Chapter Text
Staring at the map in front of him, Gilbert cannot help but groan. Blueprints, journals, hell even long-winded manifestos are something he can read easily. War maps always give him headaches.
He always preferred just going down and scouting the area himself; a map can’t know the terrain like a man can.
Despite these preferences, even Gilbert and his awesome abilities cannot single handily walk out into no man’s land. Active war zones are messy and too dangerous. Not that it would be much of an issue for himself, of course, but his fleet would struggle much more.
The map of Italy, Germany, and everything in between stares back him. Miniature displays of towns, bombs, and soldiers placed around the maps. Slowly moving some of the soldiers around, muttering to himself.
Some areas are riskier than others. Rumors have it that Italy is deploying more and more soldiers. Truly just killing off innocent men with the moves they’re pulling. Such an advanced country yet they still make such stupid mistakes.
Maybe if he pushes more men into the front lines, it’ll intimidate those cowards into pulling out their white flags.
Gilbert remembers talking to Ludwig about this matter, and of course his little brother wants to help. He’s brilliant, almost as brilliant as himself. Ludwig told him about how Italy was sending more soldiers, his friend's brother got sent off to fight for Italy.
Gilbert reassured him that with their current plans, that poor soul won’t even finish training before they pressure Italy into surrendering.
Well, that was the plan. Yet Italy did a bold move and rushed out soldiers. Bold, smart, yet incredibly frustrating for Gilbert. Now he has to spend more time in this stupid war room to make plans than necessary.
Now everything that could have gone wrong has gone wrong. Somehow, in some way, the other side figured out plans. There’s no other explanation. How else did they know they were going to push forward!
Gilbert sighs again, slouching in his chair. This whole thing is giving him a major headache. If only he had a beer….
Creak
He immediately shoots up when he hears the door open; someone is coming. He already knows who it is.
The only person he’s ever admired; the person who was his father’s figure after his failure of a parent hid away from grief.
“Do we have a rat?” Frederick asks behind him. His voice calm and low like always.
“That’s the only explanation,” Gilbert agreed. Staring at the map in front of him.
“And what do you plan to do about it?”
“Find whoever they are, and they will be punished for their treason,” he replied almost immediately.
The rat must be punished. They’ve done something terrible. They betrayed their country. The country that’s protected them from everything. The country that gave them food, water, shelter. That gave them training!
It’s like betraying God.
“How do you plan to find Judas?” Frederick questions, his hands coming to rest on Gilbert’s shoulders. Despite not seeing his face, Gilbert knows Frederick analyzing the map himself.
“There is always an apple that will lure them out,” Gilbert replies. “I just have to figure out what exact type will draw him.”
Temptation. The sin of man.
Was it money? A spy? Maybe even worse of all lust?
Gilbert is not sure what apple tempted one of his men, but he knows that you cannot hide bitting into one. He will figure it out even if takes time.
Careful plucking of a tree until he finds the rotten one.
Creak
Another visitor?
“Sir? Ah uhm, your highness,” a voice rang out. Fredericks hands remove themselves from Gilbert’s shoulders.
Turning around in his chair, Gilbert’s eyes see a solider. A scrawny lad who clearly exhausted himself running here. Currently kneeling due to the presence of Frederick.
“No need to kneel, what is it?” Frederick asks, making an up motion with his hand.
With slight hesitation the solider stands, slowly catching his breath.
“A word for the general! We caught an Italian solider!” The solider says quickly.
The words make Gilbert raise an eyebrow. Capturing an Italian? What is the point? Before he could even dismiss the solider, he continues.
“He’s from the new front! The fleet that suddenly came to the front line. Feliz thinks he… he could know why the Italian army suddenly knew what we would do!”
By the look of intrigue on Frederick’s face and truthfully intrigue Gilbert feels himself. This isn’t something he can ignore. He stands up.
“I’ll talk to him,” he decides, motioning the solider away.
The solider looks nervously between Gilbert and Frederick before rushing off.
“Smart move, just like how I taught you,” Frederick says; his voice tinged with approval.
“I learned from the best.” Gilbert nods, of course he learned from the best.
“How do you plan to talk to this solider?” Frederick asks, it makes Gilbert pause.
