The train chugs along, gently clunking and bumping over the tracks as the people inside sit and chat with one another. The towns and scenery fly by, each looking similar and yet different to the last, the outside air growing just a little bit colder and a little bit colder, evidenced by how thick of clothing the townspeople here wear as opposed to the previous town.
Ed stares out the window, watching it all go by. The sooner he's out of Germany, the better. He can't stand the sight of it anymore.
He looks back down to his lap, to where his open map lies. It won't be long now. Soon the train will stop in Bremen, and from there Ed can catch a riverboat to the sea.
…They're looking for him, he knows they are. You don't just break out of prison and go unnoticed. Ed can only imagine what Commander Geizsler's reaction was, and Ed can only hope that his friends haven't been hurt because of him – especially not Doctor Marcoh. The younger fellas, they might be able to handle what Geizsler throws at them in terms of physical punishment. But Doctor Marcoh, at his age?
Don't worry guys, Ed thinks as he stares down at the map Marcoh gave to him, I won't forget about you. As soon as I get to England, I'll tell the government there what's going on.
He looks at the little star drawn on the map, denoting Geizsler's base, and then Ed traces his hand around the map, feeling the little pinpoint holes that are scattered here and there. Clearly there must have been thumbtacks or pins or something stuck into the map – but why these places have been marked, Ed can only guess.
He folds the map back up, putting it back into the inside of his jacket – well, Marcoh's jacket. None of the clothes he wears are his, all but the jacket stolen from a clothesline, the work gloves covering his hands stolen out of a shed, along with a hunting knife for insurance. The only things that are his are his shoes and his underdrawers.
Ed sighs, running his hand over his head to the back of his neck. He doesn't even have his long hair anymore. It really shouldn't matter – it's just hair. And yet now that's it's gone, it just doesn't feel right. Not to mention, it feels like he cut it for nothing…
Ed leans his head against the window, hand resting on the back of his neck as his arm hangs down his chest, and Ed lets out a sigh through his nose, his warm breath catching on the glass and fogging it over momentarily.
X
The train pulls to a rest, the conductor in the meanwhile going down the aisle announcing, "Bremen Station! End of the line, folks! Repeat, Bremen Station! End of the line!"
Ed stands up, rubbing his back, trying to get a bit of feeling back into it after having sat in one position for so long. He reaches up to the luggage rack – but then remembers he has no luggage. So he just puts his hands in his pockets and walks for the exit.
Outside the train, a few cars ahead, Matthijs is hopping off the train, while his Uncle Herman is helping Grandma Betje.
And as he steps onto the platform, Matthijs sees someone amongst the crowd – a man, a blonde man, with short hair and a black jacket, walking away, his back towards the train. He seems familiar for some reason, and yet Matthijs can't place who he is…
"A hand, dear," Grandma Betje says to him.
"Oh," Matthijs turns back towards the train door, he extending his hand to help her, "Of course."
~
Ed grabs a city map from one of the info stands inside the station, and he momentarily looks it over.
Which way to the river? he ponders. And for that matter, do they even have riverboats? I hope so.
He scans over the map, seeing that, lucky for him, the river is not too far away, just a bit to the south of the station. With that he folds up the city map and tucks it in with the country map he already has.
Ed walks out of the station, stepping out into the cold air and taking in his surroundings. People walk up and down the sidewalks, jovially chatting with one another, holding hands and bundling up against the light snow that is beginning to fall all around.
The architecture and stonework of the buildings is old and grand, many of the buildings here having sea foam green roofs, now beginning to be covered in patches of white as ice and snow begin to build up.
Ed shivers a little against the cold, having gotten used to the warm inside of the station, and so he buttons up his jacket and, with hands in pocket, he heads down the street before him.
He walks for a while, crossing over a short bridge over a creek. He stops momentarily, looking down at the sleepy little scene – no insects hovering above the water, seemingly no fish moving below it, not even any ducks swimming through it, for it seems winter has put all the world to sleep.
For a country at war, he thinks to himself, it sure is peaceful.
Ed walks on, passing through the city streets, buildings and people all around him, the smell of lit chimneys leaving a strong smoky aroma in the air, it mixing with the smells of the nearby restaurants and cafés, food and coffee taunting his senses.
