Flowers of Antimony

by Lady Norbert

A/N: And now, for those of you who have been worrying about our dear little communications specialist, here's what happened to him. I'm even finally going to tell you who Ed phoned earlier.

Also, please do check out my blog (a link is in my FFN profile) to see different ways you can help with the Japanese earthquake relief effort. Some of them are easier than you'd expect. If you already saw the first post from March 14th, be sure to pop over and see the second post with additional information.


Chapter Twelve: Spirit of Hartshorn

Spirit of Hartshorn: A strong solution of ammonia produced by the distillation of hartshorn.


Master Sergeant Kain Fuery never thought he would say this, but in a way, he's actually grateful to Fuhrer King Bradley for sending him to the southern front.

He had realized very quickly that his line to Central Command had been disconnected in one way or another just as the horde of motley soldiers started pouring into the city. The survival instincts he had acquired in the south came in handy as he dove for some kind of cover, and tried to watch the situation to get an idea of what was happening. He was unarmed, so attempting to help the people was not much of an option, but at the same time it didn't seem to him that the attackers were altogether keen on killing anyone. Hurting, maybe, and scaring, definitely, but he deduced that mass murder was not on their to-do list because the carnage was nowhere near as serious as he would have expected. The chaos, on the other hand, was overwhelming.

Being the youngest and smallest of Mustang's hand-selected elite has never been an asset, to Fuery's way of thinking. But he's very intelligent, and as the second night of occupation is closing in with the approaching dusk, he's still working on the plan he set for himself more than a day ago: get to Central Command, preferably without being shot, and learn as much as possible about the situation along the way.

His first effort, though tactically good, ended in failure. Using a garbage bin for cover, he had pried up a manhole and climbed down into the sewer. A decent sense of direction had brought him beneath Central Command after a few hours of walking, but he had been thwarted there by tight seals - possibly alchemical in origin, though he couldn't be sure. Exhausted, he managed to ignore the stench and fall asleep for a little while.

He awoke after nightfall, and returned to the surface in time to overhear a conversation between two of the insurgents. Again, he's grateful for his transfer; the strangers were speaking Aerugonian, and although he's not fluent by a long shot, he picked up a working knowledge of the language during his time at the front. Listening from the shadows, he pieced together enough of their conversation to understand that all lines of communication out of Central City have been cut.

Throughout the ensuing day, Central took on the appearance of a ghost town. No one dared to leave their homes, or offices, or stores, or wherever they found to hide themselves from the strange enemy. Fuery kept to the shadows as much as possible, trying to remember every trick of secrecy he'd ever managed to learn from Hawkeye and Havoc.

Now, as the sun dips low to the horizon, he's exhausted and dizzy with hunger. He needs to connect the communication lines, or they have no hope of getting any sort of outside help, but to do that he really needs to get inside Central Command. And he can see, from his vantage point, that he's not about to just walk up to the front door. Not with that many guards standing in front.

There is, however, another way in. It's just secret enough, just small enough, that the guards might have overlooked it. Very few people in the Amestrian military would be able to make use of it; the only people Fuery's ever been sure could make use of it are himself and Fullmetal, and since Fullmetal's growth spurt he thinks he might be the only one. If he can just get to it, he's got a chance.

Central Command no longer uses coal for heat, not since the advent of electricity. But years ago, back when his grandfather was a corporal, one of his duties was to arrange for monthly coal deliveries. When Kain was a boy, Grandpa Fuery took him around the building and showed him, among other things, the funny flap door through which it would be dumped into the basement.

It's a long shot at best, but it's time for a Fuery to schedule one more delivery.


It's a difficult crawl.

He's got to stay low to the ground, hide in the shadows created by the twilight that's beginning to dust the sky. Slow movements, don't catch their eyes. His shirt is torn and the ground and cobblestone and whatever else he's crawling over rubs painfully against his torso. He undulates, snakelike, through no man's land.

He can see the coal hole. He waits, watching. The guards move in a sort of formation, and he starts counting off their paces. There comes a gap of exactly nineteen seconds when no one is on the same side of the building as the opening. It's so low to the ground, and so small, that they don't appear to have given it any thought. Fuery gulps, because it's smaller than he remembers and he's not sure now that he's going to fit.

He has to try. He's only a pawn, but even pawns can become something fierce if they have the guts to cross the board.

Shadows are lengthening, and he creeps closer. The patrolmen map out their steps, staccato, precise. The nineteen seconds come and give him the chance to dart closer still. He flattens himself when the nineteen are up and waits.

Step. Step. He half wonders if there's significance to the rhythm.

They're reaching the ends of the building.

They're turning.

Now.

He bolts, gunning for the hole for all he's worth (fifteen seconds) and shoving open the old worn flap (ten seconds) and wiggling wiggling he's got to get inside (four seconds) and then a rush of air and a thump and ow and a scattering of old stones.

