Marseilles, France
September 30th 1950
2:40 PM
It's been around five years since World War Two. And yet, tension around the G8 hasn't settled between everyone yet. Well mostly everyone. For the Allies, they were all getting along with each other except for one of the members.
Ivan didn't seem to see the appeal in getting all buddy-buddy with the rest of the Allies, but it's not like everyone else saw the appeal in getting to know him better either. He didn't really care for them. He had his own family, a union that he had groveled and scraped together. And frankly, he was proud of the family he made even if they did cry sometimes. But there was one person he was missing from the family he was always lacking.
Sitting next to Arthur was Alfred beaming in pride introducing a couple of plans from his little program, he didn't bother to listen. Whatever he was going to spout today, he probably didn't need to know. A pen twirled in his fingers absentmindedly as he continued to stare at the American.
It would've be so wonderful, just the two of them. But Alfred didn't see it that way. He just wanted world peace, a place where they could live in harmonious agreement. 'How idiotic' He thought to himself. The pen fell from his grasps, though it didn't draw any attention from the current attenders of the meeting which he frankly didn't mind.
'If you want to survive in this world, you need raw power.' He reminded himself, finding Alfred's belief to be rather innocent and well, unrealistic.
Those were the last words he said to Alfred after their argument. The American shuddered, trying to focus less on Ivan's stares boring into his face and more on his talk about his current funds. Apparently he was doing pretty good. Mostly everyone in the conference room was taking notes. Everyone but the Eastern European group of course. It actually raised his confidence a bit, knowing that everyone was able to follow his presentation.
However the general that accompanied him here seemed less uneasy than all the other generals that had been in the same room with any soviet member. Alfred snuck a glance at the General who President Truman suggested to get closer with.
The general was stoic, he didn't even show emotions at times. Some of the generals Alfred had brought with him to meetings would growl, others would make small snarky comments about the Soviet representatives, but General Marshall just merely eyed them every now and then which to Alfred was suspicious. He continued his monologue, thinking in his mind. 'He acted like he didn't even hate the Communists. He even complimented them once in a speech. He couldn't possibly..be working with them could he?'
Some people thought he was being too paranoid, which in their defense, they weren't wrong. But when placed in his shoes, no one blamed him. Rumor has it, he had the *Red Scare. And he was willing to do everything in his power to stop his nightmare from happening.
---------------(14 Months ago)---------------
D.C. Washington, United States of America
November 30th, 1949
8:48 AM
The office was cleaned up very well. There was large American flag pole stationed beside a window that showcased happy citizens trotting around the White House on a sunny day. The desk he was currently sitting down in front of was made by some dark oak he assumed with a small plaque that read 'President H. S. Truman'. Of course, President Truman was also sitting at the desk with Mr. Marshall standing behind him, arms crossed behind his back. They were nice people, well at least to Alfred they were, but something felt off today.
President Truman had his face standing on one of his hands, very unusual for the president, rounded circled glasses mindlessly slipping off his nose, most likely from the sweat. Marshall was acting more stern these past couple of days. His stance was very militaristic, his chin facing up like when he was out training the newer soldiers. The American had no idea why he was here, but he could make a guess.
The president let out a sigh, and straightened his back starting off with, "Well Alfred you may be wondering why we've called you here." He pushed his glasses into place and looked back at the confused person. "We wanted to talk to you about Russia and *The Marshall Plan."
"What about them?" Alfred responded. Although him and Ivan were having a bit of rough spot at the moment, it wasn't like it was affecting the country.
"Do you remember the deal we stroke with them? That they may keep the eastern countries as long as they followed a democratic pattern with the smaller nations?" Mr. Marshall spoke up.
"Yeah? They said they'd give them fair elections to choose their government right?" The American said. This doesn't look like this is going to go anywhere good.
"They said they were, turns out they never did." Mr. Marshall continued.
"What?" He shot out of his chair and exclaimed. "Mr. President, what is he talking about?"
"There were no elections, were no votes. As soon as the Russians got to them, they're now under the communist regime." A small pause for a moment before resuming, "That means your Lithuanian friend Toris is now one of those communists too."
He stared at the men and a question popped into his mind. "With all due respect sir, I am thankful you're telling me this, but why are you telling me before the meeting? Why not after?"
