Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Fullmetal Alchemist.
DRACHMA, 1910
Drachman towns were prone to cold nights; the villages in the south were no exception. In this particular November evening, the thermometers read around -25ºC. Not that anyone minded; Drachmans were naturally used to the sub-zero temperatures that occurred on a near-daily basis. The tiny village of Golubka was no exception. However, this night was much colder than it had been for months. Snow covered the entirety of the ground from a storm two days earlier, ankle deep from an adult's standpoint.
Everything was very cold, yet that was normal for people in Drachma…but this night was far from normal.
Daria Nikolayevna Petrishcheva looked outside her bedroom window, watching the sky. Even though it was a normal weather pattern, thoughts of the snowstorm still fascinated the seven-year-old girl. She always wondered what snow was made out of, and why it fell from the sky all the time.
The sky was beautiful. So many stars arranged themselves in constellations, and—
Wait a minute.
That star was heading towards the ground. Daria's eyes widened as she realised that it was a shooting star, quickly making a wish before putting on her warmest clothes, running hastily for the exit door.
"Dasha, where are you going?" her mother called.
"I want to see Boris and Maksim," the Drachman child responded. Surely, they had to hear about the shooting star.
"Okay," her mother said carefully. "Don't freeze to death!"
"I won't!" Daria wrapped a scarf around her face for good measure, bounding excitedly out the door. Her friends lived three houses away, but the combined effects of shortness, outside temperature, and snow made a seemingly easy journey very inefficient and complex. Nevertheless, the little girl persisted until she reached her destination.
The door opened before she could knock, revealing an excited-looking boy. "You were right, Maksim!" he yelled. "She's here!"
"Of course I was right!" another boy retorted, running towards them.
"Boys!" a man's voice barked. "Who's at the door?"
"Daria Nikolayevna, Papa!" Maksim responded.
"Well, let her in, for God's sake! It's bloody cold out there!"
The other boy hollered an affirmative, and the two of them ushered her inside. Daria was glad to be in an area where some form of warmth was accessible from a means other than her heavy winter clothing.
"Did you see the shooting star?" she asked excitedly.
Maksim raised an eyebrow. "Shooting…star?"
Drachma didn't usually get shooting stars.
The other boy rounded on him playfully. "It wasn't a normal thing, you know! You should have been paying attention!"
"I was thinking about other things!"
"Such as?"
"Boris," their father scolded gently. "Quit nagging your brother."
"Sorry."
The man walked towards them. Daria straightened. "Hello, Mr Volkov."
"Greetings, Daria Nikolayevna," he acknowledged her. "I take it you're here to play with the boys?"
A woman shouted from nearby—the twins' mother. "Aleksandr! Don't let the kids outside; they'll freeze!"
"They'll be fine, dear!" Volkov reassured her.
Daria and company nodded in agreement, grinning. Volkov folded his arms, a twinkle in his eyes. "Be careful, you three. Have fun!"
"Thanks, Papa!" Boris hollered. The brothers put their own warm clothes on, running outside with Daria once they finished.
Maksim had an odd gift—the three of them called it Strannoye Chuvstvo, a strange feeling. It was the only thing they could think of to describe it. The babushkas had their own weird name for it—Ashla, or something like that. They said that the name originated in the stars, far beyond Drachma, but the kids' parents dismissed it as an old wives' tale. After all, how could something so strange be known so far away?
Now, the children ran through the snow, anxious to get to where the star landed. Villagers looked at them in amusement, but they kept going.
"How much farther?" Boris asked.
"I don't know!" she responded.
"It's in the middle of the forest!" Maksim responded confidently.
"Are you sure?" Boris asked.
"Yes!"
Daria nodded, running toward the treeline. Generally, the two never questioned Maksim whenever something strange was going on—mainly because he was always right. She hoped this was the case. The distance had to have been at least half a kilometre, but they made it to the treeline without trouble. They stopped, catching their breaths.
"Alright, Max, where is it?" Daria asked.
Maksim pointed. "Straight ahead. I could feel people there, that's how I knew."
Boris snorted. "People? Last I checked, brother, people don't usually fly like that."
"I'm not saying they were the ones who had wings," the twin retorted.
"Whatever," Daria butted in. "Let's get on with it."
The twins shrugged, walking along with her. At first, there was nothing but wildlife. After a few minutes, Maksim made his way forward, pointing at an object in the trees.
"Told you!" he cried out triumphantly.
Boris raised an eyebrow. "Are stars always on fire?"
Daria turned in the direction that her friend was looking, seeing orange flames protruding behind a tree. "I dunno. Maybe."
"I want to see!" Boris pushed past Daria, running forward. Daria frowned. "Borinka!"
"Keep up!" the boy yelled impatiently.
Daria ran after him. "Not fair!"
The three came to a halt in front of the star. It looked…metallic…and crumpled. Daria folded her arms. "It crashed. The star crashed."
"How can a star crash?" Boris asked, perplexed. "Shooting stars are supposed to fly…in space."
"Over here!"
They walked to Maksim's location, curious. Three people—yes, people—in white armour stood with their backs to the children, evidently looking at what remained of the star. Daria got a glimpse of the objects in the armoured persons' hands—black…guns?
