"A War Worth Fighting"

Written By: SkyLark

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundam Wing, or its characters. I just love playing with them.

Pairings: Eventual 1x2

Warnings: Swearing, angst, violence, angst, torture, did I mention angst?

Betaed by ShenLong Deb *hugs*

Archives: http://www.gundam-wing-diaries.150m.com/gw/SkyLark/gwSkyLark.htm and
http://www.mizunoamy.bravepages.com/skylark/skylarkfics.html

Rating: R

Summary: Duo is fighting in the second World War when he's captured by the enemy.

To view the pic by shiyasim that inspired this fic; click HERE

"A War Worth Fighting"

Mannheim, Germany.
 
Letting out a low whistle through his teeth, Trowa took in the city that had been wracked by bombings. When the Americans wanted to send a message to the people there, they certainly did just that. All around, buildings were damaged or completely devastated.
 
Since arriving in Germany, the Puerto Rico 65th Infantry was informed that they would be sent to this district to occupy it while carrying out a number of tasks to secure the area. Just because the city was taken, did not mean that the people there would be willing to accept that.
 
All around, there was an opportunity for a revolt to rise up amongst the citizens. Sabotage was one of the greatest concerns amongst the Infantry's officers. And they were going to be devoting themselves and their men to seeing that any potential for such harm was handled.
 
People looked out through shells of what had once been their homes and places of business. Individuals standing and talking in the streets became silent as they watched the armed soldiers making their way through. Everywhere they went, the soldiers had eyes on them.
 
Fighting off a shiver, Juan never missed a beat in his march as he muttered under his breath, "This is a little too creepy, even for me. I do not like being watched like this. It is making me uneasy."
 
With a small smirk, Trowa replied just as quietly, "I have to admit that I am missing the Maritime Alps. At least in the woods out there you had the cover of trees and the terrain. This, here, certainly makes a person more self-conscious of the potential danger around."
 
The sniper's stomach fell out when he spotted a handful of children end their game of kickball in the rubble-covered streets to watch the soldiers pass with wide, frightened eyes. Biting his lip, he looked away from the sight. One of the most difficult things for anyone to deal with was how the children of this generation were being impacted by the war. In direct cases of impact like this, it was very hard to see.
 
Children did not ask for any of this to happen. They were by far the most innocent victims-the ones that truly could no nothing about the events unfolding around them.
 
At the center of the city was Friedrichsplatz, a round park with patches of grass that was just growing back in the early spring day. Here and there, trees were beginning to bud. And all around the clearing, tall buildings rose up. Most of those taller structures had their tops completely blasted off or a hole in the side, making the entire structure unsound.
 
It was a hodgepodge of contradictions, the peacefulness of the park and the city falling apart around it.
 
Stopping at the center of the clearing, the Chief Commander looked to his men and advised, "This is where we will be holding our ground. Most of the people in this district survived the worst of the attacks on them, and so we will need to keep an eye on them. Be sure to take precautions. We are by no means safe."
 
He focused on his specialty soldiers, including Trowa. "The snipers will be broken into teams and given shifts as lookouts throughout the area. Everyone else will be patrolling on foot, keeping your eyes open for anything potentially dangerous. If you are in question as to whether or not you are in danger, shoot first and ask questions later. Hesitation can get you killed out here."
 
Knowing the truth of that, his men nodded or swallowed roughly as a silence fell over them.
 
"Right," the Commander smirked. "Head to your Captains to get your assignments. Those on the first shifts will be replaced in five hours. The rotations will then be regular five-hour changeovers. We'll see that those working the later shifts are provided for, with a good meal coming to you."
 
That said, the troops turned to their direct Captains and spread out upon receiving their posts and duties. Winking to his friend, Juan patted him on the back. "While you're watching your own ass, be sure to keep an eye out for mine down here. I don't know another sniper with your aim."
 
His green eyes shimmering in the sunlight, Trowa huffed jokingly, "And what makes you think I would look out for you?" Laughing, the 'brothers' patted each other on the back and parted ways into unknown, unfriendly territory.
 
If there was not trepidation about their new surroundings before, Trowa felt it more and more with every step he took away from the others. Scanning around him as he walked towards the tall building at the north end of the park, he tried to control his pounding heart. Hand tightly gripping the rifle hanging from his shoulder in case something jumped at him, he carefully made his way into the abandoned office.
 
