December 21st, 1963

Hi Alyse,

Yes I remember you can cook. Though I think you told me that years ago. I've never had your cooking though. I'm not sure what to say my favorite food would be. I'm an alchemist and a guy, so I'll eat anything that tastes good. I guess it would have to be these blackberry tarts my mother used to make when I was a kid. I don't remember anything ever tasting so good.

On that note, yes the food is pretty pathetic up where we are. They're out of most anything that counts as a luxury and still only shipping us the bare necessities.

Congratulations to Will and his wife. I bet he's going nuts being away from home now. I'm glad you're having a good time helping out. It sounds like your niece really likes you. Not that I'm surprised. You're fun and easy to get along with. I bet most kids like you.

I'm staying as warm as I can. Tore and I hunted down a transmutation that warms air and have been using it inside our tent. It takes the air a couple of hours to cool down again, but by then we're usually warm and asleep.

Oh, some good news. Cretan soldiers arrived here last night to reinforce us up here. It's nice to know we still have allies and that actually means something.

Take care,

Cal


December 22nd, 1963

The arrival of the Cretan soldiers had two immediate effects. On the part of the Amestrians, it was an immediate bolster to morale and confidence. Not only did they have huge reinforcements, but they knew now for sure that Creta had not abandoned them. On the side of the Drachmans, intelligence reports immediately started bringing in a sense of urgency on the part of the enemy. It would only be a matter of time before the Drachmans retaliated. Edward was only a little surprised when the Drachmans chose to make another full out attack against the Amestrians barely two days after the Cretans' arrival, probably hoping to catch everyone off guard before they had a chance to get in position and work up strategy. It wasn't an unsound theory, except for one problem on the part of the Drachmans; the Cretans had come prepared to fight as soon as they stepped out of the trucks.

The Drachmans attacked before dawn. It was a surprisingly still morning, with little wind, but flurries falling slowly. It would have been peaceful if not for the gunshots that broke the silence. It was barely light enough to see; the sunrise obscured by thick gray clouds. At first, Ed saw no signs of the alchemists as he hunkered down just behind the front lines with the rest of his unit. They had expected an alchemical attack first; more of the chimeras maybe. The huge bear-wolves were enough to terrify most soldiers and send them running, since shooting them did almost no good unless a man was lucky enough to hit it in the eyes, nose, or the right spot in the throat. No easy shots would fell them.

The general volleys of shooting went on for the first half an hour without anything unusual, aside from the fact that the Amestrians were well supplied and reinforced. They finally matched the Drachmans in numbers. Ed remained at the alert, though it was tempting to lean back against the wall behind him and rest.

"We may not see much action today," Torv chuckled, doing just that. "You'd think they would make more of an effort."

The radio at Ed's hip crackled to life. "Command to Fullmetal Alchemist," was barely understandable.

Ed picked it up. "Fullmetal here, over."

"New orders," the voice crackled again. "We're making a press today. Breda wants to make an example of them out here. Alchemists will make another rush when the front line charges with the shields." Another relatively recent development; light-weight shields reminiscent of old knight's shields, only alchemically strengthened and designed to bounce incoming fire. "We're closing the distance and making this a point-blank fight."

Rendering the Drachmans firepower useless; Ed liked that idea. "Roger, Command. We'll be ready." He looked up at his unit. "You all heard that?"

The others nodded. "Should be interesting," Fletcher commented, looking a little nervous. Ed knew he didn't like getting in close and personal in the killing zones.

"We'll show them they're out classed and out gunned," Ed replied reassuringly. "Besides, with the shield wall, this should be a rout when they have to deal with us head-on instead of from the trenches." At least, that was what he hoped. He trusted Breda when it came to strategy, but without those shields charging against the Drachman line would have been suicide for far too many people.

A shouting roar and a charge of men up out of the trenches with shields forming a barricade a hundred yards long was their cue. "All right," Ed leapt up. "Let's go! Stay close, but don't make yourselves multiple targets." Once more he was grateful that the alchemists were wearing uniforms that blended in with everyone else's. Until he started transmuting, a State Alchemist could be just about any officer.

As he went over the lip of the trench with the rest of the alchemists spread out around him, Ed was also glad that he had chosen not to wear his full rank on his sleeves into this particular campaign! General he might be – retired or otherwise - but out here those stars just screamed target.