Boris noticed it as well, silently motioning for them to hide behind a nearby tree. They hid, craning their necks to see what was happening. Their quarry conversed in a language the kids could not understand, but Daria could tell that the white armour people weren't too happy about the star crashing. They removed the funny-looking helmets that covered the entirety of their heads, revealing human beings underneath—two men and a woman—who began to argue with one another. Daria couldn't understand what they were shouting about, but she caught a few strange words: "Veyd'r," "shut'ol,", and "Galahk-tik Em-pai'r" (sounding out the pronunciations for each in her mind). She glanced at Maksim, growing terrified upon seeing the look of fear on his face. Did he feel something wrong in these people?
"Max?" she asked quietly, uncertain.
"Shhh," he whispered. "We must not let them hear us."
"They can't understand us," Boris said, voice hushed. "Whatever language they're speaking, it's not Drachman."
"Quiet, Borya," Maksim hissed. The look in the eight-year-old's eyes was wild.
Both of them shut up after that.
The white armour people put their helmets back on—which looked like a strange-looking frowny face, in Daria's opinion—and walked towards them. The children put their backs against the tree, scared. What was their intention?
A loud snarling ensued. Daria whipped her head around, eyes widening to saucers upon noticing the largest bear she had ever seen. And it looked mad.
She screamed.
Boris looked at her, preparing to rebuke her when he saw the bear coming towards them. "Oh my God," he breathed.
Maksim was as calm as ever.
The white armour people clearly noticed the bear, too, shouting. The sound of gunfire cut through the cold air, but instead of bullets, Daria saw red bolts of light, which did nothing short of making the bear even angrier. Maksim pointed behind them, and the bear charged the white armour people. The gunfire ceased as the shouts turned to screams of terror. Maksim motioned for them to leave.
None of them dared look back as they ran home.
PRESENT DAY: FORT BRIGGS, 22 SEPTEMBER 1933
In the decades that she had spent serving at Briggs, the conflict between her country and Drachma had never escalated into all-out war. Until now, which was the last thing Olivier wanted.
Nine days into the war, and already there were over a hundred Amestrian soldiers dead. Over a hundred soldiers under her command.
Now she was being called in by the coroner for some reason—probably to identify some of the bodies.
"This has got to be the worst part of my day," she groaned, pushing open the doors to Briggs's morgue.
She scanned the area. Frowning. "Coroner?"
"Just a minute!" a woman's voice called.
Olivier had to wait only a few seconds before a small woman in a laboratory coat and Warrant Officer's stripes ran towards her, tripping over the hem of said coat and falling on her face. She got back up in a heartbeat, saluting. "General Armstrong! Thank you so much for being here on short notice!"
"At ease, soldier," Olivier said briskly. The coroner dropped her salute. Olivier sighed. "Why did you call me of all people here?"
The woman straightened, removing her goggles. "I found something…suspicious."
Olivier raised an eyebrow. "Suspicious how?"
"It's easier if I show you."
"Warrant Officer McGann, how the hell do you expect showing me a dead body to be any easier than telling me about it?" the Ice Queen snapped.
"Because this one died weird, ma'am," the coroner said seriously. "So did the rest of his squad."
"Weird how?"
McGann sighed. "With all due respect, General Armstrong, it will make a lot more sense if I show you the corpses."
This had better be worth it. She sighed. "Very well."
They walked to where the corpses were currently being examined. McGann pulled the shroud off one of them, revealing the late Lieutenant Colonel Yakob Redding. At first glance, Olivier initially brushed off the kill wounds as large bullet holes. Upon closer inspection, though, it became apparent that the "bullet hole" was a burn mark.
"Was this man branded with anything?" she asked the coroner.
McGann shook her head. "No, ma'am. He was definitely shot."
"Then where's the bullet?"
"That's why it's weird, General," McGann said slowly. "There wasn't one."
"Explain."
McGann pointed to Redding's corpse. "The Lieutenant Colonel took one to the noggin. When I did the autopsy, I was expecting to find brain matter missing, such as one might expect to find when a person gets shot in the head, but when I looked the brain was mostly intact, save for a hole that looked to have been burned right through the skull into the right frontal lobe, and then cauterised the wound and somehow still ended up being lethal."
Interesting. "And did the rest of Redding's squad have similar wounds?"
"Not necessarily in the same area, but, yes, they did."
A quick inspection of the other six corpses confirmed the coroner's findings, which greatly unsettled the Ice Queen. Did the enemy somehow manage to surpass Amestris's technological capabilities?
"I haven't seen anything this strange since the Homunculi," she remarked grimly. "I want to know what the enemy has in store."
"With all due respect, General, please don't send an entire squad to check it out," McGann deadpanned. "The less bodies I have to deal with, the better."
"It would be better for both of us, Coroner," Olivier agreed. "I'll send only a few people instead."
McGann snorted. "Make sure they're professionals."
"Believe me, I will." Olivier exited the morgue, all-too-anxious to take the lift up to the roof and get some fresh air. She stopped two levels below the roof, having to make a phone call.
"General?" Briggs's telephone operator asked. "What can I do for you today?"
She looked at the clock. 1308 hours. There was more than enough time to clear her head. "Have Colonel Martin, First Lieutenant Fitzgerald, and Warrant Officer Lockheed meet me on the roof at eighteen hundred hours. I've got a mission for them."
A/N: -25ºC = -13ºF