A/N: This episode was based on a request from a long time ago. Admittedly, I failed to publish the book that went with the story. But at long last, I finally published that story, here in this book. Apologies to ItsKarmagirl565 for the long wait.
On another note, a Hetalia OC representing the Confederate States of America (aka the Confederacy) makes a brief appearance in this story. They're not too stereotypical, so don't expect much comedy in this melancholic episode.
~
July 4, 1863—Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
Though an hour past midnight, Virginia continued to take account of the casualties in the Confederate Army until she was summoned by the Confederacy's orders to meet him inside his tent. Knowing her commander, she predicted she would have to face him either having a violent tantrum or a glass of whiskey. Truthfully, she wasn't in the mood to deal with another tirade. Unfortunately, she had little choice on the matter. An order was an order.
She stepped inside her commander's tent without announcing her presence. The Confederacy was slouching on a wooden stool, looming over the military strategy table that was in disarray. He was still in his gray uniform, still stained with grass, dirt, and gunpowder. In his left hand was a handkerchief stained with blood. In his right hand was a half-full glass of whiskey. He promptly took a large gulp of his whiskey before slamming the glass on the table.
"Damn it! Where did it all go wrong?" he growled.
He didn't notice Virginia until she spoke up, "Pickett's Charge was a mistake."
The Confederacy looked over his shoulder, glaring daggers at her. "Ya sayin' it's my fault?"
She didn't flinch. "A charge this massive had multiple flaws. To begin with, we underestimated the distance between our offensive line at Seminary Ridge and their defensive line at Cemetery Hill. It was longer than expected. We also didn't expect the fences and the uphill slope to slow our charge greatly. As a result, our defenseless troops were easily gunned down by the enemy. Despite the losses, however, the charge could've worked with more manpower to overcome the casualties and break through the defensive line. If we had more time to plan this charge out, it might be possible to beat the odds and—"
His glass smashed into pieces on the ground behind her. "Shut up!" He smashed his fist on the table. "Fuckin' Union bastards! They think they won! But really, I won! I won the first day and did well on the second day! Surely, if I had more soldiers, this battle would've been mine to boast!"
"Commander," she interrupted his outburst, "what's the plan now?"
He grumbled, "I hate to say it, but we need to retreat. We don't have enough able soldiers to continue the battle or break through their defenses."
"Understood, sir."
"We'll begin the retreat later in the evening," he quickly added, taking her back by surprise.
"Sir, I understand we need to retreat as soon as possible. But there are thousands of soldiers scattered across the battlefield. It's going to take us more than a day to take account of the casualties and load the wounded onto the wagon train."
"I don't care. If the Union decides to attack us again, we're finished." He shunned his face away from her sight. "If we must, we'll abandon the soldiers who won't be able to travel with us."
"But..." She held her tongue. "May I leave, sir?"
"... You may leave."
She bowed her head and left the tent.
He rumbled to himself, "This is only a setback, America. I ain't done fighting yet." He coughed onto the sleeve of his uniform, scowling at the blood on his arm.
☆☆☆☆☆
On a muggy and humid morning, Vermont encountered a pale-faced Wisconsin while moving through the Union camp. He asked where Pennsylvania was because the Union Army's makeshift hospitals were short-staffed. She told him she was still sitting on that hill before proceeding to throw up behind a tree. That prompted him to worry about her health, yet she claimed she was alright. It was the smell that was the problem.
The summer air above the bright green fields of Gettysburg used to be fresh with the light aroma of aster and goldenrod. That changed after the three-day battle. It was difficult to tell how many bodies were left on the blood-soaked field, veiled by the smoke that accumulated from the hard-fought conflict. The Union soldiers did their best to take account of casualties for both sides. Injured soldiers for the Union were carried off in cots. Injured soldiers for the Confederates were dragged off as prisoners of war. The bodies of the dead were quickly buried in shallow graves in the hopes they could be given a proper burial later on. Their names were unimportant right now. All they needed to know was the uniform they wore and the notion they died in the act of valor.
In addition to death among humans, there were also casualties among mules and horses. Thousands of dead equines littered the fields, getting cooked under the heat of the sun for multiple days. It was near impossible to give their bloated corpses a burial without puking from the putrid odor. Especially in fear of the spread of various diseases, the living soldiers decided it was best to burn the corpses instead. They hacked, dragged, and stacked the body parts into one of the multiple pyres before setting them ablaze. That seemed like a good idea until the horrid foulness of cooked rotten horse flesh permeated the air. Anyone within the radius of the burnings became nauseously sick of the toxic miasma.
