Hello! This is obviously a Hetalia story. It's going to be a multi-chaptered gathering of "one-shots". Each chapter will focus on a different event in history. Each will deal with a different country, though, some may show several different country's views occasionally.

I haven't had the time or energy to write much for a while now, but I was inspired by history class-and Hetalia, of course- to write this. I think it totalled four pages on Word and it just flowed.

This is my first Hetalia story, so I'd love to get feedback on it. I know it's a lot more "serious" than the show, but I really wanted to use the characters to express different events in history.

The Blitz

September 7, 1940 was when it first happened. I was at tea at the time. I had been merely sitting there, about to raise the porcelain teacup to my lips when pain erupted in my chest. Sudden, hot, burning pain. So acute was the pain that, while I must have fallen from my chair at some point, I have no recollection of this happening. None.

Yet, there I was on the floor, almost writhing in pain. New pains continued to bombard me, adding to those already existing. This pain was all I could think of for several moments. I couldn't remember where I was or who I was, only that I was in agony.

It did return to me, though, and that was when the panic set in.

For me to be in pain so intense, my nation must be under attack. Being at war, this was not an entirely revolutionary concept. I had many soldiers out in the field. I was accustomed to sudden pain—each soldier that lost his life, I felt it—but those pains were gone almost as quickly as they came. These… These were much different.

Another wave overtook me, and I couldn't breathe. My entire chest was ablaze. I clamped my eyes shut, desperately attempting to hold back tears.

After seemingly an eternity, the pain receded enough that I was able to take in a gasp of air, but just as soon as I had, the pain intensified again. This time, however, it was centered right at my heart, and even as the pain completely overtook me, I knew. If my heart was the source, that meant my capital itself was under attack.

That one thought went through my mind and then I couldn't think again for a while. The only thing I could do was curl up, trying to protect myself. A foolish, pointless action of course—the forces that attacked, after all, attacked my country, not myself physically, and therefore there was nothing I could do about it—but I indulged in the instinct all the same.

Finally, the pain subsided a little, just enough that I discovered I was bleeding somewhere. Reaching a hand up, I realized it was originating from beneath my vest. Forcing my other hand to cooperate with me, I moved the left side of my vest ever so slightly, and began to unbutton my dress shirt.

It was a little of a struggle because occasionally another wave would hit me, but after a few failed attempts, I finally managed to unbutton the shirt enough to pull it back and evaluate the wound. Almost as soon as I looked down at it, though, I turned away from it once more. It was a bad injury indeed.

Yet, in that very moment, I forgot about my own pain. This was replaced with fear for my people's well-being. How badly had my capital been attacked? The thought echoed in my mind until, at last, I knew. Pain or no, I had to find out. I simply had to know or that in and of itself would kill me. Just as this came to me, so did another wave that left me trembling and gasping for air once again.

When my strength had returned to me enough that I was in control of myself once more, I looked around my home, trying to locate something. My eyes finally fell upon for what I was looking. My small radio was sitting on the table only a few feet from where I was sprawled at the time, yet it seemed like it could have been much further.

For the briefest instant, I considered simply continuing to lie there, but we British are nothing if not persistent. I had to know about my people. They were like my children, and I could not simply abandon them. I had to know.

So I tried to mentally prepare myself for what was to follow, and then I attempted to sit up. A vain struggle. I couldn't lift much more than a centimeters and quickly fell back, exhausted. After giving myself a few minutes to recover and regroup, I began a new objective. This time I was met with success as I found myself no longer staring at the ceiling but at the worn wooden floor of my house. I had succeeded in flipping over, a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. My reward? A fresh jolt of pain as my wounded chest hit the floor, taking my breath away momentarily.

I allowed myself another short reprieve, only until my breathing was regulated again, then I lifted my arm out in front of me and began to crawl.

I must have looked pathetic, and I must have gotten blood all over my floor, but I continued to crawl. Occasionally, more pain would hit and I would stop, completely breathless, but as soon as I recovered enough, I began again.

The entire journey was slow and painful. Minutes, hours, even days could have passed for all I knew, but I became closer and closer to my aim until at last, I reached the table where the radio sat.

