A/N: Apologies, apologies. Much thanks to Nainne for the beta of this chapter. And no, I'm not quite dead just yet...I simply haven't been updating stuff : ) I'm very excited to be finally progressing along with this story, because hopefully something vaugely fun is going to happen soon! Well, depending on your definition of 'fun' I guess...
Disclaimer: All characters that you have seen before today belong to Arakawa Hiromu/their respective owners.
Life likes to play its cards in unpredictable ways. And no matter how good your hand might be, somehow, some day, you'll eventually lose your gamble. Although, there's always that slim chance of recovery, and hope in the next hand.
Unfortunately for them, it had been the Amestrians who had lost this round.
It was interesting what war could do to one's psych. Needless to say, the Amestrian encampment was in complete disarray. Lists of those missing and confirmed dead were being compiled; Lieutenants reported to Captains and Majors, they compiled lists and handed them to their COs. Harried officers rushed here and there, faces drawn from exhaustion and for many, from shock. A sort of quiet loudness reverberated throughout, orders and commands being relayed around. Names and numbers were drawn up in charts, letters were prepared for those on those charts. Men (and women) worried over missing comrades; no one knew if they were missing, dead, prisoner, or maybe just on the other side of camp. Then, there were those who had seen friends die in front of their eyes, those who had seen the dead bodies of their comrades. Silently, respectfully, fearfully and in shock, soldiers paid their respects to the dead, even if their body couldn't have been retrieved. It was just the right thing to do.
Of course, there were the many injured too. Of their number, a substantial percentage sustained severe wounds that would either kill them, or if they were lucky, never serve in the military again and get away with their measly human lives. Most would simply take a while to recover, and then get sent right back into active service. Then there were the luckier ones, who had incurred upon themselves through battle minor injuries that would heal quickly, and pose virtually no problem. But 'lucky' and 'fortunate' were terms of relativity. For some, those who had sustained only minor injuries were the 'poor devils', while those who had been injured enough to get sent back were those who were truly lucky.
War was just one big dice game with life. Or card game. It all depended on how you looked on it.
Currently, Edward was sitting on a nearby crate, listening ashen-faced as the pitiful remainder of his unit reported the grim results. The duty fell to Warrant Officer Lewis, who stood there, fidgeting slightly, struggling to hold his head up high, but avoiding
eye-contact with Edward. The man had approached the younger boy quietly, almost shyly, his eyes downcast, as though suddenly finding the grey dust on his shoes to be interesting. Once in a while, he would look to Edward with hesitant eyes, and when the younger boy did not acknowledge him in any way, he turned his eyes back down to the ground again. Finally, Edward turned to him, just as he lifted his head again to dare to glance at the younger officer. For the first time, Warrant Officer Lewis had eye-contact with the younger boy. The golden eyes were haunting, a shadow lingering in the back, as though the boy had a soul that was infinitely older than the body that he was shoved in. He could feel the golden amber of his eyes enveloping him, until he could see a reflection of himself within those haunted orbs.
He turned away, ashamed, and immediately, he felt the contact break. And words gushed out of him as though a dam had been broken by the will of the river it had held at bay.
"Fatalities so far are Sergeant Aylesworth, Master Sergeant Garson, Corporal Fillmore, Corporal Ilsley, and Sergeant Davis." It all came out in a rush, and he didn't, or couldn't stop for breath. Even without looking at Edward, he knew that the younger boy's eyes were upon him, pleadingly, as though wishing that he would stop, that it wasn't happening. That everything was alright.
"Corporal Taft is severely injured, although for the time being he is still with us. Master Sergeant Turner is missing in action, presumed dead. Sergeant Guthrie suffered a bullet to his side and shoulder, although he is expected to fully recover fairly soon…" Lewis paused to take a breath, and finally, he lifted his eyes up to give a sympathetic glance to the boy..
"I'm sorry…sir…"
Behind those haunted eyes, Edward's head was reeling. Eighty percent casualties. How could this have happened? Yes, his mind had rationalised it out that war was capable of taking any life it wanted in a split second, yet he was still struggling to accept this now, despite what he had done on the battlefield. Every one of these men had been alive and well, loved others, and were loved by others,(Love this part of the Poem Flander's Fields!), talking and laughing, living, feeling, breathing only hours ago. It had only been three hours ago that the scattered Amestrian camp had managed to drive back the Drachmans and regroup in case of another comeback. It had been barely seven or eight hours ago that they had been freely, cheerfully conversing on lighthearted topics. Yet again, life had pulled the rug out from under his feet.