Once inside, the sniper got a good look at the blown out windows. Papers, desks, chairs and the like littered the halls. Taking the time to clear every floor before he reached the tenth and final storey, he took his perch inside the office that fell directly in the center of the facility that looked over the park below.
 
Lowering himself to the floor, Trowa zippered his uniform jacket up to his neck to fight off the chilly breeze coming in. He took hold of his rifle, planting it on his crossed legs with the barrel pointing outside and at the ready.
 
Then he sat and waited, his emerald eyes taking in the entire park and the streets around it for any sign of trouble.
 
From where he was stationed, everything was creaking and moaning against the breeze. Papers rustled. Water dripped from what would have no doubt been a damaged pipe down the hall. An occasional shrill call from a bird flying overhead would echo through the corridors.
 
Never one to be scared easily, the sniper was suddenly jumping at every sound. Holding his breath until he could confirm that there was no one approaching, he would resume his watch.
 
Silently, he wished to be back in the woods where it was easier to tell if there was about to be an attack. Here, the people living knew the area and could use it to their advantage. It would not be very difficult to sneak up on any one of the soldiers without their even being aware of it.
 
Despite his scan of the facility and confirmation that he was alone, Trowa felt eyes on him. He could hear footsteps approaching that did not exist. As alone as he was, he felt surrounded by the enemy.
 
And to think that this was what he and his friends wanted- to embark on Germany, itself. Now that they had reached it, he could not wait to put it far behind him.
 
Wiping a coat of sweat from his brow, the sniper readjusted his helmet and focused on the park below.
 
It was going to be a long five hours before he was relieved.
 
* * * *
 
Enough time had passed since the arrival of the soldiers at his home that Howard was comfortable with the notion of heading out for his hidden hanger. Duo's leg was healed enough that he could walk on it without a limp or the need of a splint. The weather was more than favorable for a flight.
 
It was time.
 
Clothes were packed in simple, standard packs that the old man had kept around the house for when he and his sons would go hiking during their visits. Once the food and water supply that would last them through the three-day journey was sealed away, the trio was off that first week of May.
 
Being careful to not allow their feet to settle too deeply into the ground they stepped on, they walked quietly for a time before the private broke the silence. "So, Howie," he began while looking over to his friend. "What made you and your wife want to retire here?"
 
"Change in scenery when the time called for it," Howard replied with a smile. "I actually became friends with several Japanese soldiers during the first world war when the country participated against the central powers. I came to love their culture and became fluent in the language, so the little woman and I decided to pick up and move here when the Great Depression hit. We certainly did not want what money we had managed to hold onto mean little to nothing."
 
Shaking his head, the white-haired man frowned, "Wish to hell I never had to live through another war like that one. I had hoped that people would have learned from that experience."
 
His head lifting to turn to the old man, Heero commented, "But you still have a loyalty to your home country, even though you have stayed here all this time?"
 
With a quiet chuckle, Howard winked to him, "Just as you will, my boy. We may never fully agree with what our leaders do at times like this, but we still have a kinship to them." Raising a finger, he stated, "Never regret who you are, or where you come from, Heero. One way or another, your upbringing here made you who you are and so you should never feel any shame in that."
 
A small knot locking in his throat, the sergeant swallowed past it and nodded. The old man was right. Japan may no longer have been where he wished to stay, for many reasons, but it was still his first home. Whatever side of the war the country fought on, there was an honor behind his upbringing.
 
It was just nice to hear from Howard that he should not be ashamed of who he was. Before Duo, that was all he ever knew-shame in himself. Instead, they had both shown him to embrace it- all of it.

Duo offered his lover a little nudge to his arm in support and gave the officer a warm smile as if he could read his thoughts. Heero returned the grin in kind.
 
For his part, Howard just smiled to himself in amusement. What the boys had certainly was not the most conventional relationship in the world, but it was nonetheless special. Knowing that they were nowhere near out of harm's way yet, he just hoped that he could pull off getting them to safety.
 
A thought suddenly coming to mind, the old man glanced over to Maxwell and told him, "You know... when we do reach the hanger, you would be able to send a letter off to your mom. The Sweepers send off letters to the States every day from their homes around the hanger. It wouldn't raise any alarms to anyone scanning the addresses."
 
