Author's Note: This is a joint piece, tag-team written by Causmicfire and Bizzy! The prologue from Cadet Hawkeye's point of view is by Bizzy, and the prologue from General Armstrong's perspective is by Causmicfire. The full story (chapter 2) was tag-team written the entire way through.

Disclaimer: Do not own!

Cadet Riza Hawkeye

Riza Hawkeye swallowed, holding the small stack of papers tightly in her right hand. If she could just act calm, nobody would be the wiser. She was only sixteen, but if she held her head high and acted like she belonged, she could look older than her years and make a convincing display of being a legal adult. Besides, she only had to hand off the paperwork. Nobody was going to check signatures or identification or birth records. She only had to survive the trip to the recruitment office.

So she walked into the Eastern Academy, feeling dwarfed by the high ceilings and the oppressive echoing of footsteps. Maybe this wasn't the best idea she'd ever had, but if she didn't leave now she knew she'd be stuck in her decrepit old house in a hometown that wanted nothing to do with her for the rest of her life. The recruitment office was easy enough to find, seeing as it was now running through a general's office near the front of the building because of all of the new recruits, and there was a friendly young secretary chattering away at the desk. The secretary asked Hawkeye how old she was, and if she'd gotten a parent's signature, and checked if all of the documents were present before adding them to the pile of recent applications.

Leaving the office, Hawkeye almost ran directly into an elderly gentlemen dressed in full military blues. He looked cross and his eyes narrowed at her, but said nothing to her as he walked to the secretary's desk and gathered the documents that had been deposited there. Hawkeye could feel his glare on her back as she left, and she quietly wondered what she could've done to make a general so angry by simply walking into his office.

Two weeks later, Hawkeye stood in the foyer of the her house, her small bag packed and sitting next to the front door. Tomorrow morning, before the sun rose, she would leave for the Eastern Academy. She'd spent the last week cleaning and repairing whatever she could in hopes that some day in the future a family could move in and breathe life back into the building.

She'd chosen to throw away many family mementos, choosing to keep only a handful of very old photographs, a necklace that belonged to her mother, and her father's old pocket watch. Everything else she gave away or threw out in the process of trying to clean out the house.

After trinkets, came the hours of poring through her father's study, an endeavor that ultimately ended with her realizing that much of the work couldn't be left there-not without someone in the house to watch it. Hawkeye carefully packed the largest box she could find full with alchemy books and stuffed the notes that she knew couldn't be thrown into the trash between the pages. She'd left the box sitting on the front steps, knowing that the books would find a good home with their new owner and that the post would pick it up later. She'd spent a long time debating whether or not to slip the letter she'd written into one of the ancient tomes, and decided against it. The only personalization for the entire package was the address: Major Roy Mustang, Central Headquarters.

With everything packed, sorted, discarded or destroyed, the house seemed empty. The halls echoed when she walked through, and despite all of her efforts to make minor repairs herself, the building appeared to be falling to pieces. When her father had died, the occasional repairs came to an abrupt halt; the fact that he had done most of his work with alchemy simply meant that she couldn't do much of it herself. It was a shame she couldn't clean the house up better, but she knew that eventually someone would be able to give the house the care it needed to be a home again.

She did another walk through all of the rooms, searching to see if she'd forgotten anything of any import, though it was mostly to spend time. It was growing harder and harder to ignore the reports of the increasing violence in Ishval, and soldiers appeared in town time and time again to search for new recruits, though they never made their way out to the old Hawkeye household.

She managed to wander the house for hours, checking cabinets and closets and every nook and cranny she could find. When she was certain she'd looked everywhere she could think of, she returned to the foyer, frowning up at the great staircase. She had felt like a stranger in this building for the last eight years. Though she didn't need to leave for the train station for several hours, she gathered up her bag and slipped out the front door, not daring to look behind her as she left.

General Olivier Armstrong

Buccaneer sneered at the envelope in his hands. The seal of Eastern Academy was stamped into the gold wax, keeping the envelope shut against the eyes it wasn't meant for, but he already knew there were summons inside. Summons his Queen would rather throw into the incinerator than acknowledge.