Slowly getting out of his wooden chair, he turned to grab a cigarette and a lighter. "We're telling you this, because we want you to keep an eye on your Russian comrade." He cupped his hands around the small fire, kindling it towards the end of the cigarette. Taking a puff of it, he gestured at Marshall to finish the rest.
Mr. Marshall nodded towards the President and then looked back at Alfred. "Listen kid, we know you want to help out your family and all, but we need some insurance if the communists really do go trying to colonize the world. And that's what the Marshall Plan is here for. We can rebuild Europe and deflect the Russians at the same time."
Alfred stared down, and left Mr. Marshall quiet. He needed to think this over. "So let me get this straight. You want me to fly over there and swoon all of Western Europe to our side?"
"Strange way of putting it, but yes." The smell of smoke had ventilated the entire room, small rivers from the President were flowing from the thin stick he held between his fingers. After taking a few more puffs, he dropped the cigarette butt into an ashtray on the desk and turned to Alfred, all joy deprived from his face. His mouth smelled awful, after all it stunk of tobacco. "This is no longer war Jones. This is a game of chess, where your board is the world and your pawns are your followers. If you want to win this game and trust me you will, then you can no longer be the child you were before this. You've now entered reality and as soon as the *Recovery plan is launched, it'll only be a matter of time for either one of our countries to fall, do you understand?"
He stumbled, taken aback by the sudden change of atmosphere in this room. The two elder gentlemen watched him closely, waiting for his response.
"Yes sir." Alfred saluted. He won't lose, not when he's gotten this far.
---------------(End Sequence)---------------
So that's exactly what he has been doing these last couple of months. He'd visited a couple of Nordics, England, Belgium, Netherlands, and just recently France.
A recess was called, momentarily stopping the annual G8 meeting everyone had gotten together for every couple of months. This time Francis had hosted the meeting, which wasn't too bad if you didn't account for Arthur constantly bickering with him every other minute. Though they could be harsh with each other, they've always been like that. Even if they say mean things at times, there was no real harm behind it and Alfred knew this fact well.
At the moment, Francis was excitedly showing Alfred around the break room which was heavily adorned in decorations. A large crystal chandelier covered the room with shimmering lights, ribbons of the iconic blue, white, red, hanging from every corner. The wall itself was made of white marble and the snack table they were heading towards had an elegant light golden sheet draped on top of it. The entire room was filled with the noise of laughter. There were the G8 of course, but there were also other men, either top generals or close advisors to the country leaders. *Mr. Marshall being one of them, currently conversing with Arthur. Francis himself wasn't looking bad himself either. He had a milk white suit, a black undershirt, and a tie that complimented the suit completely. He had a small navy blue ribbon that tied back most of his outgrown curly hair, although some parts of the front were left out still suffering the terrible haircut he got a long while back. He had started to ramble off on the different variations of sweets the chefs had baked, the small ponytail laying on his back softly bobbing up and down.
"It looks like you're doing really well huh?" Alfred said, a grin happily forming on his face.
"Of course I've been doing well mon ami! It's been rough these couple of years, but everything is looking upwards!" Francis said, raising his thin wine glass towards the American.
"That's great man, I'm glad you're getting better!" He hovered over an organized plate of cannolis and let out a small smirk. If anything, Francis loved getting recognized by his work. Especially in the culinary industry. "If I'm not wrong, these are all your recipes right?"
"Oui, you have a very good eye Alfred! You got that from me, of course. Old caterpillar brows can't tell style, even if it bit him in the ass." He snickered, eyeing the fashionably questionable tie that didn't at all match with his handkerchief.
They continued to move down the table, Francis giving out specific details on the embroidery of the table sheets while Alfred helplessly did his best to follow along. He described his long journey on how he got back into cooking after meeting up with chefs across his country who had also fought in the war. As he was talking about one of his encounters, the American couldn't help but notice that glimmer in the Frenchman's eyes. There was so much passion hidden behind those swirling midnight blue orbs. Something that wasn't there years ago. A part of him felt a relief to see Francis so absorbed in his hobby.
"Oh right!" Francis suddenly exclaimed as they reached the ending of the table. Hurriedly, he grabbed a small covered metal plate from one of the passing chefs and opened it in front of the american. "Tah-dah!" Inside were miniature cheeseburgers with small French flags on toothpicks stuck into the buns."
