Fullmetal locked himself in his office and didn't come out until it was almost time to go, leaving Havoc to hand them their actual orders. Riza skimmed through them, then sat down at her desk and underlined the more important bits. Roy took longer to thumb through his own.

It was wordy. He was starting to get used to that aspect of military paperwork, but it did sort of dull the idea of a promotion. Why become a Lieutenant Colonel if all it meant was reading more of these – because there was Fullmetal's large scrawled signature at the end of his orders, and on Riza's as well. And there was General Grumman's, and the Fuhrer's, and another general whose name he wasn't familiar with.

'Who's this?' he asked Havoc, who was smoking in the office again.

Havoc stared at the paper. 'Oh, that's the Major General at Western Command,' he said. 'While we're helping out with the border war, we're kind of under his jurisdiction.'

'Kind of?' Roy repeated.

'Alchemists essentially report direct to the Fuhrer,' Riza reminded. 'And since the rest of us fall under the direct command of an alchemist, if the Colonel orders us to do something against the Major General's orders, unless it's not in the best interests of the Military we're to follow the Colonel's orders.'

'On paper,' Havoc agreed. 'Reality's never that simple. Remember, Kimblee wiped out his team because they didn't obey him.'

Kimbee was going to turn into one of those Central folklore tales.

'And the Boss's not the kind who likes ordering people on a battlefield,' Havoc continued. 'He's read you the riot act. He's spoken to you from damn near the bottom of his heart. And now the rest is up to us: whether we follow his ideals, or the ideals of the general military.'

'I almost wonder if it's easier to be ordered,' Riza mused.

For an idealist, it was nice to have the freedom though. But things could be very different on the actual battlefield. Things were different on missions than thinking on the train ride there. Things were different when he'd been training under his alchemy Master, or dreaming even before that, in the little flat above Madame Christmas' bar. Or even after that, when he'd been in the top bunk of an eight bunk room and imagining all the things he could accomplish when he had his stripes.

So far, the only thing he'd ticked off was helping the general public, and that was more of an ongoing thing. He wanted to do his part in improving the country too, and improving his alchemy - and he supposed he was doing that as well, if only because he had a commander that liked to push him with his research, but he didn't seem to have accomplished much with his brand of alchemy, as it was. He found himself using basic alchemy more than his specialty of flames - and when he used his flames, it was often to startle someone or spar with them. Occasionally, he felt pity for people rubbing sticks together and snapped his fingers for them.

But where was the space for all that in a battlefield, he wondered?

There must be. The civilians caught in the crossfire. Doctors like the Rockbells that Fullmetal had told them about. But he still couldn't imagine it.

He supposed he didn't have much longer to wait.

.

He stared at his things. He'd packed the important things: clothes, rations, his gun and gloves (and a few spares of the gloves). But what else was he supposed to bring? How long would they be there for? How much time would they have - and what duties beyond being on the battlefield, either to save or to kill. Would he be needing his alchemic journals? Would he have time for a few drinks or a deck of cards?

In the end, he packed the cards and one blank journal. They didn't add much to the weight and the cards would be handy on the train trip, if nothing else.

Someone knocked on the door. 'I'm ready,' he called. 'Door's unlocked.'

Havoc poked his head around. 'Ride's here.'

The ride turned out to be Havoc, driving everyone. 'Military car,' he explained. 'Sorry it's a bit squashy.'

'It's not too squashy.' Roy had sat down, and counted the heads. Breda was on the front seat next to Havoc, and at the back was Falman, Feury, Ed and Riza - and now him. But it was one of the larger cars, so space for six. It was the luggage between them that created some discomfort with the leg room, but it wasn't unbearable. It was a short trip to the station anyway, and they got one of the military carriages this time round as well.

It was Roy's first time on one. Not Riza's, since she'd travelled with her grandfather a couple of times in her youth, and it didn't look like the rest of the team were strangers to it either. Fullmetal went straight for a window seat and closed his eyes. The others looked at him. 'You get travel-sick?'

