Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist/Hagane no RenkinJutsushi belongs to Arakawa-san. I just borrow the characters from time to time and hope that I don't break them… too much.
Author's Note: Just want to give a huge shout out to BlueIsTheColourOfOurPlanet, Brenne, kryquett, Clic, Wrath of the Heavens, Tonja, aylengm, and everyone else who's taken the time to follow, favourite, and (most of all) review! You folks all rock!
CHAPTER THREE—A Cat May Look at a King…
(… but still there's no point in meowing at him.)
Dear Al,
You were right—the weather here is crap. It's way too warm during the day and at night, the wind howls right down the mountains. It gets so cold sometimes that we might as well be in Drachma. Plus, while it doesn't rain often, the air gets so humid that it's like trying to breathe underwater after it actually does rain.
The only one who doesn't complain about any of this is the idiot General. People say it's because he doesn't want to seem unbecoming, but I think it's just because, like I said, it doesn't rain very often, so no one can call him useless.
I think I'm going to go and ask him what he would have done if we had been sent north instead.
He just told me to shut up, stop being a smart ass, and finish my letter.
Mustang's been trying to have me to live up to my rank and is getting me to do a lot of officer duties. He says that it's important for me to understand logistics and all that, but I think he's doing it because he's a lazy bastard who doesn't want to work. If nothing else, who would take orders from a kid?
Not that that bothers me, anyway.
There's another state alchemist here. He's called the Blacklung Alchemist, though his real name's O'Conner or something, and he's from the far west, so he has a weird accent.
He really knows his stuff when it comes to carbon-based transmutations, too, but other than that he's an idiot. Can you believe that he doesn't think it matters whether or not the metal is heated when you transmute it? He thinks you can just go and transmute it however you want, anyway. Ha!
Anyway, Hawkeye heard us and told us both to shut up, or else she'd make sure we'd regret it, but I'll show him later just how wrong he is.
Speaking of Hawkeye, she asked me to thank Winry and Granny again for her, for watching after Black Hayate while this mess is going on. Pass on the message for me?
Your brother,
"The wonderful Fullmetal Alchemist"
MAJOR EDWARD ELRIC
PS. They said that the Resembool area got hit with a late snow storm. Is that true?
—Major E. Elric to civilian A. Elric. April 12, 1916.
Panting heavily, trying his best to ignore the sweat slipping down his temples and collecting at the small of his back, Edward watched his two enemies through wary eyes. They were both fresh and energized. He, however, had been fighting without rest for the last hour, and it showed in his movements, his laboured breath, his trembling limbs, just how tired he was.
But they were eyeing him up now, looking for some weakness to exploit, and he knew that they'd attack soon—too soon, if his shaking hands were anything to go by.
Hoping to buy himself some time to calm his shaking knees, he used the weapon he was most famous for—his foul mouth. "Come on, you bastards! Is that the best you've got? I know backwater villagers who fight better than you!" He barked out a hoarse laugh. "And you call yourselves soldiers? What, were you trained with those worthless Drachman assholes up north? I could finish both of you off with an arm tied behind my—"
With a low growl, the elder of his two adversaries rushed forward, swinging forward with his right fist. Edward deftly slipped out of the way, dropping to his knees and lashing out with a metal foot before deftly rolling to his feet again.
The enemy soldier leapt back, just barely avoiding a blow to the shin. His companion came forward a split second later, trying to catch the young alchemist by surprise. A left hook nearly caught Edward across the cheek, but he somehow managed to bring his right arm up fast enough in order to block the attack. With grim satisfaction, he noticed his foe wince as his hand struck automail.
But no, now that he had an advantage, he was not going to let it go. Edward danced after him, moving forward in a flurry of punches and kicks and strikes, forcing his enemy back. He would win this, dammit!
As focussed as he was on his one opponent, though, he did not realize that the other was on him until it was too late. A heavy blow landed across his ribs, forcing the air out of his lungs as white-hot pain blossomed across his chest. A hasty handspring deflected some of the force, but he was still left coughing and gasping for air, desperately trying to refill his lungs before they came at him once more.
However, they kept pressing on, not letting up, not giving him the time to recover, not giving him the few precious moments he needed to be able to refill his lungs. It was all he could do, still hacking and choking, to keep one step ahead of them…
Suddenly, an uppercut broke through his weak defence and caught him across the jaw. He rolled as it connected, and let himself fall to the ground, but his eyes were tearing and streaming now, and he could barely see where his two assailants were.
This was going downhill, fast, but he couldn't find any way to turn it around. Shit. Shit shit shit.