Ed's stomach growls at him, he grumbling back at it. I'd love to feed you, old buddy, but I've got to save the money for the boat. He sighs. But how much is that gonna cost? Am I even going to have enough money to get on a ship to England?
He comes to another bridge, this one quite long and busy with traffic, stretching over the river that he's been looking for.
He looks off to his left, and there they are, the docks, with plenty of boats to be had.
But there's something else there on the docks too, something Ed was hoping to avoid – soldiers.
Ed quickly backs up, putting his back to the wall as he hides on the side of the building. He peers around the corner, getting a good look at the men with helmets and rifles.
Damn. Did they track me here? And why are there so many of them? …Maybe they're not here for me at all. You don't need that many soldiers to bring in one guy… Still, best to stay away…
Ed backs away from the corner of the building, he now looking back northwards from whence he came. I'll have to find another way out of here.
He backtracks, making his way to the little café he already passed, helping himself to one of the patio tables, Ed pulling out his city map and laying it out on the table surface.
Hmm… It looks like there's a main road leading to the sea. How to get there from here? He traces his finger along the map as he converses internally. I can follow these streets northwest… Hang a right here…
But there are so many buildings I'd have to walk past, so many people who could see me. Maybe there's a less conspicuous way.
His eyes drift to the train station's location on the map. Huh. It looks like there's a lot of farmland out here. There's probably not too many people there.
Ed moves the map around, orienting its position so that its north matches real north. Lemme see… It looks like if I stay close to the tracks, they eventually diverge and follow this road labeled R6, and that road looks like it heads to a place called Cuxhaven – but I'll reach the sea before then.
Ed folds the map back up and once more tucks it into his pocket. Well, back to the station then.
Back up the street he goes, back past the restaurants and the smoking chimneys and the bustling people and the driving cars, back to the station he just left. Only this time, rather than going inside, Ed follows a little road that leads to a tunnel that passes underneath the train tracks, letting him out on the other side where he needs to be.
Before him now are tiny houses, each with their own small plot, the gardens bare with the cold of winter. And Ed follows along his planned path, following the rail until it comes to the highway, the tiny houses to his right eventually ceasing as they come against a grove of woodland. And the further and further Ed travels, the more wooded it becomes.
He takes care to stay off the main road lest the cars traveling along it see him – but so too does he stay close to road lest it be lost to his sight. And for that matter, Ed does not want to get too close to the houses that peek through the woods every now again, for if someone inside sees him, they may become suspicious of the strange man walking alone in the cold along the highway. People, no matter what town, no matter what city he's gone to, ever seem to be too fond of wanderers.
I am a traveling man, Ed reminds himself, the old Masonic phrase having been true of him for practically his entire life. Always a wanderer…
Eventually, the houses disappear entirely, and after a short while longer, Ed comes upon another, smaller river. He stops to rest, momentarily, getting a drink of water and checking his map. Does this river lead out to sea? If so, he can follow it… No, no. It's heading in an east-west direction, and he's heading north. Oh well. Best to just stay on the road.
Along the road he walks, always using the woods nearby for cover. And anytime they begin to thin out, he always heads for the next patch of trees, even if they are further from the road, he looking periodically to his left, making sure the road is still in sight. Should a small street ever cut through his patch of woods, Ed quickly dashes across before anyone should see, he thankful that these country side-roads are hardly traveled.
Still onwards and onwards the woods stretch, more farmhouses eventually coming into view, and Ed just continues to walk past them. The highway on his left, though relatively empty, is still somewhat busy, busy enough that when the trees thin out and disappear entirely, Ed grows a little nervous, for now he is out in the open. He moves further away from the road, now keeping close to the fence that divides the public land from the land of whatever farmer owns these fields, the road still only about 70 yards away. So while Ed is still visible from the road, should any passing traveler look out their window as they go by, Ed's face will probably be indiscernible, he nothing more than a figure against a snowy backdrop.
And the snow – Brrr! Ed uses his left hand to rub his right shoulder, where flesh meets automail, the metal absorbing all the cold air around him, soaking the bitterness into his skin and nerves, making them numb and tingly.
I should probably stop and rest for a while, he thinks to himself, Build a fire or something…
He looks up, spying yet another river. He smiles.
And who knows – maybe I can catch a fish to eat, too.