Tore and Cal had their act down to an art. Tore couldn't help grinning as he watched the Whitewater Alchemist turn a twenty yard square area of snow under the feet of the charging Drachmans into a slick of water on ice that sent them slipping as Tore dropped to the ground, sending jolts of electricity dancing across the water in dramatic arcs. He probably could have made it so they weren't visible, but the effect was as unnerving on the soldiers around them who weren't attacked as the shock hitting the ones who were. Most went down unconscious or dead, though several fell flopping and crying out; sturdier than the others, Tore supposed.

Run down twenty yards and do it again. Then repeat. They had done this four times already along their side of the line, and Tore was pretty sure by themselves they had killed or wounded at least eighty Drachman soldiers. They had bayonets on their rifles, but what good were they if they never managed to reach the enemy? Drachmans fought in the snow and ice, but now the weather was turned against them. Tore found the irony grimly humorous.

He had expected to be bothered more by the up-close-and-personal combat. It was strange for Tore to find it exhilarating, and almost a relief. They were alchemists, fighting exactly the way he had been trained. He would not have hesitated to shoot with a gun if someone tried to shook him first, so there was no reason to hesitate to kill the Drachman soldiers charging in after not only him, but so many of his comrades in arms.

"One more run!" Cal called out as he came to a sudden stop and dropped again. Tore did the same, still behind the advancing Amestrian and Cretan shield-wall. An ingenious idea really despite how old fashioned it seemed. The alchemical enhancements made it work.

Tore followed, right on schedule sending the electricity out, pulling it from the energy around him and in front of the line Drachmans twitched, screamed, and dropped. Maybe a handful managed to slam against the wall. "This is almost too easy," he snickered as he and Tore turned to head back down the line, keeping low to avoid any friendly fire. The Amestrians had slightly higher ground here, and they could shoot over the shield-wall into the Drachmans. Though he knew that would stop as soon as the wall broke. Which looked like it would happen any minute.

"When we can't hit our own, it's going to get harder," Cal pointed out as they ducked behind a low rise to breathe. "We'll all be intermixed soon."

Tore nodded, gulping the cold air into his lungs. It already felt like they had been awake for hours, despite how early in the day it still was; running, dodging, transmuting. It was going to be a long day.

There was something exceedingly satisfying about the feel of metal on metal as his arm blade slammed into, then broke, the bayonets on the Drachman rifles. In hand-to-hand they were all right, but the Amestrians – especially the alchemists – were better!

When the wall broke and the two sides came together, Ed understood the exhilaration of ancient warfare. It was no longer about just who could shoot from a distance. It was personal, it was up-front, and it was about the skills he enjoyed using most!

The Drachman in front of him stared as Ed sheared his rifle completely in half before he grabbed the guy's uniform, spun him around, and sent him flying into three more soldiers. There was no way they could maintain a line with the chaos the alchemists and other soldiers were causing. Ed pushed deep into the fray; where he was unlikely to miss and hurt any of the Amestrians.

::This is what you get for coming where you don't belong!:: Ed shouted in Drachman as he ran the next guy through. The Drachmans seemed consistently surprised to hear someone shouting in their own language. Ed had made sure to teach the alchemists with the front a few choice phrases in Drachman. It was something to do on cold nights as well as useful. You may surrender. I would like to speak to your superior officer. Stop. Your mother is a polar bear. All sorts of useful phrases. They seemed to enjoy the insults most.

The next Drachman blinked, a fatal pause as Ed's elbow slammed into the side of his head and his rifle felt to the ground, where Ed crushed it with a quick alchemical jolt and came back up, swinging it like a club into the face of the next man who rushed at him. ::Nothing personal,:: Ed snarked as he kept moving, throwing himself fully into combat. There was nothing but the fight; strategy, action, and the conclusion of one move as he flowed smoothly into the next. Drachmans would die, but none of them seemed to touch him. He was too fast, and he kept catching them off guard. They couldn't deal with the flips and moves of a younger man when his face declared him old enough to be most of their fathers, possibly grandfathers if they were bad guessers.

The ground below Ed's feet rumbled violently, and the only thing that kept Ed from being tossed to the ground was his own sure-footedness. He leaped, rolled, and came up in a break in the chaos, looking around sharply. Earthquakes were uncommon up here, so he was unsurprised to see the Earthshaker Alchemist, Torv Skald, in his element. His ability to reshape the landscape was proving useful as Drachmans tumbled, fell, and were tossed casually off in a variety of directions by the simple movement of the ground itself. Ed suspected that back closer to the primary line, it wasn't nearly this bad. He saw a knot of Drachmans closing on Torv and headed in that direction to give him some back up. "Nice work!" He complimented the alchemy as he dropped into step beside the taller, thicker-built man.

