Weer Vrij: In Flanders fields pt 2

After the departure from Antwerp, the 1st Canadian army along with Dutch, Belgian and Polish troops began advancing into the Scheldt, dislodging German resistance along their way. It was slow going and dangerous, as the flooded terrain made off-road movement dangerous for both man and machine, and the Germans hadn’t lost their touch for ambushes.

But those were things Matthieu couldn’t change from where he was. All he could do was pray for his men and leave the rest to them as he worked to keep those directly under his command safe.

“I can at least do that much.” He thought as he prepared himself for what was ahead.

The trio along with a small group of soldiers crawled silently trough the grass as they made their way towards the small farm house. Located as it was near the road, it was a perfect spot for the Germans to delay the advance… And inflict some terrible losses in the process.

“Bella, you see anything?” he asked, turning to the camouflaged nation beside him.

Quickly, she surveyed the area trough her scope. “A few sentries outside, but sir, I’m a bit worried about the attic.”

“Why’s that?” replied Matthieu.

“It‘s where I‘d be, sir.” replied Philippe, calmly looking into his father’s eyes.

“Understood, Philippe. We’ll have to act very quickly then. Bella, you stay here with half the men and set up a firing line. Me, Philippe, and the rest will crawl to the ditch near the road. Once we’re set, you start firing.”

“And what happens then?” Asked Ève.

“We charge in from the side, clean up and take the house.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” she grinned as they all nodded in agreement before Matthieu and his group left.

They crawled slowly but surely towards the serpentine dirt road and went into the deep, water filled ditch that hugged it. Half-crawling half-crouching, they crept on as silently as they could until they reached the spot where the road and the farm met. All that separated them from the house was a low stone wall.

The first shot rang loud and clear, and before the Germans could even understand what was happening, one of their own was dead.

Then all hell broke loose.

The rifles and machine guns of Bella’s group opened up in a cacophony of noises that tore apart those Germans who hadn’t begun running for cover as soon the first body fell. Then they returned fire from their scattered positions.

Their attention thus fixed, Matthieu decided that was the perfect moment to spring into action.

Raising to his full height, he quickly sighted on of the soldiers and fired, hitting him in the head. The other soldiers rose to their feet as well, and along with Matthieu and Philippe, vaulted over the wall and quickly headed for the house.

Splitting into two groups, Matthieu and Philippe went cautiously to the basement while the rest of the squad prepared to breach the front gate. Rifle at the ready, Matthieu walked down the stairs and grabbed the doorknob, turning it to no avail.

“Damn it! It’s stuck!” he growled.

“Your rifle.”

“What?” He retorted as he turned to the young, Québécois accented voice behind him.

“Give me your rifle, P’pa!”

Matthieu unslung his rifle and promptly handed it to Philippe who then stepped forward and proceeded to smash open the door with the stock, hitting the lock area with all his strength. The door soon gave way under the barrage of blows and as it opened with a great crack, Philippe handed back the rifle to Matthieu, who took it with a smile.

“I second what you said back in Ortona, you are a brute! It’s a good thing that side of you has it’s uses.”

Philippe laughed, ”I should hope so, I wouldn’t be as likable if it didn’t.”

“That you are, Philippe, that you are.” he replied with a wink.

Philippe, submachine gun in hand, lead the way into the basement just as their troops were entering above them in a great entanglement of gunshots and melee fighting.

“Damn, sounds like it’s rough up there.” Philippe said, looking up as he took a few steps inside the room before turning to Matthieu. “Maybe we should just rush up those stairs, sir.”

No sooner had he spoken those words that he saw Mathieu’s eyes widen in horror.

“Philippe, behind you!”

Instinctively, he reached for his revolver but didn’t have time to turn fully before the German soldier took a swing at him. The trench shovel smacked him on the side of the head, knocking him off his feet.

Quickly, the soldier charged Matthieu, attempting to cleave him with the edges of the shovel. He was prepared though, and raised his rifle to block the blow.

His assault blocked, the soldier promptly discarded his weapon and attempted to snatch away his foe’s rifle but all he managed to do was push the Canadian into the wall.