Ed gathers some twigs, dry dead wood easy to find this time of year, for all the trees are dormant. And yet ironically, any dead branches left on the ground are becoming covered in wet snow, making many of them useless. Still, a campfire is not too difficult for Ed to whip up, he ever thankful for all the survival tactics he learned on the island as a child.
And one long, thin branch in particular is even better wet than dry, for its moisture will keep it pliable, keeping it from breaking when being used as a fishing rod. Ed pulls out his shoelaces, using them as his line and a short stick as his hook, it sharpened to a fine point using his hunting knife. The bait is a little harder to come by, all the bugs slumbering and buried deep within the earth, Ed having to turn over several rocks and logs before finding any.
He sits at the river's edge, the fire beside him, keeping him warm, he keeping it to his right side to try and warm up his automail just a bit. Every so often, he'll get up and move to the other side, letting his metal leg warm up, and then its right back over to the other side, for his right side has grown cold again.
After an hour of sitting on the snowy, muddied banks, and not a single tug at the line, Ed sighs, reeling it back in. He'll have to wait for his shoelaces to dry before restringing them. At least that's more time he can spend in front of the fire.
X
Trees, trees everywhere. Ed has found a little woodland path, he now covered on all sides. No one will be seeing him now. But by that same standard, he can't see the road anymore.
Damn it, he thinks. I hope I haven't gotten myself lost.
But eventually, after just a little while longer, the woods do begin to clear out, and the highway comes back into view. I hope this is the right road, though, and not some other road. On good faith, he follows alongside it, it leading to an even larger river than before, the largest he's seen yet, it looking like a veritable lake in its size.
Ed looks up at the bridge that stretches over his head. If I cross the bridge, no doubt people will see me. He looks at the river before him. But I don't have a boat. And I'm sure not going to swim this thing. That's all I need to do is catch hypothermia…
The bridge is the better option, even if it is risky. He makes his way back up to the bridge, he trying to remain calm as the cars pass him by. The town on the other side of the bridge seems somehow further away now than it was when he was down at the banks of the river. Ed steadies his mind. It's just a bridge, no big deal. Just got to walk across, don't make eye contact with anybody in the cars…
"Hey, buddy," a voice at his side calls.
Ed stops himself from jumping out of his skin.
A car has pulled up beside him, the man in the driver's seat calling, "Do you know where the nearest hotel is?"
Ed gives a nervous laugh, "No, sorry. I'm just passing through, same as you."
"Oh. Do you need a lift into town?" the man offers.
Ed again responds a little nervously. "No, it's all right. I love this weather."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Ed assures.
"All right," the man responds. "You take care now." And he drives off.
Ed heaves a relieved sigh. Here's to hoping no more tourists stop me…
X
Woods and farmland. Woods and train tracks. More farmland, some warehouses, and then more farmland.
Ed holds his growling stomach. Why does it have to be winter? At least if the crops were growing I might be able to grab something without anyone seeing…
For five hours now he's been traveling, and sunset comes early this time of year, the sun already making its way towards the horizon. There's probably only about an hour's worth of light left. He'll have to stop and make camp for the night. That doesn't sound all too bad, for his legs are growing tired.
And then Ed hears a rumbling sound. It comes not from his stomach, but from the road behind him, another car surely. But it sounds bigger than a normal car. Ed looks over his shoulder, and can see a set of headlights coming into view, they attached to a rather large vehicle. It's a military truck!
Ed quickly ducks down behind a tree, and he waits until he hears the truck pass him by before he pokes his head out from behind the trunk, peering at the large vehicle as it continues driving down the road.
What's a military truck doing all the way out here? There aren't any bases out here as far as I know… Of course, then again, if there was a military base, would they have bothered to mark it on a map? Seems like they'd want to keep it a secret…
Hang on, Ed pulls out the large country map from his pocket, looking it over once more. His eyes fall to one of the pinpoint holes, above Bremen but below the coastline. The pins tacked to the map. I bet those are the locations of military bases. If that's the case, that means there's one not far from where I am now.
His muscles tense.
Dammit. If I keep heading the way I'm heading now, I'm going to run right into them. I've got to find another way…
Ed's eyes rove along the map, he measuring distances using his fingers. If I breakaway northwest, I'll reach this bay over here. It's about the same distance as Bremerhaven, if not closer by just a bit. I'll still get to the sea and I won't have to go near that base.