Shockingly, the burnt smell from hell didn't bother Pennsylvania. She remained sitting on a hill that overlooked the bloody landscape, writing in her journal with dark bags underneath her dull eyes. Her hearing was slightly impaired after hearing rifles and cannons go off for three straight days. Thus, she didn't hear Vermont call her name until he hunched over by her side.
"P-Penny!" Vermont panted. "Why are you still here? You can get sick if you continue to sit around here. Blurp!" He quickly covered his nose and mouth.
She shrugged as she continued to write. "How are the others doing?"
"We're doing alright for now. Wisconsin is likely sick from the stench, but she's being a trooper, providing meals for the soldiers. As for America and New Jersey, they're currently arguing whether to stay put or lead another attack on the rebels."
"I see."
He gulped. "The makeshift hospitals are short-staffed. We need help tending the wounded."
"... Alright." She closed her journal and stood up from the ground. "I'll see what I can do."
"I'll lead you there." He quickly scurried down the hill while Pennsylvania followed behind him at her own pace.
Not long after they left the hill, it began to rain heavily.
~ .......... ~
The small town of Gettysburg—with a population of 2,400—was suddenly transformed into a hospital caring for over 20,000 soldiers, both Union and Confederate. There was not enough food, not enough clothes, not enough supplies, and not enough room for everyone. Yet, there was a critical need for everything.
A free biracial woman by the name of Lydia Smith was riding into town, manning a borrowed horse and wagon full of food and clothes. She parked the wagon in front of a makeshift hospital, guarded by Union soldiers who recognized her immediately. After greeting her, one of them went around to the back of the wagon. The other went inside the hospital to get more hands to help distribute the supplies inside.
"Thank you, Lydia," said Pennsylvania as she and Smith carried boxes of canned peas and beans inside the crowded hospital.
She smiled kindly. "No need to thank me. Thank the good Lord that put it in my heart to try and do something for these poor creatures." They placed the boxes down on the floor before walking back to the doorway.
"I'm guessing you plan to head over to the Confederate camp next."
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
She shrugged. "I've already told you many times. Those rebels have done horrible things toward your kind. They won't hesitate to grab you and put you in shackles, even if you're a free woman. Give them all the food and supplies they need, but they won't think or treat you any better than cattle."
"I know," she acknowledged with a slight shake of her head. "I know the irony of helping the captors of color. I'm not blind or stupid. Everyone can complain about their differences by pointing fingers and talking politics. Whatever kind we claim to be, underneath our skin, we bleed the same color. We're all children of God. We're all suffering because of this war."
She sighed, "If only there were more people who think like you, this war might've never happened."
"Maybe. It's easy to lose compassion toward fellow man. In spite of everything that has happened, I believe everything will turn out fine in the end. I may not be able to stop the war, but I'll do whatever I can to minimize everyone's pain." She smiled.
She softly smiled in return. "If you happen to see a woman with glasses and long brown hair at one of the Confederate field hospitals, can you give her this letter?" She pulled a small envelope out of her apron pocket and handed it to her.
"Gladly. I'll be sure to give this to her when I get the chance." She walked back out in the rain.
"Thank you." Pennsylvania bid her farewell.
~ Hetalia! ~
In the cold and wet evening, the Confederate Army prepared to make their retreat back to the South. Thousands of wounded men were loaded up onto wagons. Those who still had both legs and the ability to move them were forced to join the other able soldiers on foot through the mud and swampy grass. From a certain view, marching in the rain after a devastating loss might seem sad and pathetic. Yet, surprisingly, there was a sense of relief and optimism.
This would've been the perfect opportunity for the Union Army to attack them and possibly put an end to the Civil War. But as General Lee said earlier, "The Union commander is a coward." If this was a defeat, they would've all been prisoners. Instead, this was a setback. There were no Union soldiers in the area other than the ones they captured. Therefore, they could make a successful retreat and fight another day.
Unfortunately, not every rebel could join them heading back to the South.
"Are you sure?" Virginia spoke with a surgeon in front of a farmhouse that temporarily acted as a field hospital for wounded Confederates.
He groaned, "I still have surgeries to do on multiple men." He looked back inside the blood-stained house full of amputees and soon-to-be amputees. "It's going to be another sleepless night for me."
"Please." She clasped her hands together. "Save these men. You're their only hope."
"I'll try, ma'am. I may save some of them from their wounds. However, I can't guarantee they'll survive in the days that follow. Pray to God the prisons in the North aren't as bad as the ones in the South."
As she was thanking the surgeon for his services, a wagon ridden by a woman strode up to the farmhouse. Four Confederates immediately surrounded the wagon. They were about to aim their rifles at her until the surgeon ordered them to put their guns down for it wasn't necessary.
