Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ War Story ❯ Chapter 2
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Vinyl-Koneko 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Angst / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.26.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 481 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Angst / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.26.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 481 | Status: Completed
+ Title: War Story - Part 2
+ Author: Vinyl Koneko (Emily), roguegirl@att.net
+ Rating: R
+ Couplings: 1xR, 1x2, 3x4
+ Warnings: AU, WWII era, minor het, yaoi, historical fiction, drama, no Wufei
+ Archive: Want it? Take it. Just give me credit, please.
+ Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. If I did, well, let's just say the 1xR and 2xH fans wouldn't be so happy...
+ Comments: // Written //, *emphasis*, 'thought', [ flashback ]. Heero POV. This story was written solely for the 1x2 AU Novella 25,000 Word Fic Challenge. Inspiration hit watching PBS on a lonely Saturday night and wouldn't let me rest until it was done. ^_^
+ Summary: The year is 1942. Heero Yuy, a pilot for the United States Air Force, gets send to command a squadron in London. There he meets a literature student by the name of Duo Maxwell, and he learns sometimes it takes another person to figure out everything about yourself.
*~**~*
At dinner that evening Heero sat alone at a table when he heard approaching footfalls. "Major Yuy?" the voice sounded like all the other young and eager recruits who wanted the chance to lay their eyes on a pilot who had actually flown in battle. "May I sit down?"
Heero waved a hand dismissively, not caring how the other interpreted the action. He could hear a tray being set down in front of him and looked up to study his new companion. The other appeared a little younger than him, if by only a couple years; his blond hair was worn short, unlike Colonel Marquise, and his eyes were a bright turquoise. Heero had trouble placing his accent as the other shook his hand and introduced himself.
"My name is Quatre Raberba Winner, and it's an honor to be flying with as esteemed a pilot as yourself."
Heero rubbed as his temples. 'No wonder the UK needs our help.' "Have you flown in battle before, Quatre?"
"Yes, sir. Did you hear about the fighter that has been damaged beyond repair? That was me. I'm lucky to have managed to land it at all. Trowa would have had my head if I was hurt..."
"Are you a good pilot, Quatre?"
The blond man seemed slightly miffed before he figured out how to answer the question. "I'm one of the few that started here who's still alive. Trowa injured his leg and can't fly anymore, and most of the others that are still alive are on the front line, but I volunteered to stay and guard London."
"Because it's your home?"
Quatre shook his head, laughing slightly. "No, I'm actually the renegade son of a wealthy Moroccan merchant who wanted to do something better with his life than run a business. When I told my father I wanted to fly against the Nazis, he more or less disowned me, so here I am."
'So that explains the hint of an accent... He's good if he can hide it that well.' Heero observed his companion with an amused expression. "I like you, Quatre."
"Th-thank you, sir!"
"No, call me Heero. It's reassuring to know I'm not just dealing with fresh recruits. Do you have any specialties?"
"Strategy, but usually Colonel Marquise gets to decide our moves."
Heero sat back in his chair, thinking for a moment. "You'll be my wing. Any strategic opportunities you spot *will* be followed through on. The problem with the military is that the people with the power don't necessarily have the brains."
Quatre was blushing slightly now. "Thank you, Heero."
"Just don't let me down."
"I won't," Quatre promised solemnly. "Oh! I almost forgot why I approached you to begin with!" He reached into his pocket, pulling out a white envelope. "You haven't been here a day and already you're receiving mail."
Heero took the letter, surprised yet not surprised at the same time at the sight of the familiar cursive spelling out his name and address on the front. "Relena..."
"Who is she?" Quatre asked, curiosity written all over his expression.
"My wife," Heero replied simply, not hesitating to open and read what she had written.
// My dearest Heero;
I hope you aren't upset. If you're reading this, I must have anticipated correctly where they'd be sending you. How many Air Force bases can there be near London, after all? I hope you are doing well and meeting new people, even though I know you despise making friends during wartime. It will give you something to occupy your time and mind so you won't be by yourself missing me all the time, as much as I'd like to think you are.