His opponent’s attention fixed on the rifle, Matthieu sent his knee smashing into the other’s stomach, which then enabled him to send the rifle stock dead-smack on the German’s jaw, sending him to the ground. Before he could even realize what had happened, Matthieu’s bayonet was driving it’s way to his heart.

Philippe painfully rolled on his belly with a groan and his head was splitting something fierce. Getting on his knees, he saw his attacker laying on dead on the ground and his master walking towards him with a mixed look of worry and anger.

“Damn it, Philippe, you’ve got to pay attention! We could have both been killed!” growled Matthieu.

The young province couldn’t do anything but look down and mutter a “Yes, sir” as a response. Quickly, though, he found himself with the other’s arm on his shoulder, squeezing it.

“I mean it, though. If something should happen to you, I’d never forgive myself.” He paused briefly. “And you can be damn sure that I’d follow you to heaven to kick you ass!”

With that, Philippe scoffed. “And I bet you could do it, too!”

The two avatars then got up on their feet, Philippe helped by Matthieu.

“Come on, let’s tell Bella the good news and have that head of yours looked at.”

“And get a change of clothes, I’m soaking wet! Remind me why we had to go trough the ditch like some water rats?”

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The following days were filled with events similar to what had happened at the farm. All over the front the allies had slowly pushed north and east, carefully cleaning the side of the Albert canal. Eventually, the Germans were left with only with what the Canadians referred to as “the Breskens pocket” and their holdings in south Beveland in the Netherlands. Walcheren Island was the final prize, and all knew it. The fortified guns it possessed could sink any ship that dared enter the estuary and the only land link was a tiny causeway connecting it to Dutch polder country, miles and miles of marshland no doubt given back to the sea from which they had been claimed from centuries ago.

Because crossing the damn fortified Leopold Canal in separating them from the German pocket wasn’t hard enough on it’s own Matthieu found himself thinking, more often then not, followed with muttered curses at what he knew had to happen now.

But every problem must invariably posses it’s solution and Matthieu knew that between himself, Philippe, Ève and his “water rats” as the Canadians had started calling themselves more and more, they would overcome all that was thrown in their path.

Which is why nobody, least of all him, was surprised when General Simonds called a meeting to figure out the best way to breach the line of concrete bunkers and manned dykes lining the canal.

“I won’t beat about the bush,” the general finally spoke as everyone stood around the map, “unless we can conjure some way of either destroying the German positions or crossing over the canal very quickly without air support, taking the pocket is going to be a nightmare.”

“Nightmare” was an easy way to put it in Matthieu’s mind.

A moment of silence followed as all present thought of ways to defeat the obstacle before them, but Philippe was the first to speak.

“Well then, it’s really simple, isn‘t it? We attack all over the canal all at once and either we win or they do. Positions like these are hard to take, but a single crack in the system and it shatters.” exclaimed the young province, practically beaming.

Matthieu cracked a slight smile at his province’s enthusiasm just as he understood what Philippe was talking about. “And how do you propose we ‘crack’ it, Philippe?” he asked in turn.

“I say we see if the wasp has any sting and send assault teams in paddle boats. Once they’ve secure the other side, we bring up the engineers and let them do their thing. ”

“That’s actually a solid idea, Philippe. You know you could make one hell of a strategist, right?”

Matthieu couldn’t help but feel his smile widen as he saw the mixed look of humour and frustration flash across his charge’s face.

“Arrête de te moquer d’moi.” the boy replied sharply, and that had been the end of the matter.

Before long, the “wasps”, which were nothing more then Bren carriers outfitted with long range flamethrowers, were brought up all along the line that night. And as it happened, Philippe sat on a box there in a field, looking into the distance towards the front.

Matthieu walked calmly towards him and it wasn’t long until the other detected his presence.

“You know…it seems fitting in a way.” spoke the young province in a sombre tone.

“How so?” the dominion continued to walk up to Philippe, stopping only once he stood next to him.