I merely lie there a minute or two, feeling more exhausted than I ever remember having felt in my many years of life. Once again, I pondered the notion of simply lying there. I felt so tired, so… ancient. I felt, in those moments of indecision, every bit of my long existence. Yet, as my eyes began to close, a voice in the back of my mind whispered something that I could not ignore. It snapped me back to myself more quickly than anything else could hope to do, reminded me of my motivation.

Your people, Arthur. Your people.

This one thought reinvigorated me, strengthened my resolve. Even as another wave hit me, I propped myself up on my left elbow and began to reach with my right arm. It was not long before I fell back again, but blast if my fingers had not grazed that very dial to turn on the thing that would tell me of my people's condition!

I rested an even shorter time before beginning once more. I propped myself up, then lifted my arm again. I reached and reached and reached until my fingertips found the dial, but still I could not turn it. Sighing in frustration, I looked down at the floor a moment before I began to raise myself from my elbow to supporting myself on that hand. It took forever it seemed, but finally, my arm was completely outstretched. With ragged breath and shaking arms, I finally turned the dial and as soon as the sound reached my ears, I collapsed onto the floor again, this time falling on my back.

I remained on that floor for several weeks, that much I know. I simply didn't have the strength to get up. The bombings continued the entire time. Occasionally, the pain would get so bad, I thought for certain that my country was nothing more than smoke, fire, and rubble, but the radio station continued to broadcast, and I continued to listen.

I listened and listened and listened for, truly, that was all I could do. Regardless of how much I wished to be amongst my people helping them and encouraging them, I could not. I had not even the strength to stand.

Therefore, the radio was my only link to my people. It seemed as though—in their concern with London—Churchill and everyone else had forgotten me, because no one came to look for me. I cannot fault them for this, but it did not make the situation any easier. I knew only what my radio broadcasted.

My country was in unrest, the radio told me. The poor people were angry because the government refused to build bomb shelters for them. They were protesting in the cratered streets whenever an opportunity afforded itself, and taking shelter in the Tubes when the bombs fell. It seemed as though everything was at the very brink of anarchy. It was in those days that I was at my weakest. If the bombing had not destroyed my country physically, it was doing a bloody good job in every other aspect. Blasted Nazis!

Then one day, Buckingham Palace itself was bombed. That one hurt rather badly, and I was worried for quite some time that the King, Queen, and two little princesses might be hurt in some way. My faithful companion, however,informed me from his place on the table that they were unharmed.

It was not immediate but in the days following that bombing of Buckingham Palace, even though the bombing of London continued, my strength was returning. It must have been late September but I finally had enough strength to sit up and—it was a struggle but—a few minutes later, I shakily stood, supporting myself on the table that held my radio. The return of some of my strength was unexpected and puzzling. Curious of what had brought about this rather miraculous turn of events, I staggered across the room, sometimes falling but always getting back up, until finally I reached the double doors that led out onto my balcony. Opening the doors, I stepped outside and gasped.

One might think this was brought about by the destruction of the bombs, the rubble and fire, the injured people roaming the streets, but that was not it at all.

From my balcony, I could see for miles. As far as I could see, were thousands of flags flying from staffs, and not a single one of them was white. It was my flag that flew. My people were flying my flag. They did not do this because someone told them to but as a symbol of unity and as a symbol of defiance to the Nazis.

Upon making this revelation, I fell to my knees and wept, not out of sorrow or fear, but with joy and with pride. Surely no greater people were there than those of England.

I knew then that the Nazis could do their worst and my people would not break. They would not falter. They would continue to fight on to the last.

And because they would, so would I.

The time period is during WWII. The London Blitz was where the Axis Powers (mainly Germany) bombed London from September 7, 1940-May 10, 1941.

If anyone reading would like to know all of the historic references behind this (yes, there's more than just the London bombing that is a reference here) just message me and I would be more than willing to tell you. I'm a real history geek and the only reason that I don't post it is because I'm not sure that everyone else is quite as interested as I am. But if you are and would like to know the history references in here, just tell me via message or review and I will tell you. :)