He's in.


Fuery sits in the dark basement for several minutes, regaining his breath and calming his thudding heart and enjoying being alive. What's better, now that he is inside, he can relax. As far as he can tell, the enemy has not penetrated Central Command, so he can quit skulking around like some kind of deranged fugitive.

He climbs the basement stairs and, cautiously, pushes open the door.

Immediately he's looking down the barrels of no less than six rifles. He gulps, and raises his hands.

"I'm unarmed..."

"Who the hell-"

But the unfamiliar voice is summarily cut off by one he knows all too well, and he almost faints from relief when one of the men pulls off a mask. "Fuery? Where the hell have you been, kid? We've been going nuts!"

"Hi, Havoc."

"At ease, men, he's one of ours." With a measured clack the guns are retracted. "How'd you get in here, anyway?"

Fuery explains, briefly. He adds the intel he's collected (such as it is) about the communications being severed. "I think I can fix it, or at least I can try."

"You're the best chance we've got," Havoc agrees, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "But first things first - let's go let the others know you're all right. Damn, you're filthy."

"Think I could get a fresh shirt? And maybe some bandages for my stomach?"


The reunion with Falman and Breda is brief, but it makes them all feel better.

"You said they were speaking Aerugonian?" Falman asks. Ross is there and she's cleaning Fuery's crawl-induced wounds, and he's blushing horribly at being shirtless around the older woman but he does have the presence of mind to nod.

"That fits with the account Emperor Ling gave of at least some of them looking Aerugonian," Breda confirms. "I'll go let the Fuhrer know; you see what you can do about the phone lines, okay?"

"Aye, sir."

"Oh, please."

It's actually not too hard for Fuery to figure out how to repair the situation, although it does require some fresh cable and a bit of crawling around in uncomfortable places. After almost an hour's work, he's got one single phone line established for the entire building.

Oddly, almost as soon as it's connected, the phone starts to ring. They all stare at it, as though they've forgotten what they're supposed to do, and then Fuery recollects himself and answers it. "C-Central Command?"

Everyone around him is listening intently, watching him. He listens to the voice on the other end, brow furrowed in some consternation. "I can barely hear you. Hang on." He tightens a few things, wiggles a few connections. "That's a little better. This is Master Sergeant Kain Fuery; who is this?" He listens again, and his face takes on an almost comical expression of wonder. "Fullmetal?"

Havoc apparently can't suppress a laugh at that. "Kid's got a hell of a piece of timing, doesn't he?"

"What?" Fuery is asking. "Who?... Sheska?" He pulls the phone away from his mouth and turns to the others. "He wants to talk to somebody named Sheska. Says she was Brigadier General Hughes' assistant."

"Sure, I remember her," says Falman. "She has a rare gift for perfect recall of anything she's ever read. I'll go get her."

"Falman's gone to get her," Fuery reports. "What?... How long?... Yeah, sorry about that, the phone lines were all severed. It's been a stroke of luck that we could even reconnect this one... What?... Oh, I don't know, hang on." He looks at Havoc. "He says he's been trying to get through for at least an hour. You don't know where Alphonse is, do you?"

"Last I checked, he was in the Crisis Room with the Fuhrer. Tell Edward he's okay."

Fuery relays the information, and can only imagine the relief that must be flooding through Ed when he hears it. "Okay, here comes Fal...man. Uh. Right." He's never seen Sheska until this moment, and well, she's young and awfully pretty, so it's a bit dimly and awkwardly that he hands the receiver over to her.

She looks puzzled at having been summoned, but accepts the phone with a thank you and listens to the voice on the other end. "Hi, Edward... Hm? A hot air balloon? Let me think... Yes, I do remember reading about them! You...what? What for?... Oh, really? All right. You'll need a basket - something lightweight but sturdy. Wicker is what they usually use. And you'll need some material to form the envelope, like sheets of nylon. They have to be big and strong enough to hold the basket..." She continues describing, in meticulous detail, the exact process needed to make a hot air balloon. Fuery can't help feeling very impressed at her wealth of knowledge on the subject, and idly wonders what else she knows.

"Okay, you're welcome. Be careful, all right?" Sheska hands the receiver back to Fuery, but Ed's already hung up so he places it back in the cradle. "He wanted to know how to make a hot air balloon."

"...why?"

"I don't really know. He wasn't making much sense. Something about 'flying with a hawk,' and when I mentioned the heat source a balloon requires, he said I shouldn't worry about that because it's about time the lazy bum started pulling his own weight on the board."

To Sheska's evident alarm, all three of the men burst out laughing. "Does...does that mean something to you?" she asks hesitantly.

"Oh, yes," says Fuery.

"It means help is on the way," Falman explains.

Havoc grins, and rubs the back of his neck. "Anybody want to run outside and tell those losers that they might as well give up now?"