How to talk? Of course he would intimidate. How else would he get information. Yet by how Frederick is speaking, that doesn’t feel like the right answer.
“Perhaps, gain his trust first. Some would rather meet the devil himself before giving away information,” Frederick suggests.
Gilbert feels Frederick’s hand on his head.
“Be wise with what you do, all of Germany is waiting on you.”
With those final words Frederick’s hand leaves. Leaving silence broken by the clicking of his shoes.
“Be wise…” Gilbert mutters to himself. Frederick’s words echoed in his head.
If this Italian were trained to kill himself if caught, intimidation would result in a failure. Back to square one. Something Gilbert can’t accept.
Perhaps befriending would be best, after all, spending time on a trench surrounded by smoke and dirt. A clean and nice atmosphere would make anyone lower their guard.
This will be easy.
Leaving the war room, he heads to where all the prisoners are held. In a small, dank room.
The room is made of concrete, with a single candle left burning to illuminate it. Currently, only three people are inside. Two soldiers stood guard then him.
The Italian solider.
Walking over to him, still unconscious. Gilbert kneels to examine him.
He’s wearing a baggy beige uniform. Seems like the army couldn’t even give him proper size clothes. Must have been deployed in a rush. No weapons can really be seen. At least the soldiers had enough sense to remove them all.
Around his leg is a hastily tied bandage. Blood turning a dark brown staining the usually white exterior. Injuries aren’t uncommon for soldiers, yet it seems recent, was it from his men? Or someone else?
He has dark brown hair that’s messy and caked with dirt. His face is also dirty.
Using his own sleeve, Gilbert wipes away the dirt from the man’s face. What a shame such a pretty face is wasted on a man.
Gilbert stands up. “Take him to the infirmary and get new clothes,” he orders the soldiers.
They jump as if they weren’t expecting to hear anything.
“Uhm…” one of the guards tries to say. Clearly confused. It makes Gilbert scoff with irritation.
“Don’t dawdle!”
That makes the men move as they carefully pick up the Italian and awkwardly leave the prison cell.
Gilbert follows them; they don’t seem the most capable of patching the wounds.
Gilbert has plenty of experience from his childhood. Often times he would be the one to patch himself and Theodore up. As his father wasn’t there and Frederick wasn’t too focused on making sure wounds healed properly. As long as Gilbert got stronger.
Then, when Ludwig started training, of course, he had to patch him up. He couldn’t let his little brother cry over something so easily fixed.
Following the two men to the infirmary they awkwardly put the Italian down on a bed. One of them grabs some bandages and fiddles with it. Looking at the other for help.
The other solider grabs some disinfectant and struggles to unscrew the top.
Gilbert sighs loudly.
“Leave it to me, go back to your post,” he says exasperated.
The men put down the materials clumsily and flee with their tails between their legs.
Sitting down beside the Italian Gilbert carefully unwraps the bandages around his thigh. There’s a small hole in the back of his thigh. A gun shot most likely.
Gilbert shifts the man onto his side and grabs some tweezers. Digging out a bullet will hurt but at least the Italian has the luck to be unconscious during it. Unless the pain wakes him up.
Pushing the tweezers into the man’s wound until he hits something hard. Opening the tweezers and grabbing the bullet at its side. Gilbert slowly pulls the bullet out. If he’s too fast, he could risk more damage.
He doesn’t stop to question why he cares so much.
Soon the bullet is out, and he drops it onto the side table. Maybe he can investigate to see what type of guns the Italian army has by analyzing that bullet. The soldier has already proven to be useful despite not even waking up yet.
Gilbert grabs disinfectant, screwing the top off and pouring some onto a rag. He cleans the wound and the area around it. He can’t risk dying from a stupid infection just yet.
Once the area is cleaned, he grabs the bandages and wraps tightly around the wound to ensure bleeding won’t start again.
At least the soldiers' major wounds are now taken care of. He’s still filthy yet that’s a problem for later. Gilbert isn’t going to bathe out some random solider; he isn’t that dedicated.
However, he is dedicated enough to waiting. To wait until his new “friend” awakens. Considering he’s still unconscious, it’ll take a while.
Taking out a small note pad, he starts to detail everything that has happened so far.