Waltzing Matilda

Episode 2.

Benghazi, Libya. Next day.
Australia threw the adjustable wrench to the other tools and sat down in the shade under the awning, where the mechanic Fletcher was resting already. Despite the early morning, it was already unbearably hot. Several soldiers grazed at the well, drawing from it a bit unclear from the eroded sand, but, nevertheless, cold water. They greedily drank it, washed their burnt face and neck and filled the flasks. Some, still very young, barely eighteen, fooled around and poured it at each other.
-"It's useless," Fletcher shook his head, carcassing the cigarette on the sole of his shoe. "It's a bucket with nuts, not a tank."
Ralph threw his acrobra over his back; the hat hung on a cord on his neck, and wiped the sweat from his forehead, leaving on it the stains from engine oil and fuel oil. He silently agreed with the mechanic. Trophy Italian M13 / 40 was an ordinary pile of scrap metal. There would be more sense and use from a tractor. Of course, in terms of weapons and armor thickness, he was not inferior to the light "Cruiser", but he had one very unpleasant minus. He simply did not want to start.
-"Come on, let's go again, Mr. Phillip," Fletcher shouted from under the tank. Some of the "insides" of the steel car were lying around on the sand along with the tools. Australia jumped through the hatch into the cockpit of the tank, firing against the hot body of the machine. He had long ago thrown off his linen tunic, which was completely soaked in sweat, engine oil and dust, exposing his sunburned shoulders and back to the sun.
The cabin was unbearably stuffy, and the dry air burned his lungs. It seemed to Australia that he was in the steam room, which belonged to the Devil himself. He turned on the ignition, the car jerked, the engine started to run, but after a second, it died out. Ralph tried again - no reaction. Looking out of the hatch, he saw Fletcher, already out from under the car, covered in sand and fuel oil. The mechanic shook his head.
-"The spare parts, Mr. Phillip, are hardly likely." He sighed, thinking about something, and scratched his head with dirty fingers. – "It seems there still remained an Italian jeep. Can I see it? It seems he was better than "this."- He nodded at the tank.
Ralph scrambled out of the car, landing next to the mechanic. He was already tired, spending almost all morning with the engine of this useless piece of iron.
-"Okay, but do not be too zealous. Still, better to spend more time on our technique. Check it just in case."
Australia washed for a very long time at the well, wiping off the masut hands and oil stains which he left on his face, with a rag. After putting himself in order, Ralph took with him a couple of oranges and mangoes and went to the prison of Benghazi. Some soldiers gathered in small groups under the awnings, had dinner, so entering the prison building, Australia immediately met the sentry with food for the prisoners. Taking the tray and the key from the guy, Ralph added fruit to his dinner.
Chiara was busy with trying to reach the window, which was almost under the ceiling, and look at what was happening outside the prison. Successes in this occupation, she has not achieved any, only ripped off all the skin on her palms, trying to catch on the steel bars inserted into the window opening.
Ralph coughed awkwardly, attracting attention, and South Italy immediately turned around, leaving all her attempts for later. Today she was more or less groomed: clean and fresh face and thick hair did not stick out in different directions, like the mane of a lion. The collar of a black shirt was unbuttoned for a couple of buttons, revealing a thin, swarthy neck. The tip of the tie was sticking out of the pocket of Chiara's pants because of its uselessness. A light beige tunic lay on the floor beside the mattress, still wet after Italy tried to wash off bloodstains from it.
-"Today's for dinner ..." Phillip looked uncertainly at what was on the tray, -"something edible and fruits."
He took out the key and opened the cell door. Chiara continued to stand near the opposite wall, folding her arms across her chest and boring the visitor's guarded gaze.
-"How is your wound?" - Australia left the key in the lock and went inside the cell, creaking with iron loops. - Does not hurt? Or should I get a doctor?"
-"No need," Italy shook her head. The wound did not really cause discomfort, which cannot be said about the bandage. In the morning, Chiara changed it, tightening a little tighter than yesterday.
-"Then maybe you'll eat. I know that wounds in such as we heal much faster, but nevertheless you also need strength."