It's been the usual around here. I bought a new radio to listen to the news on the war effort. There are rumors of the government trying to create a weapon that will end the whole war in one battle, but there hasn't been any official information released yet.
I hope you can find the time to get word back to me. It's scary not knowing if you're all right or not. I dread the thought of getting a letter telling me you died in service. You wouldn't want to do that to your poor mother, would you? Mrs. Jenkins had her baby and then the next day she received a letter saying her husband had died in Africa when his tank was hit by a German bomber. I wish you could stay at home where I know you are safe, but you are doing the right thing, no matter how selfish I want to be in locking you up at home.
I'm proud of you. Please come back to me as soon as possible.
Love always,
Relena //
"How long have you been married?" Quatre asked when Heero was stuffing the letter back in the envelope.
"Barely two years," he replied. "We were married two weeks before I shipped out for Africa. I thought it would give me another reason to fight."
"Don't you love her?" Quatre seemed astounded by the idea that anyone could marry someone without being in love first.
Heero shrugged. "I care for her, and she loves me. We were friends growing up, and when she started to fall in love with me, our parents conspired about how perfect we would be for each other. I wasn't going to argue. It seemed honorable to fight for your wife, and she was really the only choice."
Blond eyebrows arched interrogatively. "So you married her more out of convenience?"
"I guess so," Heero twitched in his seat, not comfortable talking about private matters. He knew that is was foolish, but it made both of their parents happy, and it made Relena happy, so he might as well just stick it out.
Quatre stood up suddenly, the chair he vacated flying back a good five feet. "I was supposed to meet Trowa outside fifteen minutes ago!" He hurriedly put his tray to leave before returning to the table. "You should come with me. You can meet Trowa and get to know London a little better. We're going to watch the newsreels at a local theater. I haven't heard any of the latest *official* news in weeks."
Heero knew he should really go to bed since he was tired and it was going to be a long day tomorrow, but he was curious as to what information the military and government were letting civilians hear about. Heero stood, putting away his tray.
'This way I can talk to Trowa and Quatre away from listening ears and get the real information on this squadron I have on my hands.' Heero followed Quatre down the hall and out the door. 'At least then I will be prepared for whatever I voluntarily got myself into.'
*~**~*
End Part 2
+ Author: Vinyl Koneko (Emily), roguegirl@att.net
+ Rating: R
+ Couplings: 1xR, 1x2, 3x4
+ Warnings: AU, WWII era, minor het, yaoi, historical fiction, drama, no Wufei
+ Archive: Want it? Take it. Just give me credit, please.
+ Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. If I did, well, let's just say the 1xR and 2xH fans wouldn't be so happy...
+ Comments: // Written //, *emphasis*, 'thought', [ flashback ]. Heero POV. This story was written solely for the 1x2 AU Novella 25,000 Word Fic Challenge. Inspiration hit watching PBS on a lonely Saturday night and wouldn't let me rest until it was done. ^_^
+ Summary: The year is 1942. Heero Yuy, a pilot for the United States Air Force, gets send to command a squadron in London. There he meets a literature student by the name of Duo Maxwell, and he learns sometimes it takes another person to figure out everything about yourself.
*~**~*
At dinner that evening Heero sat alone at a table when he heard approaching footfalls. "Major Yuy?" the voice sounded like all the other young and eager recruits who wanted the chance to lay their eyes on a pilot who had actually flown in battle. "May I sit down?"
Heero waved a hand dismissively, not caring how the other interpreted the action. He could hear a tray being set down in front of him and looked up to study his new companion. The other appeared a little younger than him, if by only a couple years; his blond hair was worn short, unlike Colonel Marquise, and his eyes were a bright turquoise. Heero had trouble placing his accent as the other shook his hand and introduced himself.
"My name is Quatre Raberba Winner, and it's an honor to be flying with as esteemed a pilot as yourself."
Heero rubbed as his temples. 'No wonder the UK needs our help.' "Have you flown in battle before, Quatre?"
"Yes, sir. Did you hear about the fighter that has been damaged beyond repair? That was me. I'm lucky to have managed to land it at all. Trowa would have had my head if I was hurt..."
"Are you a good pilot, Quatre?"