"Dude! Are those sliders?" Alfred asked, still with an amazed look.
Francis confusedly looked at him. "Ah yes? Hamburgers, the food you're oftenly eating at meetings but smaller?"
"This is so cool bro!" He exclaimed, holding the tiny platter that accompanied the slider in his hand. "But I thought you didn't like making American cuisine though?"
"You're not wrong." he scoffed. "But I do want to thank you for supplying us with weapons and backup, even if your at the time president was against it. I know that making you food that you like won't pay back the debt right now, but I want to show you my gratitude for being there." Sighing, he leaned his back onto the table with a sheepish smile. "And besides, the Red Velvet Cake you baked me back in '32 wasn't too bad."
The grin on his face grew wider, as he pulled the man into a large hug. "I should've figured you were a New Yorker kinda guy!"
"Hey, I just got this suit! If you wrinkle it, who knows how long it'll take to get them out!"
"Hahahah, sorry."
After a few more moments of talking, the duo spotted General Marshall make his way over. "Well my dear friend, I see that you have someone else who'd like to talk to you." Francis grabbed a pair of tongs and a plate, serving himself a couple of macaroons and madeleines. "I'll head over and tell your brother that the pancakes are on the table alright? We'll meet you back at the conference!" He waved a final farewell before heading off to the rest of the group of chattering people.
Mr. Marshall was a very serious man, but also a very respectable one. He seemed content with his place in the congress at the moment, not willing to go any further up the political ladder, even though many people including President Truman had admitted what a great president he could be. But he always was a modest person, a man to think of the country, not himself. He had his uniform on as did most everyone else, but was missing his cap. When Alfred asked why he didn't wear it, he simply stated it would be easier for the young American to find his balding head when he inevitably got in trouble than search for a dark green cap that likely every other old balding general at the meeting would be wearing. Of course Alfred was offended by the comment, mainly because of how accurate it was and the fact that Mr. Marshall was right about every general at the meeting having a hat except him. But although he was known for his tough exterior, he was walking towards Alfred with a rather large smile on his face. He looked more loosen up than before, perhaps Arthur got him too many drinks.
"Jones!" He yelled out, slapping a hand on the young man's back. "That was a good speech you pulled out there in the conference!"
"You really think so Mr. Marsh? I don't think you've ever said something like that before." He laughed back with amusement.
"Don't try and squeeze another compliment out of me, this is a one time only chance. Don't spoil it." He grunted. Turning his wrinkled wrist, he looked at the small watch then turned and motioned Alfred towards him. "We've got around twenty minutes left, walk with me kid."
Hurriedly, the American caught up with the general. "Is there something you want to talk about Mr. Marsh?" He asked quizzically. They were moving away from the breakroom, someone would notice that right?
"Yes Jones. You'll be heading off to West Berlin next month, correct?" He said, his tone of voice starting to change. He searched through his pocket for a thin cigarette and lighter, ignoring the non-smoking signs around the large empty hallway they entered.
"Yeah? What about it?"
"The President wants you to announce it in the meeting as soon as it's resumed."
"What?" Alfred asked. He thought that the general would show some emotion, disgruntled, upset, but he still looked as nonchalant before. "What do you mean announce it, Ivan is here. It's bad enough that we're still attending events given the current nuclear war tension, and if he finds out I'm visiting his part of Germany, then he could try send another one of his spies on me!"
As he ranted, Mr. Marshall took a long breath of the cigarette, waiting for the other to finish. He was getting too old for this. "He already knows."
A quiet silence entered, despite the chatter that echoed from the other room. "He what? How?" He yelled out in disbelief.
"Something was sent to your office a few days ago." He said shuffling through his pocket, and pulling out a small blank card then handed it to him. "We were curious who it was from and took a look."
Alfred quickly grabbed it, rage emitting off of him like dry ice. He flipped it over, his thoughts racing through his mind. 'What did he write?' The letter he held read as followed:
'I can't wait to see you next month. -Ivan'
"We figured that we had a soviet mole in the congress. Currently as we speak, everyone is undergoing an investigation." He said, flicking ash off onto the ground and then placing the cigarette back into his mouth.
"Why the hell wasn't I informed about this?" He seethed.