Violet eyes widening, Duo gasped at the thought. It had been months, nearly a year since the last letter he was able to write his mother. Every day since his capture, he had thought and worried about her. No doubt she would have been going out of her mind not knowing how he was.
 
No matter how hard he tried to contain himself, the private could not help the small tears building in his vision. Understanding his partner's feelings, Heero accepted the paper and pen that Howard passed onto him. Always one to prepare, the old man knew to have the utensils needed for a letter home.
 
Handing off the pen and paper to the braided soldier at his other side, the sergeant asked, "Can you talk and write at the same time?"
 
Duo laughed and quickly dried his tears. "Don't know, but I'm sure I'll get the hang of it," he replied. Focusing on the first blank sheet of propped on his bent left arm, he thought to himself just how he would start his letter.
 
He had so many things to share with his mom. Really, there would never be enough paper to get everything out that he wanted to say. Finally settling on where to begin, the private was all smiles as he continued to walk while jotting his thoughts down.
 
Just as he commented, he mastered being able to walk and write at the same time.
 
* * * *
 
Quatre sighed as he looked out to the rugged plains of the Greece-Bulgarian border. With so little to see and so little to do, the watches were long and quite boring. Still, that was a welcome alternative to how things could have fared for him, considering the fact that the war was still raging on in central Europe.
 
Prior to his Infantry's station at Greece, the young Arab had seen and caused plenty of bloodshed. Even to this day, memories of those fights still haunted him.
 
No, he was quite happy with where he was- bored and all.
 
Hari kept his own brown eyes out on the land and yawned as he stretched. "Not much to see or do out here," he stated, "Just as I like it." Chuckling at his echoed thoughts, Quatre nodded his head in agreement.
 
Suddenly, over the vast stretch of land, there was movement. Guns raised as a show that they were not to be taken lightly, the Indian forces were alert and ready as they kept a close eye on those approaching.
 
Men, women and children dressed in simple attire approached with arms raised and pale faces. Content that they were not about to be assaulted, Quatre called for his team to lower their weapons and allowed the small stream of people to near.
 
Speaking to the Greeks from their refuge in Bulgaria, the blonde soldier reassured them in a quiet voice that they were welcome back. As so many other occasions like this, he learned that the citizens were members of Greece's Jewish community. Before their country was taken, they had somehow managed a hair-raising journey to cross into Bulgaria for haven.
 
Despite its initial siding with Germany until 1944 when the Russians declared war on them, the people of Bulgaria managed to protect nearly the whole of their Jewish community from the Holocaust. For those that managed to escape into its borders, there could be no better protection.
 
Once Russia did declare war, a coup rose up against the leadership in the nation and the new rulers sided with the Allies. Now that the end of the war in Europe was in sight and their home country was liberated, it was time for the Greeks to return home.
 
Being met by armed foreign soldiers was nearly as shocking to those returning as the fact that the men were able to communicate their own language quite well. Once the initial, protocol searches were completed, Quatre was the first to explain to them the situation in Greece as to soften the blow before they witnessed it for themselves.
 
Solemnly taking in everything they learned, the small herd slowly began filtering back into their homeland. On his way past the checkpoint, one of the young men turned to Quatre and frowned, "I know that it is considered cowardly to run, but..."
 
The Arab smiled reassuringly and cut him off with a pat on the back. "There is nothing cowardly in wanting to live," he commented. "Had you not run, it is fair to say that you would not still be here today. Your people have a great deal of rebuilding ahead, but at least you have somewhere to start."
 
Gathered around their neighbor, those few returning listened closely to the soldier's words. Leveling a firm look in each of their eyes, Quatre told them, "Just never take for granted what you have. You are a few of the lucky ones. And you still have a chance to live your lives. Do so to the best of your abilities in honor of those that were lost."
 
Moved and sincerely taking those sentiments to heart, the Greek men and women nodded their heads. Before passing the checkpoint, they all extended a handshake or embrace to the blonde soldier and his team.
 
As they watched the lot moving back into their country, Hari turned to his friend and asked in their tongue, "Do you really believe that they will be able to move on from all of this? That they really will be able to rebuild all that they lost?"
 
Smiling, Quatre met his 'brother's' gaze and answered, "You have the answer to that, my friend. If you believed the war would devastate everything good in the world, what are we fighting for? Of course we know that it won't be easy for them or anyone, but there is hope. There's always hope."
 