'Uhh...no.' It seemed pretty late to be asking that to, considering all the travelling Fullmetal made him do.

'Mine then,' said Havoc with a shrug. 'Don't worry. I'll open the window when I need a smoke.'

'Make sure you do,' said Fullmetal without opening an eye.

'You're going to sleep already, Boss?'

'Yeah. Wake me up for dinner or whatever.'

And, just like that, they all fell more or less silent. Havoc and Breda chatted a bit about Havoc's last girlfriend, but the conversation confused Roy before long. What did General Grumman have to do with Havoc's inability to keep a girlfriend? Riza had taken out a newspaper and was reading, and Roy wished he'd brought a journal that wasn't blank after all. That's what he usually did on trains.

He pulled out the blank one and stared at it. What mini-projects did he have to work on anyway? Fire alchemy application was the main ongoing one, and his control but he couldn't exactly practice that in a train compartment.

He brainstormed on applications instead, starting from what he knew and going to things that would be beyond him for quite some time (and possibly unnecessary too). Some were good for nothing except weaponry. Others were just silly like giving a more aesthetic shape to the sparks, though his flamboyant aunt might appreciate the thought.

After a while, he noticed Havoc and Breda playing cards.

'Want to join in?' Breda asked. 'You don't cheat like Ed, right?'

Roy blinked. 'Sure,' i'll join.' So Fullmetal cheats on card games. That was amusing - provided he didn't do it in a parlour. Then again, he was acquainted with Clara. 'And I guess you'll just have to find out.'

Havoc laughed. 'The Boss keeps cards up his sleeves,' he explained. 'They're quite obvious.'

That was a pretty poor way to cheat at card games - and he should know.

Not that he necessarily planned to cheat. 'What are we playing for?'

'Nothing,' they said together. 'Not really the time to be laying bets,' Fuery added, leaning forward. 'Give me a hand too?'

They played a few rounds before Riza (and Falman) finally grew bored of her papers and joined them. Ed was still asleep, all the way until they decided to head out for dinner and Havoc kicked at his shin.

'Havoc!' Fullmetal yelled, jerking upright. 'I could have stuck you!'

'You haven't gotten anywhere near yet,' Havoc replied.

Roy wondered what that all meant.

.

The food was better than what Roy was used to on trains. He supposed it was a perk of military carts - that and the lack of civilians, which was both a blessing and the lack of disguise. There were no cute kids being distracting, no interesting conversation that may give him hints for his mission or distract him in other ways. In a way, that was all child's play and this was what it really meant to be a part of the military – or that was the message coming across. They were all ill at ease, despite the apparent calm.

It frightened Roy, in a sense. He still didn't know what to expect and this wasn't a place where he could pretend to be tough or smart and get away with it. This wasn't a place where his acting abilities would be put to the test – or bluffing abilities – but his morals and his heart, and twenty-four was awfully young to be knowing about things like that when he wasn't married or even seriously dating anyone…and was a new face on the battlefield as well.

'What's up?' Fullmetal asked suddenly, polishing off his plate. One of the rare times Roy caught his superior officer at a meal time, and that boy could eat.

'Creta.' Roy tried to shrug nonchalantly. 'I'm…not really sure what to expect. Or what I'll do.'

'You'll find out,' he replied. 'There's only so much you can plan ahead. And that goes for all manners of life. Things don't always go the way they might want to on paper, and you've just got to figure out how to walk forward.'

'Walk forward…' Roy repeated.

Fullmetal tapped his automail leg. Roy was sensing a deeper tale than "damaged during the eastern conflicts", but decided that wasn't the time to pry.

'Cards again?' Breda asked; the distractor.

It wasn't the time to prepare anymore, either. Just to waste away time until the crux appeared – and see what they did on almost autopilot in the aftermath.