“Well, Canada was forged as a nation in the fires of Flanders’s fields, and now, with the sons of those who fought here, we’re going to set it ablaze again,” he paused, looking up to Matthieu, “as a nation.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he replied to the other,” it does seem fitting, in a certain way.”

For a moment, both avatars simply looked into the night, but Matthieu had a lot on his mind.

“You know,” he began, clearing his throat, “I was serious earlier about your plan. You’re really turning into a fine young man!”

“Yeah, well, I have a good teacher.”

“Which is why you’ll be leading the charge without me tomorrow.”

The response was immediate and expected. Philippe practically jumped up and he stared right into his master’s eyes.

“What!!?? And where the hell will you be, exactly!?”

“I…” he began hesitantly, “I will be leading an amphibious assault against the western flank of the pocket.”

“That. Is. Suicide!” angrily grunted out Philippe.

Matthieu sighed heavily before continuing, “Only if Walcheren spots us and only if the Germans aren’t too busy elsewhere to notice.”

Philippe practically screamed in anger as he violently shrugged. “I can’t believe it! You’re only telling me this now? Well, fine then! Go on and get yourself blown out of the water!” he cried as he bolted in anger towards his tent, leaving Matthieu standing there alone.

He knew from the start how his dear province and adopted son would react. Philippe always had a strong distaste of intrigue…especially between masters and servants, but he knew that, in the end, it was the right thing to do…if only in the grand scheme of things.

And so, with his hearth heavy with guilt, he left to prepare for what was to come.

************************************************************************

Blood, sweat, fuel and burning flesh.

Apart from the most inhuman of screams emanating from the concrete pillboxes that were suddenly turned into giant crematories, those were, by far, the strongest and foulest things assaulting his senses.

“Into the water, now!”

With a sign from his hand, the assault teams rushed towards the small stretch of water, carrying small barges along with them. Paddling like a madman in his own boat before long, the young soldier dared to look for a second at the curtain of fire over him.

The shock from hitting the opposite shore and the frenzy of men scrambling up the dyke brought him back to the business at hand. In a flash, he was charging up along with his men. Philippe let his reflexes take over for him, gunning down an opposing soldier no sooner as he had lifted his head to shoot. Sooner then later, the young province found himself laying there, chest against the man-made barrier, the soldiers turned towards him for direction.

“All right, men. We need to push out the Germans just a little bit further and dig in until the engineers do their thing.”

The men all looked at him, their eyes filled weariness, fatigue and fear.

“Look, I know it’s been worse then hell these past few days…but if we clear this place, we open the port and from then it’s only a matter of time before we’re all home. And think of our comrades sailing to the other side of the pocket! If we fail here, we fail them!”

As far inspirational speeches could go under the circumstances, it seamed to have had some effect on the men near him. Their resolve seamed uplifted, if only by a little.

“Grenade!”

Everyone dashed away from the stick grenade, all but the young man who had called it. As quickly as it has come, the explosive was thrown to the other side of the dyke.

To which the Canadians replied with grenades of their own.

“I’m not standing here playing catch with grenades all day!” Philippe finally growled, “Come on, men. We’re going over the top!”

Just a little more the thought echoed in Philippe’s head, just a little further, just a little more effort and then it’s all over. And as he started the short climb over the dyke, his Sten pointed forward, he sure as hell hoped that it would be so. Yet has he ran into the woods, firing in bursts, his thoughts kept going back to his adoptive father, whom was now probably facing odds similar to his, but with no chance of retreat.

************************************************************************

Matthieu was tired, very tired, his body and soul hungering for a moment’s peace. But peace was nowhere to be found, least of all around him. Sitting against the wall next to the room’s window, he gave a quick glance to the wounded soldiers that were with him. In truth, not many in the squads he accompanied had been spared from injuries. Located as they were not too far from Breskens, there was no chance of getting them out anytime soon.

As a battle-weary Matthieu observed his surroundings, someone in the house must have made a bad move and exposed himself because suddenly a stream of bullets sprayed the house.

“Get down!” shouted Matthieu immediately when the firing started, before grabbing hold of a Bren gun placed against the window and returning fire to the house across the field. Others in the house with weapons fired too and, their opportunity lost, the Germans stopped firing, and so did the Canadians.