Ed tucks the map away, he peering out from behind the tree once more. No truck in sight. Good.
He dashes across the road to its other side, and waits there for a moment, making sure there is no one around to have seen him. When no sound or movement comes, Ed begins his trek in the new direction.
He walks along, his mind wandering. I've been gone for five days now. How long before they give up looking for me? He scoffs, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. Good old Elric, always pissing off just the right people. Fuhrer Bradley was out for my head, and now this Himmler guy is doing just the same. He inwardly, cynically laughs to himself. Should've stepped up my game – gone to Hitler's office while I was in Berlin and punched him in the face. THAT would have made sure that everybody was looking for me…
His moment of amusement begins to fall as his eyes drift to his feet… That's not why he went to Berlin…
But his thoughts are cut short as Ed hears the SNAP! of a twig. His eyes dart back up – soldiers! Dead ahead! They're facing the other way.
Ed dives into the bushes nearest him, their dry, tangled branches bearing dead, brown leaves that hang limply from their tips, a dry shuddering sound arising as Ed wriggles his way in, disappearing.
"Hey, what – ?" a soldier's voice arises,
but it is cut off by another soldier going, "SHH!"
Ed covers his mouth, desperately trying to steady his breath, his heart jumping up into his throat. Go away! he thinks, hoping the soldiers will dismiss the sound he made as nothing more than a wayward bird or squirrel scurrying across the forest floor.
But no! He hears their footsteps growing closer now, their boots crunching through the icy snow!
No! Not now! Not when he's so close to the sea, so close to finally getting on a boat and leaving this godforsaken country behind!
Closer they come, and closer still, Ed trying to keep his muscles from shivering lest they shakes the bushes. Whether he shakes from cold or from fear is uncertain, but either way Ed is growing angry at his own body for defying him. Hold still, dammit!
They're right next to him!
Ed stops breathing.
The soldiers walk past his bush, their eyes looking out to the woodlands directly in front of them, they never turning their heads to the side or looking down to where he hides.
They pass him by, continuing into the woods, the crunching of their bootsteps growing just a little bit dimmer and a little bit dimmer. Until eventually – they are gone.
Ed sits there quietly, in the cold, quiet snow. Everything is silent. And yet still, something in his gut tells him that it is unsafe to move yet. Best to wait here and give the soldiers ample time to move along…
He waits. And he waits. And he waits. No sounds arise – not the rumbling of a truck, nor the twitter of a bird, nor even the wisp of the wind.
A good half hour passes before Ed finally gets the nerve to move again. Keeping low, he crawls out of the bush, working his way around to the other side of the nearest tree. And slowly he stands, sliding his way up the trunk. He stands there, waiting, seeing if there is any reaction to his movement.
He hears nothing.
Cautiously, Ed peers around the tree, looking in the direction that he last saw the soldiers go.
There is nothing. All is silent and still.
Ed sighs, relieved. They're gone… He turns away, finally once again starting to walk along his way, heading northwest once more.
Click-click!
That was a rifle cocking! Ed looks over his shoulder. They're still here! They must be hiding amongst the bushes, same as he was!
Ed takes off running as a chunk of tree next to him is blasted away by rifle fire. He darts from side to side, using every tree as a shield, none of the grand old plants safe from the bullets that become lodged within their trunks.
I've got to outrun them! Ed frantically thinks. I've got to give them the slip! I got to – !
BANG!
Ed jolts forward as a terrible blinding pain sears through his right shoulder, his automail arm falling limp, he falling face-first into the cold snow below.
His mouth is wide open as he screams, but no sound comes out, the terrible pain stealing his voice from him. Every nerve ending in his shoulder is on fire, and his head begins to pound as the whole world around him starts to whirl, everything having a shady, ghostly afterimage.
No. No! It can't end this way!
Even though it hurts, Ed forces himself up, just barely getting off the ground before his hand slips across the icy ground, slipping under him, and he lands on his left shoulder. Feebly, he rolls onto his back, the world still tilting side to side, the white sky above his head as snowy as the ground below him,
Through the snow, he can hear boots pounding their way up to him.
This is how it ends, is it? After everything…
A soldier runs up to Ed's side, the man pointing his rifle barrel right at his fallen victim.
