Edward Elric fidgeted in his newly issued blue uniform. Even though he'd accepted his role as a dog of the military, this was the first time he'd been asked to wear a uniform, joining East City in joint exercises and war games in the north. It would still be three years before he was old enough to serve active duty but there was no age limit on training. From the moment the train had pulled away from the station, he'd been dreading it. Two days on a train up to the frozen north to meet with General Olivier Armstrong and her Briggs soldiers. Still, he'd survived alchemy training, abandoned on an island for a month with only a knife and his brother. The military couldn't possibly be worse than Teacher.
He shared a car with Roy Mustang's team. They had gone through these drills in the past and had a pretty good idea of what they were in for. It could be worse. If he was going to have to endure the next ten days, he'd rather go through it with those he knew and trusted. But travelling to the frozen north at the end of October sounded miserable, he could feel his automail freezing to his skin already just thinking about it. From what he'd heard from passing voices on the train, they would be camping in tents out in the woods.
"Hawkeye hates these things," Jean Havoc told him, flicking his cigarette butt out the window into the river, "It's like babysitting 500 Colonel Mustangs. One is bad enough."
Roy resented that remark, but decided to let it go, "It's more like ROTC students fresh out of basic, out just long enough for their discipline to lax. If you're going to survive the next few days, you need to be focused. The better you pay attention, the easier you'll have it." He was going to keep a close eye on the young alchemist the next few days, making sure he stayed out of trouble. "If you don't cause problems, you're practically invisible."
"So what do they do at these things?" Ed asked, staring out the window at the looming mountains.
"Survival skills, drills, lots of opportunities to kiss the asses of the higher ups if you're into that kind of thing." Havoc shrugged, "Some of it's kind of fun, but a lot of boring stuff in between."
"Don't forget the war games," Breda muttered, "Paintball. I pissed off Hawkeye last year and she shot my boys." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He couldn't quite remember what he'd done to invoke the sniper's wrath, but he sure remembered the pain.
"Hey Ed," Havoc whispered in his ear, "your brass is wrong."
Ed groaned, he'd been trying all morning to get it right, studying the book of guidelines Mustang had given him in preparation for the trip, "What did I screw up this time?"
Havoc ran a hand through his hair, "Honestly? I'm not sure, it just doesn't look right. Ask Hawkeye, she double checks mine all the time. One of the few times when her being a stickler is a good thing."
Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye had a line of young soldiers in front of her at the other end of their car, getting their uniforms inspected. He could tell by her exasperated expression that some of them were not even trying, just waiting for someone to do it for them. Despite her frustration, she hadn't turned anyone away. Even the most hopeless soldier was still a comrade in arms. He stood patiently in line, hoping she wouldn't be too annoyed with him.
"Good morning, Edward," she took a ruler to his shoulders and lapels. She could tell he felt out of place in his blue uniform, which was a little too big for him. The next few days were going to be rough on the boy.
"How did I do?"
"Not a bad attempt, don't let them get you down," Hawkeye assured him, "Just turn your lapel pins 90 degrees, and your two on top need to be switched. Where's your sidearm?"
"I wasn't issued one?" he shrugged. He frankly didn't want one either. He was more than capable of keeping himself safe in dangerous situations already, and he wasn't quite sure if he was comfortable using something with so much dangerous potential. Sure, alchemy could be dangerous, but he felt a great deal more control over his alchemy than he did a bullet.
Hawkeye removed a handgun from the small of her back, "Here, take this. I hope you won't be needing it, but we will be close to the border. You can never be too cautious. It's small, but never underestimate a firearm. It still has the potential to save your life and take someone else's."
"You're giving him the Chekov? That Drachman piece of crap?" Havoc asked, nearly spitting out his coffee laughing.
"It's good luck," Hawkeye assured him, "It will serve him well. And it's discrete."
"It's fun sized, like you, Ed!" Breda smiled.
"What about you?" Ed asked, trying to ignore the jabs while his pulse pounded in his ears from his skyrocketing blood pressure, "I can't just take your sidearm." Even unarmed, Hawkeye was far from helpless. But he didn't want her to compromise her safety for his.
"Don't let the baggy uniform fool you, she's still armed to the teeth," Havoc grinned, knowing she never carried less than two weapons, even when off duty, "Three guns and a couple knives by my count."
"Four." She corrected.
"Where the hell are you hiding that last one?" Roy asked, looking her up and down in surprise.
"And why do you need so many?" Ed asked incredulously.
"My job is to protect the colonel," she sighed, ignoring the colonel's question, "A man with far too many enemies for a man of his rank."
"I don't have that many." Roy pouted.
"Shall I start a list, sir?"
"I'd rather you did not, Lieutenant," he asked, retreating behind his newspaper.
"Alright then." She smiled, walking back to their table now that all the uniforms had been addressed.
"Are you two sharing a tent?" Ed asked the colonel.
"You can't be serious." Hawkeye asked, somewhere between annoyed and angry.
"No," Ed raised his hands defensively, "I didn't mean it like that, I just know you two are good friends." The last thing he wanted to picture was the two of them getting intimate.
"No co-ed tents, no hanky panky." Havoc explained, "Because gays and lesbian soldiers don't exist according to the military."
Roy told him, "Two to a tent for officers, three for enlisted, your assignment will be posted when we arrive."
"Typically, you will be placed with a soldier of a different rank," Hawkeye explained, "It supposedly encourages mentorship and comradery."
"And helps prevent the ego trips that come with putting the higher ups in tents together," Roy added, "Because the last thing a trip like this needs is more pissing contests."
"Oh great," Ed rolled his eyes, "I'm with you?" He has pushed his way past the crowd to the posting with tent assignments. Being short had its advantages. Sometimes. The list of tent pairings had him with Colonel Mustang for the remainder of their excursion.
"Tough break, kid," Havoc sighed, patting his shoulder, "Wanna trade?" He was placed with Major Armstrong.
"I'll pass," Ed decided, "Although there's a surprise." Down at the bottom of the list was Lieutenant Hawkeye's name with General Olivier Armstrong.
"That's got to be a mistake," Roy mused, "The generals never share."
"Is it so hard to believe that the General and I are friends?" Hawkeye asked, "She requested the arrangement and I agreed."
"Oh," Havoc raised an eyebrow, "Did you know Hawkeye is fluent in three languages?"
"Havoc," Roy cautioned, knowing where his subordinate was going with this.
"No kidding?" Ed remarked. "Which ones?"
"Ishvalan and Xingese fluently, her Drachman isn't bad either. She's a pretty cunning linguist."
"He doesn't know what that means, Havoc." Hawkeye signed, hoping she wouldn't have to shoot her friend by the time the day was done.
"I know what a linguist is!"
"I think you need to have a talk with Edward. The boy is fourteen, it's about time he started to learn some of these things. His father can't teach him and I'd rather he not learn them from gutter talk with soldiers." Hawkeye spoke dangerously softly to Roy in a foreign tongue, "If you don't talk to him then I will."
"Fine, fine," Roy replied, ignoring the curious stares of their fellow soldiers. He certainly didn't want Hawkeye to have to explain the finer points of intimacy to Ed, even if she was probably more qualified for the job. "I'll ask him what he knows, go from there." He'd taught her Xingese when they were teenagers and her brain soaked it up like a sponge. It rolled off her tongue as smoothly as a native speaker. It was useful to have a more discrete way to communicate, and he loved hearing the sounds her voice could make.
"Thank you, Roy."
"Of course."