Alphonse had become regarded as, more or less, a hero among his comrades. His last more-than-close escape from the enemy's own base had earned him quite the title. It did boost his confidence, but other than that he was the same as before. More than anything, Alphonse missed his brother. The letters he had received from Edward were usually depressing and full of violence and tragedy. How could they not be? Happy things rarely happened as a soldier, and when they did they weren't considered a pleasure to anyone that wasn't in serious suffering.

At the moment, Al and his fellow soldiers were attempting to attack and destroy three turrets set up in trenches a few miles away from the town they had recently taken over. Al plowed through the different soldiers. He was deep in thought that day, so deep he wasn't very focused on what was going on. His body had gone through routine and kill so many times he moved instinctively. He reached the first miniature encampment and turret and waited there for the men with the explosives.

They arrived, and Al dived away and plugged his ears, waiting for the effects of the explosives the burn in his ears and dust to fly in his eyes. It went as he expected, and Al was forced to move on and continue fighting his way through the enemy. He knew in his mind that the Germans stood no chance against them, but he still did his best to help.

Time seemed to pass without Al knowing it as all of the small bases were taken over. Over what seemed like seconds but was probably half an hour, Al's friends and comrades stood comfortably, proud of their accomplishment. Many of the men searched boxes and crates for food and supplies, while others grabbed a cigarette. "Want a smoke?" One of the men asked Al. He looked down and saw a soldier with gray hair and a cigar in his mouth.

"I don't smoke." Al replied.

"Really? Surprised you haven't gone insane." The old man joked.

"What do you mean?" Al replied. The man chuckled in a sly way.

"Smoking calms the mind. Otherwise you're on edge, anxious." Al nodded. "You sure you don't wanna try one?" Al thought for a moment.

"Maybe just one." He replied. The man smiled, and handed him a cigar. Al held it as it was lit by the soldier. He raised the cigarette to his mouth, and sucked in, not quite sure what he was doing. Al felt smoke fill his mouth and lungs, and he began coughing and hacking. His comrade began laughing, saying, "Having some problems there?" After he recovered, Al took another smoke, being more careful this time. He held his breath for a moment and then puffed out. A flare of smoke filled the air around him.

"You'll want another soon." Al didn't believe it, but he smiled in thanks anyway.

Suddenly, bullets whizzed past Al's head. His helmet flew off his head, and he dropped to the ground and covered his head with his arms. The cigar flew through the air and landed behind him. Doing the army crawl, Al reached for his gun. He pulled it tight to his chest and slowly got up from his knees.

"We need to get out of here!" Al called to the man who had offered him a cigar. Then he noticed that red covered the base of his helmet. He had been shot. Alphonse looked down so he didn't have to take in the sight.

Al got up to his feet and began to run through the trenches. He kept his back arched his low but his feet had a strong stride. He met up with one of his friends and called to him. "What's going on?"
"The German bastards are attacking." Parker relplied.

"What are our chances?"

"Close to zero. Retreating is a definite. We just need to wait for the leaders to figure out what's going on and we'll be given the order." Parker explained. Al nodded. "Come on Elric, let's knock out as many as possible before we tuck our tails in."

"Right!"

The two friends crawled through the trenches, and exited behind a set of trees and bushes. There they shot as many Germans as they could before they had to move. They shifted to some tall grass and laid down to shoot. Again they had to move. The Germans were among them now, and they constantly had to fight through the enemy. Al turned around to check on Parker, and saw him stumble and fall far behind him. Al ran back and shot a German soldier that had been standing over his friend. The German collapsed on top of Parker, and Al continued running. He cowered down onto his knees and bent low over the body. Al shoved the dead opponent off of his friend and listened to Parker's heart beat. It was faint, but distinct nonetheless.

"I need a medic!" Al called out. "Come on, Medic!"

After a short wait, Al constantly on edge, a medic arrived. He tended to Parker and got another medic to help carry the man out. Alphonse watched his friend leave, worry covering his face.

Putting his attention back into the battle, Al noticed how much his side was suffering. Men were being shot left and right, and the German's were advancing. It wouldn't be much more time before the enemy would begin marching towards the town—if that was their plan.

Al stood up and charged a German who had been at his right and bashed his head with the base of his gun. The German's body fell like a puppet who's strings had been dropped. He lay mangled in the grass. Next, Al took out his knife and slipped behind a large set of trees and bushes. He came across an enemy sniper. The opponent didn't notice Al, who slowly crept up behind him. In one motion, Al tightly gripped the mans shoulder and rammed his knife into the base of the man's spine, flesh gurgling and blood streaming down the wound. With his left hand, Al covered the man's mouth tightly as he screamed in agony. Quickly, before the suffering man could attract unwanted attention, Al twisted his right arm and the soldier coughed blood into Al's hand. His body then went cold, and Al quietly dropped him onto the ground, the body landing with only a small thud – like dropping a pillow onto soft grass.