Maybe it's just because everything is hazy. Maybe it's just because the pain is confusing him. But in his dying moment, Ed is unsure as to why, of all people, THIS is the face he sees –
"…Havoc?" Ed mutters.
The soldier is taken aback, and he leans in. "Hey, how do you know my name?"
But Ed cannot answer, for all the world has grown dark, his eyes closing, his senses leaving him
…
All the world is dark. And still. And yet it is not still, for Ed thinks he can sense movement beyond his eyelids. And things are not as silent as they seem, for even though all sound is muffled by the pounding of his head, he thinks he hears voices all around him,
"I'm telling you, he said my name!"
"But you don't know him?"
"No. I mean, maybe we were in the same boot camp? But I don't recognize him-."
Boot camp? SOLDIERS!
Ed bolts upright, his eyes snapping open. "Let me go!"
"Whoa! Hey!" the soldiers in the tent stop Ed as he tries to jump off the table, they gently holding him back as he struggles.
"I've gotta get outta here! I can't die in this place!"
"You're not gonna die!" the soldiers reassure him, and yet still Ed struggles.
"Let me go!"
The flap of the tent opens, a man in a white doctor's coat entering – "Stop upsetting the patient…" And he stops, dead in his tracks, staring at the patient, Edward staring back at him.
"…Al?" Ed barely gets his name out before Al has run up and started hugging him. "Ow! Watch it!"
Al pulls back from his brother, excitedly staring into his eyes. "Ed! Oh my god! Ed! You're okay!"
Ed lays a hand on his automail shoulder. "Yeah. Mostly."
"What happened? What are you doing out here?"
"I was on my way to find you."
"Hey doc," one of the soldiers asks, "You know this guy?"
Al's wide smile has yet to leave his face. "This is my brother, Edward!"
The soldiers are surprised. "This is your brother?"
"Oops," Havoc mumbles.
Al asks them, "Where did you find him?"
Ed points at them viciously, "They found me when they shot me!"
Al's aghast, "They what?!"
Havoc raises his hand with a nervous chuckle. "That was me. Sorry."
Al turns on him. "You SHOT him?!"
Havoc waves his hands in defense, "I didn't know he was your brother!"
"Al," Ed starts, Al looking back at him, "What are you doing out here? You're supposed to be in England."
"I was. But I came out here looking for you." Al stops for a moment, quizzically looking at his brother. "Hey, what happened to your hair?"
"What happened to my hair? What happened to your hair?" Ed asks in return, having now noticed the ponytail hanging over Al's shoulder.
Al looks at it, and then bashfully chuckles as he holds his ponytail in hand. "Oh. I thought it looked better this way. Looked kind of like yours…" his voice slows as he looks down at the ground.
Havoc looks at his fellow soldiers and nods towards the tent entrance. "We'll give you guys some alone-time," he says to Al, and the soldiers filter out through the exit.
Al quietly stares at the floor for a while before finally speaking again. "…I was almost sure the Nazis had killed you… When I saw them putting you in that car…" He suddenly gasps, "Sophie! Where's Sophie?!"
Ed looks down at the ground, looking away quietly. "…I don't want to talk about it…"
Al feels his heart break within him, his chest growing heavy. He too looks back down at the ground. "…I'm sorry, Ed… We tried to get out here sooner. Really we did."
"It's not your fault, Al." Ed looks back up at him. "So who's 'we'? Just how'd you get out here anyway?"
Al brightens up a little bit. "Three guesses as to who's in charge."
Ed gives a bit of a smile, his old self finally starting to show through again. "Am I to understand the old captain came out of retirement?"
Al nods. "That's right – Captain Roy Mustang – only fighting for the British this time around."
"Well I'll be," Ed comments. "Sounds like the old softy finally toughened up a little."
"And you won't believe who else is here – Hawkeye!"
"The lieutenant? Really?"
"Her name is Lisa – and the funny part is, this time around she's Mustang's boss!"
Ed starts laughing, but then suddenly winces, holding his shoulder.
Al moves to him, "Ed! Are you okay?"
"My shoulder…"
"Let me see," Al requests.
Ed removes his jacket and then slips off his shirt, exposing his automail.
Al looks it over, humming as he thinks aloud, "I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that your automail got hit. Sure, you're not bleeding, but I don't know if I'll be able to remove the bullet. I don't know the first thing about working your automail!"
