But today could be the day I end it all. Blades clash and I step backwards, avoiding a vicious swipe. Francis swings again and again, each one I parry. We aren't going to get very far like this. I lunge in myself and feel a sharp pain through my chest.

Francis smirks and removes his sword, cleaning the blood from it on what little grass remains. It takes me a second to realise it's my blood before I sink to my knees, coughing up more blood.

"I... I'm so... sorry F... Feli... ciano."