South Italy was not inspired by what Australia brought. Now as ever she wanted a large plate of hot amazingly delicious pasta with seafood, mozzarella and greens, or a huge piece of calzone with small circles of tomatoes, and of course a glass of young Neapolitan wine. She had not eaten homemade food for a very long time, often choking on unleavened canned food and what she could cook from these canned foods.
-"The oranges look pretty appetizing,"-Chiara said, coming closer. Bright juicy fruits exuded a pleasant citrus aroma and reminded her of home. The girl took the tray from the other side, looking at Australia's face.
-"I bought them personally," Ralph said, a little embarrassed by such close attention. Here and there, red spots appeared on his cheeks. Italy has beautiful, almond eyes, the color of which resembles olives, and long black eyelashes. Smooth arrows of straight eyebrows and a neat, small nose. There were still visible dark bruises and a few abrasions on her chin.
-"I think I'll take a couple. Thank you. "Chiara smiled charmingly and the next second she kicked Ralph between her legs and knocked over the tray with all the contents. Australia immediately bent over from the horrors of sharp unbearable pain in the groin. The air seemed to be knocked out of his lungs, and in his eyes darkened. He collapsed to his knees, clutching at the painful place with his hands, while, softly and choked, uttered a barely audible whisper: "Fuck!"
Italy pushed the non-resisting guy out of the way and hurriedly opened the iron grating, jumping out, rushing to freedom. But something clung to her ankle and pulled back. Without expecting this, Chiara lost her balance and, with a cry, flopped flat on the floor, banging her palms and chin against the stone blocks. Stunned by the fall, the girl raised her head, not understanding what had happened, and rolled onto her back, seeing Ralph's hand squeezing her leg. She bucked, but failed to unhook the Australian. He grunting, but still overcoming the pain, he pulled himself up and, cutting off all attempts of South Italy to get out, crushed her under him, pressing her to the floor with all his weight.
--"Let me go! You, pezzo di merda! Bastardo!" - Chiara tried to bite and scratch, but her hands were pressed between her body and Australia. Phillip did not even move, completely absorbed in his own pain, which seemed to him something like an explosion in the universe. The same all-consuming and comprehensive, destroying the completely familiar world. He buried his forehead in a rough stone floor somewhere to the left of Chiara's head, and, closing his eyes, tried to come to his senses, not listening at all to the cries of the girl or her threats.
- "Oh God! I cannot believe it," he muttered, breathing hard, "you kicked me in the balls!"
***
The thin peel of an orange easily departed from the pulp, filling the room with a delightful tropical fragrance. Chiara took a seat on the mattress, sat down in Turkish way, and cleared the fruit, occasionally glancing in the direction of the lattice. On the other side, at a considerable distance from it, was Australia. He looked suppressed, if not disappointed. The guy still knead and sometimes winced at the remaining echoes of pain.
-"By the way, you acted meanly," Ralph said, his eyebrows arched on the bridge of his nose. These Europeans are crazy. Arthur did not talk much about his neighbors, and the Australian was not too interested in those who lived there, behind several oceans and who all had the opposite: in the summer, it was winter and in winter, it was summer.
- We switched to "you"? - In turn asked Chiara, cleansing the orange and dividing it into slices. Of course, she knew that it was at least inhumane to hit a man below the belt. However, who said that her government is practicing humanism? Moreover, she is a weak and wounded girl, who was alone with a guy who, in strength, probably does not concede even Germany.
-"You were with me on" you "from the very beginning." Ralph looked like an offended Dingo puppy. -"I tried to be polite to you ..."
-"By locking me in this cage?!" -Vargas shouted indignantly. - "Yeah, you're a true gentleman! A worthy follower of the British bastard!"
Italy furiously clenched a few orange slices in her fist. The juice sprinkled from the bursted transparent skin and flowed down the back of the palm down to the wrist. Chiara wanted to crush more, but changed her mind and threw those into her mouth, feeling sweet with a little sour taste on the tongue.