Ed gives a smarmy grimace, trying to play off the pain. "Where's Winry when you need her, huh?"
"Well, we don't have Winry, but we do have a mechanic." Al crosses the tent, lifting open the flap as he calls to a nearby soldier, "Hey! Bring Breda in here would you?"
"Breda?" Ed asks. "He's here, too?"
Al nods. "Just like old times, huh?"
"I'll say." Ed jokingly responds, "All we're missing now is Armstrong in here posing."
A few moments later, the tent flap opens again and in enters Breda the mechanic. He looks to Alphonse and asks, "What's the matter, doc? The pressure cuff acting up again?"
Al shakes his head, "No, it's a little bit more complicated than that." He stands to the side, showing the patient on the exam table, he with a gleaming silver arm.
"Wow," Breda comments as he looks it over. "Would you look at that. Is that prosthetic?"
Ed nods, "Yeah. It's pretty sophisticated, too. I'd show you. But it's damaged."
"What are we talking about here?" Breda questions, "Loose spring? Bad hydraulics?"
Al confesses, "Honestly, we're not sure how it works. A friend of ours built it. But she's not with us anymore."
"Eh, sorry to hear that," Breda offers. He adjusts his belt, "But let me take a look at it, see what I can't do."
Al brings Breda around to the other side of Ed, pointing out the back of Ed's shoulder. "Mainly, we're concerned about getting this bullet out."
Breda lets out a long whistle. "That's pretty deep-looking. Germans do this to you?"
Ed again gives a smarmy grimace. "Friendly fire."
Breda laughs. "It was that Havoc chump wasn't it? Can't hit the broad side of a barn and the first thing he hits is an ally!"
Havoc's voice rises from outside the tent, "I heard that! And it was an accident!"
Breda calls through the tarp, "Go eavesdrop someplace else, would ya?" He turns his attention back to the doctor. "Let me get my toolbox and I'll be right back." He leaves, and as he does he shoves Havoc to the side, "Come on you, get outta here."
"Fine, all right!" Havoc says, walking away.
Al in the meanwhile is helping Ed to lay belly-down on the exam table. Ed gives a short laugh. "Never thought I'd have Breda performing surgery on me."
Al grins, "You probably never thought you'd have Havoc shoot you either."
"No, there was that one time he almost did, remember?" Ed reminds him, "When we were on the run after Liore…" And then he falls quiet.
"…Everything all right, Ed?"
"…Hey Al… Did you ever wonder what happened to all those soldiers in Liore? The ones that Scar transmuted into the Philosopher's Stone?"
Al tilts his head a little. "What do you mean?"
"I mean once they stopped being physical people and became a mass of energy… Were you able to hear any of them, inside of you?"
Al looks down quietly, thoughtfully placing his hand over his chest. "Well, no, not exactly. It was more like… thousands of hearts all beating in unison… their life force washing over me in waves… And yet it was something more. I don't know how else to explain it, really." He looks back up at his brother. "Why do you ask?"
Ed narrows his eyes, still looking at the ground, he saying a bit darkly, "Because I met one of them."
"You what?"
Ed looks up at Al. "The man who came to the docks to take me away – he was a soldier in Liore."
"You mean you recognized him from the Other Side?"
"No – I mean he is from the Other Side."
Al is astonished, "Just like us? Like Huskisson?"
"Not exactly," Ed tells him. "He says he was reborn, came out on this side as a baby – but he remembers everything from his past life."
"I don't understand. Why are you telling me this?"
"He's the one who was holding me captive. Says he was doing it for revenge."
"Revenge for what?"
"For what we did in Liore. He blames us. And once he finds out I've escaped, I don't doubt that he's going to come after us with a vengeance."
Al defends, "But we tried to stop what happened-."
"He doesn't care. And I can only imagine what he'd do to you if he found you. It doesn't help that he has friends in high places either. They've probably got the whole German army looking for us."
"So what do we do?"
"First chance we get, we need to get out of here – get to England, or maybe even farther than that, to America."
Breda returns, ending their conversation for now, he setting his toolbox down on a nearby table, then sliding that table closer, so he can grab tools as needed. "Bring that magnifying glass this way, would you, doc?"