His eyes took in the officer before, the sympathetic glance, and the fidgeting, which he knew he was the main reason behind all of the officer's gestures. Sudden anger welled up within him, and he shook with inner rage, in which the officer took a hesitant step back, before lowering his head, his eyes downcast. He didn't ask for any of this! He didn't want to know any of this. He wasn't a part of this! What did he ever do to have to have the casualty list flung at him like that, all the while knowing very well that he could do nothing about those casualties. That they were his fault!
His shaking subsided as his train of thought ended, and his rage was brushed away by the immense fatigue that he felt.
Edward shook his head lightly. No time for this now, he still had to deal with Al after. Oddly enough, he hadn't seen him since he had been back. Odd, since Al wasn't the type to disappear unless there was a cat around.
Standing up, he tried to reassure his subordinate. His eyes flitted towards the officer kindly, and he reached a hand to pat the officer on the shoulder.
"For what? There's nothing to be sorry for." A bitter smile, "Death is just another fact of life, isn't it?" A sigh, "Everyone dies eventually, it just so happened that for some, this part of the cycle, the greater flow of the universe came early, right?"
Then, nothing.
There was a stunned silence between the two men, before Edward smiled sadly, dipped a dreary salut, and walked away, his back straight and his walking carefree, as though nothing had happened.
Both Lewis and Cotler were filled with a new respect for their much younger commanding officer, if only for the way he was coming to terms with the dark side of war when many, themselves included, who were much older, and ostensibly should be able to accept this easier. The nodded to each other, as though sharing the same thought, and dipped a salut at their commander's back, before going off on their own to reflect upon what Edward had said.
Once he was out of sight, though, Edward walked slouched over, gloved hands in his pockets as he navigated the long distance to Mustang's post. He sighed, then a smile touched his lips, a bitter and angry smile. It wasn't that he was mature, or that he had come to terms with war that had made him say what he had said. It was simply what his teacher had said to him and Al…If he were that mature, he would have heeded them.
Speaking of which, he bumped into, literally, the person in question. Amid hurried apologies and expressions of concern, Edward picked himself off the ground as he dusted the snow off of his jacket. Al was standing there looking quite abashed and embarrassed for a suit of armour. Before Al could go on one of his apologizing tirades, Edward hushed him quickly.
"Don't worry Al, I'm not hurt!" he exclaimed, rather sharply, but not unkindly.
Al blushed, or would have. "Sorry, brother. Umm, I moved our things…should we go?" Strangely, Al seemed to avoid meeting Ed's eyes.
"Al? What's wrong?" Ed may not have been the most sensitive person, but to his brother's needs, every nerve was finely attuned. What had happened to make his little brother this distressed? For Al had started fidgeting again, the sharp sounds of his metallic fingers rubbing against each other hurt his ears, and all sadness forgotten, he rubbed his ears gingerly.
Al was flustered. "Ah! Nothing! Why don't we go?" he stammered. Something was wrong with Al. That was for sure. His little brother never stammered unless something was bothering him.
Edward sighed. He would get it out of him later. Besides, maybe it would be better for now if he didn't press the issue, as he did have his own secrets he would prefer to keep for now. No need to worry his brother even more. Well, might as well go with Al for now.
"Well…I was going to go see the Colonel, but I can do that later," Ed said, feeling in part relieved because maybe some time away from the depressing report he had just received would do him some good. "Let's go."
He had said that he wouldn't press the point further, but he couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that what was bothering Al was him. At least from the way Al avoided him, avoided eye contact, and an aura of nervousness hung around him, threatening to engulf both Al and himself.
- - -
They had spent some time together, although talk had been scarce. The air between them had been tense with unspoken questions and unanswerable replies. Edward had acted as nonplussed as possible, considering the circumstances, attempting to make light talk. Wisely, Alphonse avoided the one subject that was on his mind. He had, instead, puttered around like a mother hen, nagging at Edward about his clothes, and how he was looking unwell despite their so far brief spell in this hellhole. The parted ways after a few minutes, Edward bidding his brother a farewell after explaining to him that he had to report to the bastard Colonel, and with a nod of understanding, Al waved, before walking off, his armoured body clanking with each step.