That is what fighting had been reduced to in the last few hours. Ever since the landing, pushing forward had been nothing but a slow exhausting grind for both sides. His men attacked and then dug in and awaited the inevitable counter attack, then it would be the Germans turn.

But not now, and it seamed as though something else was stirring in the distance. At the edge of his hearing, he could make out the sound of shots being exchanged form bolt action rifles and semi-automatic ones, the kind Alfred’s armies used.

With a broad smile, he turned to him men, “Guys, I think we’ve got friendlies coming in.”

The gun fire intensified as German soldiers began a frantic attempt at defending their position, and although he couldn’t see it, Ève was the one charging in from the other side.

SMG in hand, she ran alongside her squad as they charged trough the bullets.

“Make a hole!” she ordered, pointing to the wall. A soldier next to her knelt, pointing his bazooka and fired, thus creating a nice breach.

Before the smoke cleared and the enemies inside could respond, she unpinned a grenade and threw it inside along with two other soldiers and reaching the wall only shortly after the explosion. Pausing on one side of the hole, she unpinned another grenade and threw it into the corridor, wreaking havoc. Rushing straight inside as half her squad went upstairs, she kicked in the door to the living room and stormed inside, unleashing a hail of bullets on a machine gun crew there before they could turn their weapons on her.

The house cleared, it was time to get what she had been sent here to get. Exiting the house from the front door, she waved both arms at the Canadian-occupied house and it was an extremely relieved Matthieu who came out and waved back and started running across the field all the way to her.

“My, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see you or pretty much anyone else for a very long time!” he laughed as he caught his breath.

“It’s my pleasure. I owed you one, anyway.” she laughed back.

“What’s the situation? Why are you here of all places?” he asked on a more serious tone.

“Well, the situation is that we’ve taken the pocket entirely. As for my reason for being here, well, let’s just say a son wants his father back.”

Matthew’s eyes widened as he thought of his province. During the fighting, he had forced himself to think only in the here and now. But with his men now safe, his parental side was coming back in full force.

“Philippe?! Philippe sent you here? How is he? Where can I find him!?”

“Don’t worry, Matthieu, apart from being tired and a bit worried about you, he’s fine. I’ll be taking you to him as soon as your wounded are looked after.”

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Matthieu felt a load lift off his shoulders the moment he entered the tent and laid eyes on Philippe who he stood over a table map. The first thing that struck him was the amount of mud and dirt that laid splattered all over him, from his boots to his beret. Then again, he himself probably looked far worse.

“So, I’ve been told that you did fairly well, Philippe.” he finally said, smiling as he walked towards the province.

“Well…” said Philippe as he turned, returning Matthieu’s smile in spades, “I’ve got your insane plan to thank for that. You sure like testing your luck, though.”

“Yeah, well,” sighed Matthieu,” I just want this to be over, you know? So we can all move on.”

Philippe grunted, “Me too, but I don’t go around taking needlessly high risks.”

“This again!? I thought we talked it over the night when I left!”

“We did, but then Arthur’s been on my ass non stop about hurrying to the clearing and…well, we’re stretched pretty thin.”

Matthieu could see the stress in Philippe’s eyes. Ever since he had taken over the representation for Quebec, he had always been a fierce defender of his people’s right to self-determination in all things. And since the last war’s conscription riots in which innocents died in clashes with the army and the country was nearly torn apart, the two of them had vowed not to let something like that happen again.

Well, as far as they could help it. Not all governments listen to the avatars of the nation.

“If it’s conscription that worrying you, you know damn well my stance on it.” he replied with a firm tone.

“I know, Simonds told me.” Philippe replied calmly as he leaned on the table behind him and crossed his arms.

“All of it?” asked Matthieu.

“Oui.”

Matthieu fell in a nearby chair and held his head with both hands. “I’m sorry, Philippe, I wanted to tell you in person…when the time was right.”

“P’pa, you know damn well that there’s no right time for news like that! And by god, the only things keeping me from beating some sense into you, especially after that stunt you pulled, are that the decision is out of your hands and that I’m just too damn happy to see you again in one piece! I mean…I care about you as much as you care about me, always have, always will. I‘m just tired of having everyone playing in my back like this.”