"Lots of good ground to work with," Torv grinned. "There's a couple of splits just ahead. I think I can dump half their reserves into a twenty-foot ditch if I can get there."

"Then let's get there," Ed grinned back wickedly.

It was like mowing the lawn. With Ed's earthen spikes and the shaking ground, the Drachmans around them fell back almost too easily. This really was going to turn into a rout! "Where's the spot you need to be?"

"Right about, here," Torv stopped a few seconds later. "All right," he grinned. "Here we go!" He concentrated, dropped to the ground where the stone was not covered in snow, and began to draw a transmutation circle. This particular work required more variation than some others. Ed stood watch. The fighting seemed to have moved away from them for the moment. He hoped it was long enough.

Something in the air caught his eye at the same moment as Ed's instincts made him duck to avoid the first round of bullets he'd run into in nearly half an hour. Something bright against the sky that made him wish he'd worn the glasses he used at home for driving. It was a shining blur that seemed to be streaking towards them.
In less than a second the world changed. "Look out!" Ed barely had time to shout before the flaming projectile clarified itself into what looked like a spear of metal but burning with bright orange-white flame. Then one landed less than three yards to the left with a sharp thock as it stuck into the ground.

Another arched upward, then two, three, ten. Oh shit! "Let's go!" Ed spun to Torv as the next spear slammed to the earth--

-- right through the other alchemist's chest!

Torv's eyes bugged wide as his mouth fell open, emitting nothing more than a startled gurgle as he slid down the flaming stick to the ground.

Dead on impact. Torv had come out of the same State Alchemist class as Sara and Fischer. Ed shook himself, and turned to run. The whistling of the flaming spears echoed all around his ears as another struck to his left, and then one more to his right. This was what the Drachman alchemists had been cooking up!

Instincts took over, and Ed could not remember moving so fast or with such precision as he ducked, dodged, and turned occasionally to shoot one of the things out of the sky with a well placed attack. Then he turned and ran again, slipping and sliding on the ground as he pressed back into the fray. There was the line. There was Amestris. Soldiers he recognized, though the chaos increased as the flames caught on uniforms and soldiers fell to the ground to roll them out, or died where they stood.

His sides were aching and Ed tripped, scrambled to his feet, and kept moving. Where the hell did they get something like this? It was of caliber with what he would have expected from a State Alchemist, only deadlier. They weren't shooting this out of any canon or tank. They were definitely alchemist made. Or several alchemists. Like before. Each one is good for a shot, maybe too. If we can just outla-

Searing agony shot past him again and as he dodged Ed felt a painful wrenching as his left leg collapsed out from under him and he fell, slamming face first into the ground. His mouth filled with dirt and ice, momentarily dizzy, his nose throbbing from impact. His port felt like it had been nearly wrenched from his body! A wave of nausea stalled him as Ed vomited up the last remains of breakfast onto the frozen ground even as he struggled to get up, and found he could barely drag himself forward. Glancing back over his shoulder he saw why.

One of the projectiles had nailed him perfectly in the auto-mail leg and completely ripped the prosthetic from his body! The port was still attached, but it felt like it was burning. All around him he could see legs and feet pounding past, apparently ignoring men who were down. Oh shit. I wish I was dreaming this. He was down, injured, in the middle of combat. Winry is going to kill me.

If the Drachmans didn't first. Ed kept dragging, trying to find something he could use as a crutch if he got to his feet. His vision swam when he tried to hold his head up for more than a few seconds. Miust have knocked it harder than I thought. He couldn't afford to pass out. If he did, he might as well roll over and die now!
It could be worse. It could have been my other leg. At which point he'd be pinned to the ground, screaming in agony, and if he survived, he'd be looking at another auto-mail surgery and limb.

Enough positive thinking. Living…focusing on getting out of here! A wandering mind was not a good thing right now either. Ed kept dragging. Drops of blood hit the snow and he realized his nose was bleeding. His face stung with what felt like scrapes too. The part that hurt most, other than his port, was a spot on his forehead that was starting to throb in the cold. It felt like it was bleeding badly too. Head wounds usually did. Just what I need.

The crowd around him was thickening, not growing more sparse, but in the chaos he heard thundering behind him. Either the Drachman alchemists had another volley going, or the Amestrians were fighting back. The air behind him was so thick with alchemical energy he could feel it from where he lay.