Rolling away from a low kick, he did the only thing he could think; he clapped his hands together and slammed them against the ground. An explosion of white-blue light danced across his eyes for a fraction of a moment, and then the trampled grass twisted and the earth beneath it rumbled as it hardened into a messy wall.
Before he managed so much as a deep breath, though, it shattered all around him like expensive porcelain.
Fuck! He rolled and ducked and danced away from the fresh onslaught of attacked, wiping at his tearing eyes with his flesh hand as he tried to bring his laboured breathing until control. Those cheaters! He should have known they would play dirty, even though the alchemist among them had sworn that he would not…
Fine, then. That meant that he could play dirty, too.
With a smirk, he clapped his hands together once more. The blinding light flashed again, and the ground opened up around his two attackers. Before they had realized what was going on, they buried up to the neck.
Maybe next time they would remember not to cheat.
Laughter and a smattering of applause bubbled up from all around him and, surprised, he glanced over his shoulders. A small audience of dirty blue uniforms and sunburnt faces had amassed while he'd been busy fighting, and he frowned as a few hands exchanged handfuls of coins.
Of course. People always liked to watch when this kind of thing took place; it was, after all, just another form of amusement around the camp. He, being as caught up as he was, had simply forgotten that anyone was there.
"Hey! Fullmetal! Are you going to let us out or are you going to leave us here to rot?" It was none other than the Blacklung Alchemist who spoke, spitting out the words between coughing fits. His head, and that of Second Lieutenant Havoc, was coated with a fine layer of dust.
Underneath that fine layer, the other alchemist's tanned skin was flushed—whether from exertion or humiliation, Edward did not know. He did prefer to think that it was humiliation, though.
"I dunno…" He looked at both heads and pretended to consider the request. "We did agree that we wouldn't use alchemy to attack each other…"
"What the hell are you talking about!" Blacklung snapped out, and Edward had to admit that seeing a talking head was rather amusing. "You're the one who used alchemy first, bean sprout!"
There was a moment of silence. Golden eyes met icy grey ones steadily. "Fine, then! See if I ever let you out! Dig your way out with your teeth for all I care. I –"
"Let them out, Fullmetal." Mustang's voice rang clearly above the hum of voices and jingling of coin, cutting off the young alchemist's rant. The man himself stepped forward. "You and Blacklung clean yourselves up; I want to see you both at Headquarters in ten minutes."
The blond was tempted to half-heartedly argue this order—he was well aware of the fact that he would eventually have to free the other men, after all—but the carefully neutral expression on Mustang's windburnt face dissuaded him. And so, with a fair amount of mutinous grumbling and a number of profane comments, Edward clapped his hands together again and freed the others. He collected his increasingly worn military jacket from where it had been tossed and, without even a backwards glance at the two men who were now trying to free the dirt from their shirts and shoes, he forced his way through the thinning crowd of spectators.
After some consideration, Edward allowed himself a brief detour to one of the command's two wells, dumping a chilly bucket of water over his head to clear the sweat and dirt that had collected in his bangs. A stop by the officer's barracks to change out of his now wet and dirty clothes—he'd clean them later, really —and then he was finally making his way to the South Western Passage Commands headquarters.
As always, the headquarters was a hub of activity. As soon as he pushed through the rough-hewn wood door, an ocean of noise overwhelmed him. Blue-clad soldiers babbled on radios to give or receive reports, confirm supply lists, or approve unit movements; from somewhere on the other side of the main room, someone yelled something about confirming communications with the three outposts in their district. Edward was almost relieved when he managed to push through the throngs of people and stomp up to the much quieter second storey.
He found Mustang's office—last room on the left, and one of the only rooms in the place with a door—and let himself in without knocking. The man himself motioned to a pair of hard wooden chairs, but Edward ignored him.
"So, what? You've got more paperwork that you don't feel like doing?"
Mustang sighed, and picked up a report. "There've been strange reports coming in from the central region for a while now. A week ago, a surveillance team spotted signs that Aerugonian troops were on the move, so they raised the alarm to nearby outposts but, when they went to investigate, they couldn't find anything."
Edward just crossed his arms over his chest. An exaggerated sigh brushed past his lips. Mustang had to know this wasn't news to him; after all, he'd been the one to sign off on the report, after all.
An arched eyebrow was the only indication that the general had noticed his impatience. "What you might not have heard, Fullmetal, is that the Foothills Outpost to the east of here—"
A knock of the door interrupted him, and the Blacklung Alchemist entered just a moment later, red at the cheeks, brown hair dripping onto his stiff blue collar.