“Philippe, believe me, if it weren’t for the war, I wouldn’t be doing things the way they’ve been done,” Matthieu spoke with a heavy heart, pausing long enough for him to get up from his chair “But, I know you better then anyone. I know how you react to things, I’m just trying to keep you from being worried or angry about the things you can’t change. Because those things,” he continued with more intonation, “they’ll eat you alive from the inside, just like they’ve been doing for the last freaking 100 years!”

Philippe couldn’t speak nor make the slightest sound as he fought with the lump building in his throat. He could only stare at Matthieu with eyes heavy with sadness and empathy as the other slowly wrapped his arms around him, leaving Philippe with his arms open for a brief second before closing them on him.

Pulling out of the hug, Matthieu then tenderly clasped his son’s shoulders. “Philippe, I know it’s been hard on you. Life’s never done you any favours, and this war hasn’t been any different. But you’ve pulled through all of it, and now I just need you to go with me a little further on this.”

Philippe forced a slight smile and replied quietly “You know you can always count on me.”

“And you know you can count on me, too.” he replied just as quietly.

As the two exchanged smiles and nods, the tarp covering the tent’s entrance was gently pushed aside as an embarrassed looking Ève walked in on the duo. As neither Canadians seemed to appreciate being disturbed in this rare and precious moment, it only made her more uncomfortable, but she walked in nevertheless.

“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you.” she began but was cut short by an amicable hand gesture from Matthieu.

“Don’t be, we were done.” he smiled as he gave Philippe a quick glance.

Relieved, Ève let out a quiet sigh. “It’s Arthur, he’s on the phone, asking for you specifically.”

“Hmph…figures.” was Matthieu’s only reply. Giving Ève a quick nod as thanks for relaying the information, he left the tent walking at a quick pace. As he went to the communication’s station, Ève walked up to Philippe.

“Are you all right?” She asked as she gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

“You…were not supposed to see, or hear, that.”

“What do you mean?”

“At home, when we are together, we are father and son.” Philippe seamed to struggle with finding the words, “But we’re not…supposed to be like that in public. Not that close anyway.”

“I understand.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Meanwhile, Matthieu had reached the field phone on which Arthur was waiting impatiently on the other end. Sitting, he grabbed the phone on the equipment laden table and pressed it against his ear.

“I’m here, Arthur,” he spoke once fully seated.

“Finally,” began the Breton, obviously annoyed, “maybe I can get some actual information. All I’ve been able to get out of Philippe is that the situation is ‘progressing’, whatever that means.”

Matthieu cleared his throat as he regained his composure before returning to the empire.

“Well, sir, it’s like Passchendaele. Every time we attack, we have to cross a flat field of mud to get to an entrenched enemy and tank movements are hazardous at best. Not to mention all the damn canals.”

“Matthew, I know all about the conditions under which you fight. I’m more concerned with the impact your slow progress has on the rest of us.”

Matthieu felt the anger boiling up in him and coursing trough his body.

“Hey! I’m the one who’s got to micro-manage a campaign that was made unnecessarily difficult by the far fetched plans of your command staff!”

“Matthew!” Arthur retorted warningly, “the enemy is slowly sliding into position, of that I am certain. If the supply situation isn’t corrected by winter, the results could very well be catastrophic for all of us. Everything hinges on Antwerp.”

Matthieu pinched the bridge of his nose. “I understand perfectly, Arthur, but Philippe is worried about the casualties reaching critical levels.”

Silence.

It with a much more sombre tone that Arthur answered. “If it comes down to that, I’ll answer for it. Chances are he’ll blame me anyway. What‘s really important is if your ready to go all the way on this.”

“Of course I am, sir,” he replied, almost as a whisper, “but I may need to borrow a few of your marines.”

“They are yours, use them well. Now, if you excuse me I have a meeting to attend.”