Ed's vision was going. White edged turned to black. He pulled himself forward through the chaos with his eyes closed. He couldn't stop, but his energy was waning. If he had to pull off another transmutation he was going to be worthless.

There were hands on his shoulders. Ed heard voices but in the melee he barely understood them. He couldn't even tell if they were Amestrian or Drachman.

"-Fullmetal!" One word came through clear and Ed felt himself being hauled upward. Then he was leaning against someone in Amestrian uniform. That was all he could tell when he opened his eyes. That was enough. He let himself rest his weight on whoever it was. They recognized him, and it wasn't the enemy. The voice sounded familiar too… if only he could place it.

"Stay with me," the voice continued.

"Shit, look at all that blood," another voice commented. Ed felt something pressed against his forehead and another person under his other arm.

"You there?"

It took Ed a moment to realize he was being addressed directly. He didn't try to nod, but it occurred to him that he should respond. "Yeah."

That one word seemed to be enough for his rescuers. Ed stumbled along, barely conscious until they stopped moving. He had no idea how far they had come. Only that he had been practically carried, and the sounds of fighting were fading.

He was lowered horizontally again, only this time he found himself lying on something dry, solid canvas fabric. Then he was moving again. A stretcher, his mind supplied. That implied they were behind the lines. He was safe for now. His fighting instincts relaxed, and Ed slipped into blessed unconsciousness.

Tore refused to cringe as the doctor bound his arm with clean bandages. It was only a scratch, a stray shot that had grazed his upper arm on the outside, but it needed to be tended to. What he really wanted was a hot bath – unlikely – and a drink – even more unlikely out here. They had all been on the front so long that even hidden stashes in the tents had run dry. Or people weren't sharing what little they had left.

"That was something else," Cal commented. He was standing in the corner, hands in his pockets and looking as dirty, wet, and wrung-out as Tore felt. The flaming spears had been unexpected and devastating. Almost single-mindedly, every available alchemist had converged on the point from which the things were being 'launched.' He and Cal had been among them, and Tore had seen the alchemists launching death into the skies for himself. There had been four of them. Now, there was one, and he was a captive of the Amestrian military. That'll show them. They had descended upon the four en masse and had found them as near-useless facing close-combat alchemists as their predecessors, if more competent with their other skill.

"That's it," the doctor commented as he taped the bandage in place. "I'll give you clean bandages for it. You can bathe, but don't scrub the area for a few days, just change the wrappings."

"I know the drill," Tore promised as he stood up and pulled his uniform shirt and jacket back on over his tank top. "Thanks, Doc."

The man nodded, accepting the thanks with a simple nod. "Just don't show up in here bleeding again or with an infected wound, and we'll call it good."

"Right." Tore smiled briefly then turned to Cal. "Let's get out of here."

Cal followed him out. "You don't want to check on Fullmetal?" He sounded surprised.

Tore cringed. "Not right now. I heard one of the nurses comment that they aren't letting anyone in with him yet. I want to get cleaned up and eat first." He didn't feel like eating, not without much to look forward to, but his body was screaming for sustenance after the fighting. They stepped outside into the late-afternoon gloom. It was snowing again, lightly. "Got a spare smoke?" He'd had his last one that morning.

"Spare, no," Cal scoffed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack. "But you can have one anyway." He pulled out two, handing one over before lighting his own. "I'll be out in a couple of days."

Tore sighed. This was not something he could expect to see showing up on a supply truck; at least, not as an official supply from the government. Occasionally enterprising truck drivers picked up some on their own dime and sold them at a profit. Tore had to admit, it was a pretty smart bit of side business. "Thanks." He lit it and took a puff. "That was something else."

"Toughest fight we've had yet," Cal nodded. "Let's hope they don't have any more of those guys."

"I'm with you," Tore agreed. "I liked their one-trick idiots a lot better."

"Yeah," Cal snickered. "Too bad we wiped them all out."

"Just another minute," the doctor's voice came from down by Ed's leg port. Lying on the hospital bed in the surgery wing, Ed just wished the doc would hurry and get it over with. "This would be a lot easier if we could have used painkillers."

"Don't I know it," Ed grumbled through clenched teeth. Out here all they'd had available at the moment was the traditional stuff. He couldn't have that. He couldn't drink himself numb either. "Just keep…going. The original surgery didn't have painkillers either."

"Oh really?" Was it a bad thing when a doctor sounded surprised?