He cautiously approached the dark-skinned woman who remained atop the seat of the wagon. "What business do you want with us?" he questioned.
"I bought food and supplies for the wounded."
"We don't have money for you."
"This is free of charge." She hopped off her wagon and went around to the back to show him, Virginia, and the Confederates what she had was true.
"... Alright," he relented. "Men, bring these boxes inside the house."
Virginia was helping the Confederates unpack the wagon—carrying a box of clothes inside the house—when her name was called. "Excuse me?" She looked back at the woman.
"By chance, are you Virginia?"
"Yes. How do you know?"
She pulled out a small envelope from her apron pocket and handed it to her. "A woman wanted me to give this to you."
Virginia wasn't sure whether to open the envelope or not. She looked around the area and decided she might as well read what it contained without the Confederacy around to rip it away from her hands. She tore open the envelope and pulled out a written letter addressed to her.
Virginia,
You'll be relieved to know some of your men are alive. Their wounds are being treated while I'm writing this letter. Regarding your commander's request for a prisoner exchange, however, I'm afraid that's not possible after everything that has happened. I can tell you more about the reasons, but that's not the purpose of this letter to you. I'm writing this letter to you as Pennsylvania—your neighbor, comrade, and friend for more than a hundred years.
On the Fourth of July at dawn, I look across the smoky red fields of Gettysburg, wondering why so many people have to perish on America's birthday. I wonder, why can't we aim our cannons toward the sky instead of our fellow man. We're all Americans. We're all lovers of freedom, no matter the color of our uniform or the color of our skin. I don't know what's going through your head in the aftermath of the battle. I don't know if you feel remorse, resentment, both, or neither. I want to believe you're the same person I fought alongside in the American Revolutionary War. I want to believe you're the same person before the Civil War. However, that may be wishful thinking.
You may consider me to be your foe at this point. That's understandable. I, too, see you as the enemy. At the moment, I can't forgive you, the Southern states, and the Confederacy for the suffering of hundreds of thousands. At the same time, I want this war to end, so we can put our differences aside for the love of humanity. However, that won't happen until one of us admits defeat. Hence, I refuse to lose and let freedom die. Whatever you decide to do, you better remember this battle for this will be the last time the Confederates invade the North.
Pennsylvania
P.S. America still misses you and the Southern states very much.
"... Why are you helping us?" Virginia looked back at the woman.
She softly smiled. "I'm doing what the Lord asked me to do, and that's to help people."
"Is that so?" She glanced back at the letter soaked by the raindrops in her hands. "What's your name, ma'am?"
"Lydia Smith."
"... Thank you, Lydia Smith." She folded the letter back into the envelope and placed it in her breast pocket. "I'll be taking my leave now." She walked past her, heading to a wagon that was rounding up wounded soldiers.
Smith watched the Virginian depart with the wagon of wounded rebels back to the South. She was allowed by the Confederate surgeon to leave the field hospital, and she did just that. She rode the wagon back home, so she could get some rest. For tomorrow morning, she planned to gather more donations and continue helping field hospitals around Gettysburg, aiding both Union and Confederate soldiers.
~ Hetalia! ~
Hey, hey, daddy, give me a switchel!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Freshly-baked apple pie I ate before!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hello, I'm Vermont!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Green Mountain State!
Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A beautiful world can be seen!
Let's go skiing down a mountain!
I am Vermont!
☆☆☆☆☆
+ The Battle of Gettysburg was fought on and around the town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania on July 1–3, 1863. Major General George Meade and the Union soldiers successfully repelled General Robert E. Lee and the Confederates from invading the North, forcing the rebels to retreat to Virginia. However, there were between 46,000 to 51,000 casualties from both armies in the three-day battle, the most costly in U.S. history.
- There was a lot more information about this battle I had to omit because, as originally requested, I focused the story on the relationship between Pennsylvania and Virginia. Both neighbors and members of the Original Thirteen had long worked together for America's independence and stability despite their differences. Unfortunately, at this point in U.S. history, they had to fight in favor of their ideological stance.
+ During and after the Battle of Gettysburg, an African-American businesswoman by the name of Lydia Hamilton Smith hired a horse and wagon to collect donations from towns and deliver them to injured soldiers, both Union and Confederate. Indeed, providing aid to the Confederates was strange, especially considering Smith worked with a prominent abolitionist named Thaddeus Stevens to help runaway slaves in the Underground Railroad. But in her eyes, all she saw were wounded soldiers in constant suffering. Though she didn't have much money as a housekeeper, she still spent every penny of her hard-earned wages buying food and clothes for the soldiers of Gettysburg.
- On an unrelated note, Smith would later die on her birthday in 1884 which happened to be Valentine's Day.
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