The conversation done with, Matthieu hung up and almost immediately slammed his head on the desk. Those were the situations he hated the most. On one hand, he had Philippe, Quebec and the general stability of his country. On the other, he had the weight of the war temporarily on his shoulders. And while a part of him hoped against hope that Arthur was exaggerating to push him to act, he knew that was not so.

The worst part was that…he was well and truly stuck in his position. There was no way to drastically change the odds in his favour like in some political dispute at home. All he could do was pray for a miracle.

And he damn well knew that praying wouldn’t be enough. Not even by a long shot.
************************************************************************

After the talk with Arthur, the Canadians had taken to the offensive yet again and with a combination of land and amphibious assaults similar to what had been done for the Breskens pocket, they finally reached the Walcheren. The only thing separating them from it was a tiny, extremely well defended isthmus. With the surrounding dikes blown open by the RCAF earlier in the month, Simonds and his staff agreed that the best way to finish their objective was an all out assault by land and sea, using British marines for the sea landings.

On the 1st of November, the attacks were carried out all at once. Matthieu and a brigade of royal marines had landed in Flushing, and by nightfall, as the marines faced only moderate resistance from German garrisons, the city was secured. It wasn’t the same everywhere, though, with Philippe leading the Canadians trying to force open the defenses of the isthmus in an all out assault which yielded little gains the night before and with the other landing force of marines lead by Ève encountering brutal coastal gunfire before they could land.

There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in anyone’s mind, though, with Philippe having smashed open a bridgehead and with Ève’s troops linking up with both him and Matthieu, that Walcheren would fall. It was only a question of time.

And that was a relatively reassuring thought, one that Matthieu found more soothing then the hum of the Buffalo’s engine he was in as it and an entire column of others like it made it’s way through water-filled roads on their way to Middleburg: the capital of Walcheren and HQ for general Daser.

Matthieu knew he had been invited to “surrender only to an armored foe”, as Simonds had put it. Since the water made tank movements to Middleburg impossible, Matthieu had decided to test the limits of the term “armored” and take a column of amphibious vehicles instead.

It was a gambit, albeit a calculated one, and he knew it. Best case scenario? The major fighting would finally be over, but in the worst of cases…well, he’d be going straight into a street battle.

As the convoy finally entered the town, Matthieu could very well see the German soldiers looking as tired as his own men yet giving stern glances at the Canadians, determined to fight as they were.

As they kept on progressing, they eventually made it to the center where they were greeted by more soldiers, a man in an obviously high ranking uniform standing in front of a building that had all the looks of an HQ followed by another soldier, this one a sergeant of some kind.

The convoy spread out into the street before the men inside it disembarked. But while the rest of the troop was busy securing the area, Matthieu walked straight to the officer.

“General Daser, I presume?” He gently asked.

The general nodded, all the while not looking into Matthieu’s eyes.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” He smiled as he extended his arm to shake hands. “My name is Matthieu Williams, the representative for the nation of Canada.”

The man’s shock and surprise was beyond obvious, for Matthieu anyway. But, after all, how often is it that a nation comes to personally negotiate a surrender?

After the initial shock, Daser shook Matthieu’s hand, after which Matthieu pointed to the building behind the general. “Shall we?” after which he walked in.

Daser began to follow as he was stopped by the other officer.

“Sir, Wir können einem augenblick beseitigen!”

Offended, the general turned on his heels and gave the subordinate a long, angry glare.

“Sergeant, wenn der vertereter einer nation kommnt hier persöhnlich zu kapitulieren, das wenigste sie tun können sie milt ehre zu behandeln, auch wenn sie es night wollen!”

The officer turned his eyes to his feet as he saluted the general, whom, after reciprocating, went inside. He did not have to go farther then the lobby, where Matthieu, his beret in his hands, waited.

“General,” he said once the other was near him, “We both know that your surrender is a formality, and while I am prepared to hear your requests, it is not the reason for my presence. I wanted to come to thank you in person for doing this and to tell you that there is no shame to be had in this. You and your men have done your duty honourably.”

“Danke, and if I may, so have yours.” replied the General. “But if I’m not surrendering to you, then who is it I should give my knife to?”

“Well, we have a captain.”