Away from his brother, Edward settled into a much darker mood, as what he needed to do weighed heavily on his mind. He knew that he would have to report to the Colonel eventually, but he had no wish to do so, and would much rather put it off as long as possible. Glancing up, he noticed that he was in front of said person's location, and ducked inside.
Might as well get this over with.
Mustang was seated in front of a makeshift desk, papers scattered all over, as he noted down line after line on a cluttered sheet. Hearing the rustle at the entrance, Mustang looked up and was mildly surprised to see Fullmetal standing there. He would have thought that Edward would have sent someone else over with the report, but then again, that would have been extremely unlike him to hide behind adults and not do what he could do himself.
Edward pulled off a sloppy salute before handing a single sheet of paper over. He turned, as though ready to leave when Roy stopped him with a cough. He turned around, exasperation and weariness reflected in his golden eyes.
"What d'ya want?"
"Do you have something to say, Fullmetal?" Mustang asked the boy, a hint of a smirk in his voice. "An oral report would be nice." He wondered why he was doing this, knowing it was probably better if he simply dismissed the child, but force of habit carried through. A last scrap of the familiar.
Angrily glancing up, Edward began what sounded like half a rant, half an angry tirade. "Dammit. Can't you just read the damn report?" Taking a breath, he let fly with his words. "Eighty percent casualties. Sixty percent fatalities; Sergeant Aylesworth, Corporal Fillmore, Master Sergeant Garson, Corporal Ilsley, Sergeant Davis, Sergeant Guthrie. One missing in action, presumed dead; Master Sergeant Turner. Private Cotler and Warrant Officer Lewis suffer from minor, non-critical injuries."
By the end of his little tirade, tears leaked down from his eyes. He wiped at them with a gloved hand, annoyed that they wouldn't stop leaking out from the corners of his eyes, blurring his view of the colonel.
He stopped, as his head dropped, eyes downcast.
"Why? Is there a point to this?" His voice carried desperation, as he looked down at his own hands, which had, until recently, been still covered in the blood of men he had killed.
Mustang, however, did not reply, or rather, did not really hear. Instead, his face had visibly paled, as he fiddled with some numbers on a spare sheet. This brought casualties in his unit alone to ninety percent, fatalities to fifty two percent—some of the highest numbers yet in this damned war. It probably had to do with the amount of new recruits, or younger soldiers under his charge who had never seen the face of war. At least he could be thankful that he hadn't lost any of his friends and close comrades. Especially Fullmetal. If he had lost Fullmetal…
Clearing his head of any such thoughts, he gathered together a sheaf of papers that held lists of names, as well as their identification numbers. At the top of one list, one caught his eye, causing him to snort in amusement and disdain. Fillen Radon, Heavy Art Alchemist indeed. Still though, it did give rise to an interesting thought that Fullmetal might, or rather, would, find worthy of notice…It could wait for later, though, although it might be something to brighten up the child's day. Still, there were other things to be done first.
"Fuery!" At the sound of his name, the Sergeant instantly scurried over from the corner in the back where he had been working on a report to be sent out.
"Yes sir?"
Mustang handed the pile over to his subordinate. "To communications, Fuery. Colonel Mustang's unit."
Fuery grabbed the sheaf and tucked it under his left arm while snapping a salute. "Yes sir!"
Edward, meanwhile, was standing momentarily forgotten to the side, looking for all the world like a scared child. This surprised the Colonel mildly, but he didn't reflect upon it as he grabbed his heavy coat and ordered Edward to follow.
The boy, slightly startled at the sound of his name, obliged, albeit slowly. He scuffed his shoes in the snow as he lagged behind, keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him. The snow skittered in response to his movements, mud-stained clumps hopping ahead in front of him. Here and there, mixed in with the brown, small patches of dark red could be seen, evidence of the many wounded who had been brought along these pathways. And the dead was the unacknowledged thought that he fought to keep hidden in the depths of his sub-consciousness.
Mustang wondered idly why he could no longer hear the sound of snow being kicked up behind him, as his head half turned and he allowed a small smile of amusement. Pasting that almost permanent smirk on to his face, he made a small comment. "What's wrong, Fullmetal? Are your legs too short to keep up?"
Edward snapped. "WHO'S SO SMALL THAT WHEN THEY WALK THEY LOOK LIKE A TWO YEAR OLD CRAWLING?!?"
With good reason, any personnel in the nearby areas wisely changed their course to avoid the screaming Major, although there would be much discussion later, in private, over the short officer.