Al heard soft shuffling of feet behind him, and turned around just in time to block the rusted blade of a German soldier's knife. Pieces of brown rust fell onto Al's face. He was thankful that none of it got in his eyes, for that would have proved fatal. Instead, Alphonse twisted his blade to the right, knocking his opponents hand away. He then thrusted his blade towards the stomach, but had to change his positioning to block a blow to his own body. Al kicked at the man's knee, which caused him to buckle and fall. He landed on his own knife and screamed. He dug his fingers into the earth until his nails bled, and his mouth instinctively bit down and he swallowed dirt. This caused him to choke and gag while his feet kicked at stones and sent them flying.

Al knelt down over the man's wriggling and screeching body, and placed his hands over his ears. Al closed his eyes and twisted. The man's neck only needed a small jerk for his muscles to relax and for the tension to release. His chest ceased to heave up and down, and his fingers stopped burrowing, and his eyes didn't flinch.

Al quivered. He couldn't take his hands off of the man. Quakes and spasms covered his arms and legs, and Al began to cry. He didn't really know why, and yet he did. It had something to do with the fact he had killed a man, taken a life. He had done it with his own two hands. It was different than killing with a weapon—somehow it was different.

Al wiped the tears from his eyes and stood, his chest heaving with grief. About five to seven Germans could be heard running towards the noise of the man Al had killed.

"Retreat!" Al heard being called behind him. He turned and ran, throwing a grenade at the men coming his way all the while. He counted down the seconds and suddenly a humongous explosion blew behind him, sending him flying a few feet. He turned and said to himself that it couldn't have been caused by his grenade. He heard shouts, cheers, and whistles coming from his friends.

"It's Mustang!" Al's ear twitched at the notion of the familiar name. He assumed it a coincidence for the moment, but knew that coincidences rarely happened to him.

"We can do this!"

"Call off the retreat!"

Al didn't know what happened, except that they now had a huge advantage on their side of some sort. Al charged, and cocked his gun. He shot wildly, but true, and attacked the enemy. Ideas and thoughts swirled around his head, questions that he refused to answer. His brain was confused and weak, but his body was strong. So he let his mind wonder and let his consciousness dive into the depths and deepest crevices of his mind. At this point, it wasn't his thoughts that controlled his actions, but an instinct that moved his muscles and joints. He didn't need to focus on what to do. Everything just came to him naturally.

Al felt almost too tired to think, but we can't really stop thinking—no matter how hard we try.

After a while, which seemed like an eternity of fighting, Al and his fellow men were chasing off the few remaining Germans. Al rested his back against a tree, and slowly sunk down. He reached for his water canteen with shivering hands, weak from hunger and fatigue. As he drank, a figure dashed passed him. Time seemed to slow as Al was able to catch a glimpse of the man's face. His hair was black, and his face stern. He held a grenade in his right hand, and his pistol in the other.

Al had guessed the when people mentioned 'Mustang' they may have been talking about the same man Al knew in the other dimension. However, that didn't stop the shock from seeing an old face again. Al lowered the canteen from his lips, and bits of water dripped down his uniform. He didn't notice. Roy Mustang slowed and threw his grenade at the enemy. It landed in front of four men who had been running in a group. They were blown in different directions, their bodies tumbling through the air. Mustang smiled and turned to Al.

"Mind if I have a drink of that?" He asked. Al nodded, dumbfounded, and handed him the canteen. Roy emptied two gulps of water into his mouth, then sighed. "Good stuff." He commented, then handed the container back to Al, who took it. "What's wrong with you, boy? Looks like you've seen a ghost." Al snapped back to his senses and replied.

"You have no idea." Mustang chuckled.

"Well that was a good run, agree?"

"A good run? You saved us." Al corrected. Mustang nodded. "Does get the spirit going, though—to see a miracle like that."

"I don't know if you'd call it that." Roy explained.

"About the best we're going to get around here." Al explained.

"Very true." Roy agreed. There was a short pause, and he added. "I like you kid. What's your name?"

"Alphonse Elric—brother of Edward Elric." Mustang grunted.
"I've heard of you. You're the kid who just got out of the enemies grasp. Dived back to his men with fifty Germans on his ass."

"I don't know if it was that many." Al interrupted. He was humble, and always had been.

"Yeah the facts do get jumbled in tales like your own... But Edward Elric... I've never known that name." Roy looked up, probably thinking back.
"No, I suppose not. I guess I was hoping you had. You see we've been apart for a long time."

"I see. It's not right for family to be split up, even from war. You two the only sons?" It took a moment for Al to understand the reasoning behind the question.
"Yes, but our parents are both dead. Our father left us and our mother passed from sickness because of it. Then our father was killed." Al hung his head. Ed had always detested Hoenheim, but Al had always felt something for the scoundrel.

"I can tell you've been through a lot. Do you and your brother exchange letters?"

"Yes, but it always takes a while for them to get back and forth. It's hard for messengers to carry letters from one section of the army to the next. Sometimes the letters get lost or the carrier is killed, so we don't hear much from one another." Al spoke the absolute truth. Though he was didn't care for sharing his troubles, the fact that he couldn't communicate with Edward had always deeply troubled him.

"That's a real shame." Mustang gave their conversation a suitable pause. Then he began to leave with, "Well, I'm Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang—if you haven't already heard of me." He straightened himself with the last remark.

"No, I haven't." Al replied. Roy began to laugh.
"Well that's a first." He said, still chuckling heartily.