"Shut your trap Alfred!" He whispered, yanking down on Alfred's suit. "I brought you to somewhere secluded for a reason. For god's sake, if you're going to make a scene, make it a quiet one, do you understand me?"
The American stared at the General as they met eye to eye. He took a deep breath, and mumbled out softly, "Yes general."
Letting out a huff, he released his jacket and continued, "The reason we didn't tell you this is because we didn't want you to get paranoid of him." Alfred opened his mouth to protest, but the sharp glare of the general made him think otherwise. "Ever since your trip to England you've been on your toes, I know you have been because you've been questioning everyone around the office, and scaring the newest recruiters. And frankly? It's starting to piss me off." He grumbled, stomping on the cigarette butt.
He turned towards the American and said, "Don't think I haven't been noticing how you've been acting cautious around me. I respect those Russians purely because of their strength. But I do not side with them."
"But I still don't understand why we have to announce to the rest of the meeting participants! What is the use of doing that if he already knows?" Alfred asked, his tone getting louder.
The general sighed once more as he stopped in his tracks. He had the same questions as Alfred did, but it was what President Truman wanted. "The reason we were keeping it a secret was to keep it from ever reaching the Russians' ears. But now that they know, it's useless to hide it anymore. We can't show that we're still on the edge, so we might as well take advantage of this situation to tell everybody before they do it first." He grumbled, looking back at the American who was still standing there, infuriated.
"Once you get your act together, you can join us back in the break room." He glanced momentarily at his watch then stared back at Alfred. "You've got twelve minutes. Take this time to decide what you're going to say and how you're going to say it."
Alfred stood there alone, shaking in anger. Slowly, he walked towards one of the benches and let his back slump forwards as soon as he hit the seat. Leaning his sweating forehead on his hands, he tried his best to take deep breaths. 'He found out. That bastard went out of his way to mock me like this.' His intrusive thoughts did nothing to help him, only making him breathe more rapidly. 'He snuck a mole into the country. Into the White House. He sent me a greeting card and made me look like an absolute fool in front of my citizens.' Those breaths turned into pants, his mind racing to find the deflector. 'But they pledged they were loyal to the country. To me. They all said it, every single one of them, I'm sure of it. Someone was lying though.'
*Thu-thump
.
.
.
*Thu-thump
His breath hitched. Though his head was down, he knew exactly who it was. He could tell by the rhythm of his march, the heavy sound of his thick furred boots hitting the ground. The jingles of his dozens of medals pinned proudly on his right chest made as they clashed together with every proceeding step. And he knew that the person was smiling, the prick always was.
"Privyet *Fedya." a voice whispered. It was quiet but the voice knew that whatever it said would ring through the American's ears for hours. The deafening sound of silence buzzed around them, as if the bright sparkling room they currently were in had turned pitch black, and all they could see were each other.
He heaved out a sigh. It was going to take everything within him to not strangle the man in front of him.
"The hell do you want Braginski?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* Red Scare- Kinda exactly what it sounds like. It's name based off the flag of the soviet regime, it was a fear of the rising power of Communism taking over the world and possibly the USA.
*General Marshall- A very important figure in the US, having large roles in both WW1 and WW2. He was known as a strict person, but a real people's man. I did a lot of research on this dude, trust me.
*The Marshall Plan- A 4 year plan that took place in 1948 named after General Marshall who introduced the plan in the first place. It cost the USA around 17 billion dollars then, and wiring that through 1948 money, it would now be around 135 billion dollars now. Although it's main focus was on bringing Western Europe back to it's formal glory, it did include the bonus of having some control over all the other Western European countries. This is exactly the reason why Eastern Europe didn't join. If the Americans help, then that means that they'll have control over parts of the USSR. Stalin wasn't to keen on that.
*The Recovery Plan- The Marshall Plan but the name makes more sense.
*Fedya- Replacement for Fredka. It's more accurate, and makes sense, given that this is during the 1950s.
This is the author speaking here! Thank you for reading my first chapter of 'A Game of Chess'. Hoo boy this was really god damn long, the next chapter will be shorter, promise. There will be more coming out soon, do not fret. This actually is my first Fanfic ever, sorry if it was cringey or sumthin. But if you want to read more, add this to your library and you'll be able to get notifications as soon as I publish the second chapter. Much love, stay classy.