Part of him wanted to pass the duty of delivering the General's mail off to the next officer of lower rank to pass him by, but he knew Armstrong would call him on it later. So, he pulled his uniform jacket over his metal arm and made his way to her office.

"General Armstrong," he greeted, his salute perfect, down to the angle of his fingers.

"Fist Lieutenant."

"A letter from Eastern Academy," he announced, holding out the envelope.

Her lip curled into a sneer, and she just stared at the piece of mail for a moment, trying to decide how many times she would have to slice it to turn it into confetti.

"Leave it on my desk, Buccaneer. And make sure no one interrupts me for the remainder of my day," she ordered.

Buccaneer closed the door of her office as he left, and pitied the officer who would eventually be the next to talk to her.

Armstrong stared at the envelope, knowing there was no use in delaying the inevitable. She didn't even bother to use a letter opener, she just tore off the top.

General Armstrong,

You are hereby invited to take part in the training of our newest cadet class.

Olivier rolled her eyes. Invited? Since when had it ever been voluntary? They should drop all the polite bullshit and just be explicit about it. She had to go, there was no getting away from it unless the Drachman's decided to charge her fortress.

You're arrival will be anticipated for the end of the month, please see to it that proper arrangements are made for your current subordinates and forward them to the head of Eastern Command. The next document will contain all the paperwork you will need to make your trip. Eastern Academy looks forward to your presence and help in training our cadets to be all their best.

Sincerely,
General Raven

Olivier was tempted to call Raven and report to him that he forgot to add in the second page of documents, but that wouldn't change matters.

She threw the papers into her top drawer, and picked up the phone.

"Miles, report to my office."

A knock sounded on her door, and she called for him to enter.

"Have a seat," she beckoned after returning his salute. The man was quick to follow orders. After all, it hadn't been long since Miles had blatantly questioned her decision to keep him on active duty during the Ishvalan war. Many soldiers of Ishvalan descent were being forced to take leave and those who openly protested the war were imprisoned. Upon being questioned, Armstrong flippantly told him he could fight her on the decision. Miles made the wise decision to say nothing else on the matter, though he redoubled his efforts to be a model soldier.

"I will be going to Eastern Academy to help train the newest set of cadets. While I'm gone, you will be taking on part of my responsibilities. I expect you to have a meeting with Heinkle and Buccaneer to split up my duties between the three of you, and to see a written proposal on my desk by Friday," she ordered.

"Yes, General," he acknowledged.

"You can go," she dismissed him.

Olivier Armstrong had no qualms admitting that her temper seemed to increase with the passing of each day. Unfortunately for her subordinates, they kept giving her opportunity after opportunity to unleash her temper. Part of her wondered if they were purposely slacking off to alleviate her stress, but she shook off the thought, they couldn't be that stupid.

Buccaneer drove her to the train station. Silence filled the drive, and she couldn't help but feel irritated that she had to leave her home to train some snot nosed recruits how to hold a sword. If they wanted her to help train cadets, they should send them to Briggs. At least then, they would learn how to fight in different conditions. She always hated having to retrain cadets once they got to Briggs because they couldn't even walk in the snow.

Despite the fact that she was more than capable of carrying her own luggage, Buccaneer loaded them onto the train for her. "I expect weekly reports," she reminded him as she followed him to the exit.
"Yes, General. You will be the first to hear about any Drachman spottings," he assured her.

She nodded, and he moved from the train to the platform.

"I expect everything to be in order when I get back, and if I get wind that anyone was slacking off, everyone will pay," she warned.

"Yes, General."

The train started to pull away, and he saluted.

She turned to go back inside, she wasn't going to be one of those romantic fools who stood at the railing watching the platform until it was out of sight.

"Give 'em hell, General," Buccaneer shouted, stopping her in her tracks. She refused to turn back around, instead she lifted her hand in wave of acknowledgment while a smile found its way onto her lips of its own accord.

Führer, she was going to crush those cadets.