Mustang's smirk only grew wider. "Well, then, hurry up."
Huffing angrily, Edward stalked forward past Mustang, before he stopped when he realised that he had no idea where they were going. Mustang quickly covered the distance between them, and this time, Ed kept up.
"What is it that you want to talk about anyways?" he asked, annoyed.
Mustang sighed. "Something that may be of interest. And something that should be discussed in private." A hint of exhaustion wove its way into his words, the barest suggestion that the older man was feeling the effects of bone-wearying battle again.
Silence fell between them, neither knowing quite what to say, for the remainder of the walk.
- - -
If the brass had anything in mind like they had had last time as the confrontations neared the end, the quick annihilation of the enemy, there was a good chance that they would have employed similar techniques. So far, it seemed true. They had already taken the first step with the immediate deployment of the State Alchemists, a sign that the Fuhrer had every intention to crush this before it even started, which lead the to the interesting possibility that he would go further, and reemploy the use of their 'secret weapon'. The Philosopher's Stone. Of course, in Ishbal, it had still been under development, and it had been an incomplete stone that had been given to Kimbley. Which meant that it was very likely that they had advanced its development as well as its use in warfare, creating a far more advanced Stone. And if the Fuhrer was really as committed as he seemed to ending this soon, the Stone would be re-issued. The question was, who would get one?
- - -
Mustang abruptly stopped, before turning into one of the many tents, causing Edward to first nearly crash into the Colonel's back, and then stumble over his feet trying not to fall from the sudden turn of direction as he followed the man inside. "Dammit," he grumbled, annoyance plain in his voice. "Will you stop doing that you—"
"Fullmetal. What we say here goes no further than you and Al, although the warning's probably unnecessary…"
Roy gestured for the boy to take a seat on the ground, doing the same himself. "In Ishbal," here, the man's voice faltered, unwillingly remembering the results of what had happened. "In Ishbal, the Fuhrer ordered for the development of a Philosopher's Stone. It was given to Crimson Alchemist Kimbley to test out. Dr. Marcoh, a State Alchemist, was in charge of it." He held up a hand in warning to stall the boy's likely tirade. "I didn't mention it before because first of all, it had eluded my memory. Second, because Dr. Marcoh disappeared soon after. And third, Kimbley is currently incarcerated in Central Prison."
Edward growled, wondering why the hell the bastard was telling him now of all times, as realisation dawned. "A Stone, here?"
Roy nodded. "Chances are likely. However, no indication of them being issued has been noticed, and I most certainly have not witnessed any signs that they are in use." Yet.
Ed growled again, this time more in frustration than annoyance. "Dammit. And if a boy were to suddenly turn up in the middle of this…"
Mustang inclined his head imperceptibly, acknowledging the truth of Edward's comment.
"Yes."
From the shadows of the back of the tent which Edward hadn't noticed, Iris sat bolt upright, eyes widened in shock and horror, the image of what Sora kept in her heart etched on her face. She could still remember that night, stormy and windy, when her friend had choked out what she knew, and what was to be expected in respect to it and the future. "No way…Your, no, our, government made Stones?"
…Followed moments later by "Ow! What was that for, Sora?" Edward noticed belatedly that the other lieutenant was indeed there as well, sitting in a chair none too far away, hand still upraised after having smacked the former across the top of her head. Probably for sitting up while she was supposedly injured.
Edward flicked his eyes over to the 2nd lieutenant, curious as to where she was going with this. "From what he said," referring to Mustang, "I'm assuming so."
"Human lives. That's what they draw their power from. No, are made from." Sora half turned to face them, a passive expression pasted on her face as always. Perhaps only Iris noticed the haunted, guilt-laden, shadows in her eyes, the ones that threatened to one day engulf her friend.
The woman didn't elaborate, only turned to face the bed at the very back again, her back towards the two alchemists.
"Don't enquire into it further. It might be dangerous."
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Other than that...How fast future chapters get updated depend on the craziness of the summative period, and how crazy the poor beta's life is going to be. Which actually shouldn't be too bad...I think...unless the ciriculum has had a major overhaul...
Anyways, thanks goes to HughesHanajimaHIlariaHypocrite, Shewhohatescake, shinigami109, it's-not-amoose323, kwangmablade, Cold-Foxx, Kate Anne Nirvana, Kitty Kat, NoZoMi17, and Merkitten for reviews. Much :heart: to all of you!