"Long time ago," Ed pointed out. He had already suffered through the examination of his nose, which had stopped bleeding and seemed to be fine, and the bandaging of the gash on his forehead above his left eye that, it turned out, had required four stitches to hold it closed.

"That's true." The doctor – he couldn't be more than thirty – just nodded matter-of-factly. Ed decided not to be insulted. "The good news is that the port seems completely intact and there isn't any major nerve damage, though the ends are going to be raw for a while."

Ed winced again as the doctor finished the protective bandaging job on his leg. Having the limb rather ripped out of its socket, he was lucky the nerves hadn't been damaged severely. "Let me know when I can pass out again."

"Later," the doctor quipped. "You had a nice little nap earlier."

Not that Ed would have called the rough half hour he had been unconscious while he was carried to the infirmary tent and laid out on a bed a nice little nap. "Well I wouldn't mind a nice little meal to go with it," he commented, focusing on anything other than the pain.

"Soon," the doctor promised as he stood up. "There that's finished." He came forward and Ed could see his face; tanned, with dark hair and a short goatee. "The leg should be fine for attaching new auto-mail, but we don't have a replacement here that will work with your port. I'm afraid we're going to have to ship you back to North City for a proper fitting and replacement."

"I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a death sentence, doc," Ed chuckled, trying not to move his leg. "Winry's going to kill me, having to completely replace that piece."

"Your mechanic." It wasn't a question.

"And my wife," Ed added. Somehow, there were still people who didn't put those two facts – and one woman – together.

The doctor's eyes lit up with understanding. "Ah, yeah. I can see how that might make this interesting. Well, we'll have you in a truck in the morning and on the train within three days. If anyone asks you're on leave by my orders until your leg is repaired and you're fit for combat."

Ed decided he liked this guy. "Sounds good to me." He closed his eyes and relaxed. The throbbing in his leg and head was less now that he wasn't being messed with and could hold still. It would take a couple of days to reach the train, and more to get to North City. With the same travel time back, plus the time it would take to replace the leg that was at least two and a half weeks of leave. Not that it would be all that relaxing, but it would be better than sleeping in his frigid tent and eating glop every meal. He opened his eyes briefly as he replied. "Maybe I'll finally get a chance to warm up."

"We'd all like that," the doctor replied with a slightly envious grin. "Take it easy while you can. I could list plenty of other grievances about your current state of health, but I suspect you already know what they are."

In other words, reasons why Ed really needed some rest, relaxation, and a few good meals. Ed could certainly list those off himself. The nagging cold that refused to go away; the nausea that came with his aching ports. "Yeah, I do." It wasn't worth arguing with a doctor about them either. Ed wouldn't admit it out loud, but it was a relief to have the excuse to get away from battle for a while. To go see Winry, even if she was probably going to thrash him for destroying one of her better pieces… again. He tried to write, but lately there hadn't been much time. Now, there wouldn't be time to get a letter off ahead of his coming anyway.

"Good," the doctor chuckled, wiping his hands on a towel. "I'm Doctor Ganns by the way."

"Well, you do good work," Ed complimented. "You ever worked with auto-mail before?"

Ganns shook his head. His thick, short-cropped dark hair ruffled slightly in the breeze made by the movement. "Never had the opportunity. A few of my patients have had auto-mail of course, but I've never had to do any kind of first aid with it before."

"Not bad for a first time then," Ed said. "I've certainly had rougher treatment." Better too, but then no one's hands compared to Winry when it came to handling auto-mail, or the person it was going onto. There was a reason she was a favorite engineer personally for a lot of people, not just for her designs.

"An unpleasant thought, considering," Ganns replied. "Get some rest. I'll go see about getting some food sent in. I expect, when you're up for it, there are a few folks who would like to check in on you, officially and otherwise. There've been at least four other alchemists who have stopped by to check on you already."

Nice to be liked. "Sure, that's fine. I'm sure the General will want a report from me even if I'm blearily incoherent."

"You want to fake it?" Ganns asked. "I can tell him you're on hallucinogenic painkillers or something."

"You willing to lie for a patient, doc?" Ed asked, fairly certain Ganns was actually joking.

"Depends," Ganns shrugged. "But no, not to a superior officer. Besides, I don't think you could act well in your current state."

Sadly, he was right. Ed nodded ever so slightly and closed his eyes again. "You're right. For now, just tell them I'm asleep and they can talk to me when I've rested and eaten." Maybe then he would feel a little more human again.

Ganns chortled. "That was my thought exactly."