"Ah, Blacklung." Mustang's voice rang in the room. His tone was a dry one that Edward knew all too well. "So nice of you to join us."
If possible, the other alchemist's cheeks coloured even more. "Sorry, sir," he muttered, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "I, uh, got held up."
"Clearly." Nonetheless, Mustang motioned to the chairs and, as the other man hastened to seat himself, he continued. "As I was saying, two days ago, the Foothills Outpost to the east also reported signs of enemy movement that mysteriously vanished. Yesterday evening, another surveillance team—this one from the Plains Outpost—reported the same thing. The team was about 30 kilometers east of the outpost when they checked in yesterday, and they haven't been heard from since."
Well that, at least, was news.
Edward brought a hand to his chin, thinking hard. The Foothills Outpost was about 300 kilometers away from the edge of their district; the Plains Outpost, meanwhile, was the eastern-most outpost in their district. Either the Aerugonians were really bad at planning two- and three-tiered attacks, or a single group was moving way too fast through Amestrian territory…
He opened his mouth, but Blacklung beat him to the punch. "And we're sure that this can't just be chalked up to jumpy soldiers and faulty radios, sir?"
"The Plains says that their team checked the equipment before they left," Mustang told them. "Everything checked out. Nervous soldiers are something I've considered, but the Foothills Outpost has assured me their team all reported the same thing when they were debriefed, so that's not likely."
"So you think it's alchemy or something," Edward muttered, eyes caught absently on a few pages on the man's desk. "I thought that the Aerugonians hated alchemy—something to do with their ties to the Ishvallan culture."
"Traditionally, they've avoided it," Mustang confirmed with a nod of his dark hair, "but it isn't too far-fetched to think that they'd look into it, considering the State Alchemist—"
"Have the outposts sent any of the reports yet?" The blond interrupted suddenly. If it was alchemy, then maybe someone would have seen something…
Blacklung coughed. Mustang stared at him flatly.
Edward, mind still focused on the problem at hand, didn't notice.
"I haven't gotten any full reports yet," Mustang said finally, eyes still hard, "just preliminary ones. If you need them quickly, I expect that you'll have to send a formal request to the Intelligence team in charge of the whole south-western region."
"Sir?" Blacklung made an inquisitive noise.
But the general went on as though he hadn't heard the other man. "I'm putting you in charge of investigating this, Fullmetal. I'm attaching you to Second Lieutenant Caddock's platoon; they'll help you with whatever you need."
What? Edward snapped out of his thoughts, and his eyes snapped up to meet Mustang's own dark ones. He opened his mouth to question the man, but again, Blacklung spoke first.
"Are—are you sure that's a good idea, sir?" The older alchemist asked. He sat a little straighter in his chair, as though his height alone might make the much younger disappear. "I mean—"
Mustang cut him off with a glare. "Fullmetal's more than able to investigate this, Blacklung," he snapped out, "seeing as he's been investigating similar issues for the entire time he's worked for the military. Besides, you're being assigned, too."
"… Oh." The hardness in those grey eyes melted away, and the man shrunk back into his chair. Edward had to admit that there was something satisfying about watching Mustang dress down the much taller man.
"Yes. 'Oh.'" The General repeated sarcastically. "I'm sending you out with Second Lieutenant Havoc's platoon. I want you to inspect and reinforce the perimeter walls and critical buildings of the outposts in this district. I don't know what the hell the Aerugonians have planned, but I'm not risking the lives of good soldiers over it."
"Very good, sir," Blacklung muttered, but it didn't seem like it was 'very good' to him at all. His eyes flickered over to the blond alchemist before settling back onto Mustang.
"Both of you will continue to report directly to me throughout your assignments. Understood?" Mustang climbed to his feet as he spoke.
Edward nodded his head in understanding. To his right, Blacklung climbed to his feet, muttering a dull "yes, sir."
"Good. Fullmetal, get your bags packed and get ready to go; I want you at the Plains Outpost before nightfall so you can get started on this tomorrow. Blacklung, make sure you're on your way by dawn tomorrow." A pause for both alchemists to acknowledge their respective commands. Mustang looked at them both squarely. "You're dismissed."
With those words, Edward turned on his heel and left the small room. Leave it up to Blacklung to salute like a good dog and grovel and Mustang's feet, he thought. After all, he had better things to do.
Liking pen a few very official-sounding letters to the regional headquarters.
Random tid-bits of information:
Nope. Sorry. I don't have any tid-bits of information for you lovely folks this time around.
But, you know, review please? I'm especially curious to know if all these new random places are making sense to everyone.
xCxBxBx