-"Why the hell are you keeping with England at all?"- Italy continued to be emotionally indignant, reinforcing its words with the absorption of the orange. -"He's just a ball of lies, hypocrisy and pretense. He will draw anyone into him who will listen to him, and even less - to believe! Merda!"- She clasped her hands, swearing in Italian.- "Yes, he does not care about anyone at all! Figlio di putana rompere il cazzo! Stronzo! While you are useful - you are needed. Then you find yourself deceived, robbed and used! However, you will only be to blame for this, because it turned out to be too naive."
-"He's my guardian..." Ralph muttered, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand. He was uncomfortable listening to this. It was as unpleasant as for a child listening to insults of his parents. Although jeasly and rarely paying attention, but still parents.
-"Sorry, what?" - Vargas didn't hear, distracted from her angry expressive speeches, backed by strong Italian curses, towards the hated British.
-"He is my guardian," Australia said louder and much more firmly, taking his hand from his face, and, rising to his feet, went up to the grate. –"Doesn't matter how deceitful and hypocritical he is, Arthur is my guardian."
Chiara smirked, looking at half an orange. She finished the second half already. Idiot. He was even more of an idiot than another, more freedom-loving former British colony.
-"He was your guardian..."
- "He was and continues to stay with him, while I am a British subject. And I must follow him."-Ralph turned away from Chiara. He was confused. In the same way in which there are teenagers, when they leave the parental home and begin an independent life. He did not like it.-"Can you understand me? Did you have someone who took care of you and led you around this world?"
Chiara was silent and Australia sighed. Of course. The European state, which all life, almost from birth, surrounded by other countries, it is difficult to understand it. They all lived on one continent, he was on it alone. They could build relationships, share experiences, and act contrary to someone. He could only use what Arthur brought with him on those rare visits. Australia did not seek to know the world that was where the high waves were born, it was enough for him, the world where was he, Kiwi and England.
Ralph felt something tap his shoulder. He turned around and saw Italy very close, and even managed to get a little scared for his valuable dignity.
"Toni," she said shortly, and handed the boy a few orange slices. Australia took them in surprise. The fright passed, but the alertness remained. -"He asked me to call him Boss, but I called him idiot.
- "He was..."
"He was an idiot." Chiara slipped the remainder of the fruit into her mouth and turned away from Ralph, shaking her thick, curly hair like a vine, and went back to the mattress covered with a soldier's overcoat, seating down on it. Phillip smiled at this pun. -"Nevertheless, I myself left his care. And now he and I, both, are independent countries."
Ralph thoughtfully ate the orange slices. He realized that Vargas was trying to explain to him now. Which bird will not sing about freedom while sitting in a cage? Only the words of the song turned out to be unexpected. Threats, entreaties, persuasion. In this instance, they operated on their relations with Arthur, as between the metropolis and the dominion.
-"Did you accidentally get the Democrats from Alfred into your government?"
Probably, if Chiara could, she would hiss like a cobra, and would certainly bite him, injecting all her poison. But she stayed in her place and did not even begin to curse in Italian, but she expressed all her dissatisfaction with a gloomy, murderous gaze. Ralph smiled widely and kindly, showing that this was just a joke and that she did not really need to take it seriously. Fascists, as far as he heard from Arthur, there were serious guys and teasing them with democratic jokes was not worth it.
"By the way, I was trying to get one of your tanks to work," recalled Phillip, remembering why he came here at all. – "And the question arose. How did you even get together with this," - he singled out the last word, - "to grab the lands controlled by Arthur?"
"It's nothing to do with you, moron," Chiara snorted, annoyed that this British sycophant was digging into her technique. It is just the same, as to look under the skirt! -"I have excellent tanks! At least I have them! Unlike you!"
-"Yes, yes," muttered Ralph. He was rather tired. It was nice to talk with South Italia and it's nice to get hit in the balls, but it's probably worthwhile to apply ice to them (if, of course, he finds it here) or at least a cold compress. For two days stay of Chiara in captivity, the guy managed to get a few injuries.
- "Bastard!" - and all because the girl was in extremely bad mood.