His head gesturing to the group now fading in the distance over the rugged terrain, he continued, "Months ago, they probably did not believe that they would be able to return home. And here they are, alive and able to make their country stronger and better than it was before. So, yes, they will be able to recover from this."
 
Chuckling deeply, Hari slapped his comrade on the shoulder with a proud, "Wise words, 'little brother.' Wise words."
 
Silent once again, they continued to watch the small group until they disappeared from their sight.
 
* * * *
 
After several days of shift and station changes, Trowa was back in his original lookout post at the north end of the Friedrichsplatz park once more. At the end of his shift, just around nightfall, he heard footsteps climbing the stairwell at the end of the hall.
 
With a deep sigh relief at not having to be stuck on that high storey by himself any longer, the sniper called to the doorway to his usual relief, "Thanks for taking over, Hernando." His voice carried through the empty corridor.
 
The sound of those footsteps stopped in their tracks at the end of the hall abruptly. For some reason, they simply stopped at the sound of his voice.
 
A chill ran up Trowa's back as his emerald eyes widened. "Hernando?" he called.
 
No answer. But suddenly, the footsteps were coming once more, much more quickly this time in a near sprint.
 
Cursing to himself, Trowa hurried to his feet with his gun in hand. The shape of a man ran into the doorway and an arm was raised with a gun taking aim on the sniper.
 
Barton, however, was much quicker. His own weapon set on his attacker, he fired a clean shot through the man's forehead. Not even a cry of pain filled the air as the body fell back, spraying blood along the way down.
 
Outside, there were voices of men rising up in a cry. It did not take long for Trowa to know what was happening. It was a sudden revolt, one last attempt for the men of the city who still believed in Hitler's ways to rise up against the soldiers occupying their home.
 
Running to the blown out window, the Latin soldier raised his weapon to peer through his scope and focused on the commotion down below. His aiming eye narrowed, he pulled back on the trigger and took out a man preparing to hit one of the soldiers that had been defending himself over the head with a brick.
 
Gunfire from the armed troops filled the air, cutting through the men attacking them. Losing himself in his task at hand, Trowa continued to snuff out one target after another as it presented itself a danger.
 
People, children were screaming as they took cover as victims caught in the crossfire. Cautious to not harm the innocents, the sniper made sure to shoot only at those that posed a threat to his team.
 
Then, as quickly as the revolt began, it was ended as one last man that had taken up a knife was cut down by the ground troops. All around below, there were just over a dozen bodies on the ground. Not one belonged to a soldier or a child, much to Trowa's relief.
 
With a deep sigh, he leaned against the frame of the window. The sound of a safety being cocked off a pistol just behind him filled his ears. Frozen, eyes wide, Trowa paled with an icy dread at feeling a cold barrel press against the back of his head.
 
In his focus to protect his own, he had failed to look out for himself. And now it was going to cost him his life.
 
Everything seemed to slow down. In a matter of seconds, he thought of Catherine. He thought of the vineyard. He thought of the work that needed to be seen to before he left. He had promised that he would take care of everything to his sister. He promised he would return.
 
And now... he wondered if he would feel any pain before he died.
 
The sound of a gunshot that filled the room threatened to deafen him. But he felt nothing. Gasping when he felt the gun at his head fall away, he spun to watch a German man, no older than he, falling backwards with wide brown eyes. Blood seeped into his dark clothes covering his heart.
 
Looking to the doorway as his would-be killer landed hard on the floor, he found Juan. Slowly lowering his gun, panting heavily, the other soldier smirked. "You have to worry about yourself as much as you worry about us," he said with a wide smile.
 
A second gunshot rang through the air and a bullet ripped through one side of Juan's head and out the other. Brown eyes large as saucers, the private stumbled forward before falling lifelessly.
 
"No!" was all that Trowa could scream as he sprang forward. Face red in rage as he stood over his friend's body, he raised his gun to take out the shooter at the end of the hallway. As that man collapsed, Barton turned to his fallen comrade and fell to his knees to lift his limp body.
 
Tears in his eyes, the sniper shook his head and breathed, "No." Lifting his blood-coated hand from where it cradled the back of Juan's head, he screamed, "No! No!" He let out a shrill, pain-filled cry from the top of his lungs that made its way to every corner of the abandoned facility.
 
Just outside, there was a still peacefulness in the park once more.
 
 

TBC

chapter 32

Back to SkyLark's Fics

Back to GW Authors Index.