“A capt…a general surrendering to a captain!?” he exclaimed. “Fine, if I must, then I must. I‘ll send the stand down order, but I can‘t guarantee that all will follow it ”

“Thank you, general. It won‘t be a problem.”

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The surrender at Middleburg had been the final nail in Germany’s efforts in the area. On the eighth of November, all resistance had been mopped up and the Royal navy began to remove the many mines in the Scheldt, and by the 28th the first freighter arrived.

Ève watched as the Canadian-built cargo ship entered the harbour. The cheering of the crowds and the ceremonialism of it all only enhanced the feeling of accomplishment that all felt.

“I never thought I’d see this day.” she expressed as Philippe poured champagne into the glasses yet again.

“And I never thought that I’d finish this bottle, and yet here I am! Life is ever so full of surprises!”

Ève couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that last remark, but raising her glass she spoke with a giggle. “To life’s surprises, then!”

“Cheers!” Smiled Matthieu as he raised his glass, quickly followed by the other two.

“Hey, I know this Russian tradition were you have to brake the glass you use to toast on an important occasion so that they won’t be used for a lesser occasion.” he continued, still smiling.

“Really, now?” she asked playfully before quickly seizing both empty glasses and throwing them against a nearby wall, shattering them all with Philippe laughing to the point of loosing his breath.

“Because really, I can’t think of anything greater then the liberation of my nation. I hope you brought more glasses, love.” she continued, this time looking at Philippe,

“Oh, so I’ve officially made it up to ‘love’ now!?” replied Philippe.

“I swear, you two…” chuckled Matthieu as Ève grabbed Philippe by the hand and practically dragged him closer to the waterline.

And as both of them walked the docks, arms wrapped around each other, he couldn’t help but feel…alive. The struggle of the Scheldt had been one of the worst battles for the Canadians, and upon seeing the joyful masses, and Philippe and Ève playing like young lovers despite all that had happened, he couldn’t help but think that all of it had been worth it in the end.

Belgium was free again and Germany’s defeat made all that closer.

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As the people celebrated outside, Alfred stood impatiently in Arthur’s dark room. Despite his best attempts at getting the empire out of it, Arthur simply refused to budge.

“Come on, Arthur! Are you really going to sit there and wallow while the entire city is up and parading in the streets!?”

“One day, Alfred, you’ll be in my shoes and when that day comes you’ll know that with every great triumph comes great sacrifice. How many died in the market garden and the Scheldt? I could have avoided all of that!”

This wasn’t what Alfred wanted to hear.

Moving closer to Arthur, Alfred sat on the bed near the desk the other was sitting on.

“So, as I said, you’re going to sit there and wallow, staring into your maps? Look, I didn’t want to say anything before, but you’ve got to stop this.”

“And why, pray tell, would that be?” asked an increasingly irritated Arthur.

“I think that you’re so tired of seeing everyone and everything you care about hurt that you’re trying to take their pain unto your shoulders, I mean…it‘s war, these things happen.”

Arthur drew a long breath before letting out a long, tired sigh. As if all the accumulated worries of the last five years had finally taken their toll.

“Is it so obvious? We all have responsibilities, Alfred. And, with all that’s happened, I can’t help but feel like I failed them.”

“Arthur, you haven’t failed anyone. No one can know the future and besides, you’re not alone in this…not anymore. I’m there for you, like you used to be with me.”

Arthur stayed silent for a bit as he rubbed his forehead with his palm.

“Damn it, Alfred. I don‘t know where you learned to read people like this, but you’ve gotten good.”

“Please, don’t give me that. All it takes is caring enough for those around you. I guess we’ve simply been isolated for too long, in our own ways. Besides, that‘s what partners are for, no?”

“Then…in that case I suppose I can take a short break…partner.” replied Arthur, an attempted smile on the corner of his lips as he spoke those last words, prompting Alfred to return it.

“I’ll get your coat then!”

And as Alfred did so, he couldn’t help but think that today had been a double victory.

After all, there were different kinds of liberations. And liberation from one’s inner demons, even for a short time, was a victory in of itself.