The blond man seemed slightly miffed before he figured out how to answer the question. "I'm one of the few that started here who's still alive. Trowa injured his leg and can't fly anymore, and most of the others that are still alive are on the front line, but I volunteered to stay and guard London."
"Because it's your home?"
Quatre shook his head, laughing slightly. "No, I'm actually the renegade son of a wealthy Moroccan merchant who wanted to do something better with his life than run a business. When I told my father I wanted to fly against the Nazis, he more or less disowned me, so here I am."
'So that explains the hint of an accent... He's good if he can hide it that well.' Heero observed his companion with an amused expression. "I like you, Quatre."
"Th-thank you, sir!"
"No, call me Heero. It's reassuring to know I'm not just dealing with fresh recruits. Do you have any specialties?"
"Strategy, but usually Colonel Marquise gets to decide our moves."
Heero sat back in his chair, thinking for a moment. "You'll be my wing. Any strategic opportunities you spot *will* be followed through on. The problem with the military is that the people with the power don't necessarily have the brains."
Quatre was blushing slightly now. "Thank you, Heero."
"Just don't let me down."
"I won't," Quatre promised solemnly. "Oh! I almost forgot why I approached you to begin with!" He reached into his pocket, pulling out a white envelope. "You haven't been here a day and already you're receiving mail."
Heero took the letter, surprised yet not surprised at the same time at the sight of the familiar cursive spelling out his name and address on the front. "Relena..."
"Who is she?" Quatre asked, curiosity written all over his expression.
"My wife," Heero replied simply, not hesitating to open and read what she had written.
// My dearest Heero;
I hope you aren't upset. If you're reading this, I must have anticipated correctly where they'd be sending you. How many Air Force bases can there be near London, after all? I hope you are doing well and meeting new people, even though I know you despise making friends during wartime. It will give you something to occupy your time and mind so you won't be by yourself missing me all the time, as much as I'd like to think you are.
It's been the usual around here. I bought a new radio to listen to the news on the war effort. There are rumors of the government trying to create a weapon that will end the whole war in one battle, but there hasn't been any official information released yet.
I hope you can find the time to get word back to me. It's scary not knowing if you're all right or not. I dread the thought of getting a letter telling me you died in service. You wouldn't want to do that to your poor mother, would you? Mrs. Jenkins had her baby and then the next day she received a letter saying her husband had died in Africa when his tank was hit by a German bomber. I wish you could stay at home where I know you are safe, but you are doing the right thing, no matter how selfish I want to be in locking you up at home.
I'm proud of you. Please come back to me as soon as possible.
Love always,
Relena //
"How long have you been married?" Quatre asked when Heero was stuffing the letter back in the envelope.
"Barely two years," he replied. "We were married two weeks before I shipped out for Africa. I thought it would give me another reason to fight."
"Don't you love her?" Quatre seemed astounded by the idea that anyone could marry someone without being in love first.
Heero shrugged. "I care for her, and she loves me. We were friends growing up, and when she started to fall in love with me, our parents conspired about how perfect we would be for each other. I wasn't going to argue. It seemed honorable to fight for your wife, and she was really the only choice."
Blond eyebrows arched interrogatively. "So you married her more out of convenience?"
"I guess so," Heero twitched in his seat, not comfortable talking about private matters. He knew that is was foolish, but it made both of their parents happy, and it made Relena happy, so he might as well just stick it out.
Quatre stood up suddenly, the chair he vacated flying back a good five feet. "I was supposed to meet Trowa outside fifteen minutes ago!" He hurriedly put his tray to leave before returning to the table. "You should come with me. You can meet Trowa and get to know London a little better. We're going to watch the newsreels at a local theater. I haven't heard any of the latest *official* news in weeks."
Heero knew he should really go to bed since he was tired and it was going to be a long day tomorrow, but he was curious as to what information the military and government were letting civilians hear about. Heero stood, putting away his tray.
'This way I can talk to Trowa and Quatre away from listening ears and get the real information on this squadron I have on my hands.' Heero followed Quatre down the hall and out the door. 'At least then I will be prepared for whatever I voluntarily got myself into.'
*~**~*
End Part 2