Al swings the large surgical magnifying glass down over Ed's back, and the mechanic studies the patient's wound.
He hums, "Hmm. Mm-hmm…Do me a favor and move his arm up."
Al gently lifts his brother's arm, Ed giving a short yelp and then gritting his teeth. "Sorry," Al apologizes.
Breda continues his thoughtful humming as he examines Ed's shoulder. "If the bullet had just been five inches to the right, it might have passed right through this big opening right here and gone out the other side. Which by the way, what kind of a design is that, leaving all these wires exposed to the air? What if water gets in there?"
Ed says to him, "Hey, I just wear it. I didn't build it."
Breda moves around to all sides of the table, viewing the automail from all angles. He asks, "Is it possible just to remove his whole arm?"
"NO!" both Ed and Al shout in unison, Ed adding, "Do you realize how painful that is?!"
Breda motions his hands for calm, "Okay, sorry, just a suggestion." He puts a hand to his chin, thinking aloud, "If that's the case, I'm going to need to remove some of the chassis at the very least: that shoulder piece, the piece under it, this large covering that covers the shoulder blade – just this outer part, not the one underneath it – no need to look so worried."
Al uneasily asks, "You will be able to put it all back together, won't you?"
"Sure," Breda affirms, "Just don't get the pieces mixed up and it should be a piece of cake."
Ed inwardly sighs as an air of foreboding overtakes him. Great. I feel safer already…
Breda pulls a screwdriver from his box, "Let's get crackin'!"
The mechanic begins his work, unscrewing screws one at a time, Al resting his hand on Ed's back (whether to keep Ed calm or keep himself calm is to be said). One by one, the pieces come off, Ed having to roll over momentarily so Breda can get to a screw on his chest plate. And carefully, delicately, Breda removes Ed's shoulder coverings, exposing the workings underneath.
Ed gently rolls back onto his stomach, he in the meanwhile resisting the urge to clench his fist anxiously. He's never had anyone other than Winry or Pinako touching his automail. Well, there was his dad – but that was with the fake limbs he made. They were nowhere near as sophisticated or as delicate as this.
Breda moves the magnifying glass a little closer to the patient. "All right, what have we got here?"
Al looks over Breda's shoulder, looking through the magnifying glass as well. There is an internal covering of some kind, spherical in shape, the bullet hole just slightly above its center. Where the cover stops, there is what only can be described as a metal 'bone,' a seam between two pieces denoting where the shoulder ends and the 'humerus' begins.
Breda leans to his right a little, "Get me a flashlight, would you?"
Al looks into the toolbox, and pulls out a dull green, L-shaped flashlight, handing it to him.
Breda bends his knees, getting low to the table, looking into Ed's arm socket, seeing if he can look up under the internal covering. "Hmm… Move his arm up and down."
Al's a bit confused, "Up and down as in my left and right, or floor to ceiling?"
"Left to right," Breda tells him, and Al does so, Ed yelping again. "Sorry, kid, just be patient."
"I'm not a kid," Ed gripes, Breda in the meanwhile continuing his examining.
"Hmm. It looks like there's a copper ring of some kind slipped over the core. And if I'm not mistaken, the bullet's stuck right through it." He motions for Al to join him, then points to where he looks. "See right there? The bullet jiggles around every time you move his arm."
Al moves Ed's arm up and down a few more times, Ed finally shouting, "Would you quit moving my arm already?!"
"Sorry, Ed."
Breda continues, "What I'm saying is, even if we had decided to remove your arm, it wouldn't be able to come out anyway, not with the bullet going through that ring like a lynchpin. Not to mention that the trail a bullet leaves when it carves through metal makes nice metal barbs going out in all directions. It'd be like scraping nails across your insides."
Ed's anger simmers as he says, "You have really got to work on your bedside manner."
Breda chuckles, "Yeah, well, the cars in the motor pool normally don't talk back." He stands up straight, addressing Alphonse, "Well, you can try getting in there with a long pair of tweezers, but it looks like the bullet is pretty well lodged in there. It's not like flesh where you can just cut it back – unless you wanna get a can opener."
Ed flatly responds, "Ha ha. Very funny."
"I'm just saying, your arm might have to stay like that until we can get you to a real hospital with better equipment."
Al looks down at his brother and asks, "Well, what do you say, Ed? It's your call."
Ed looks up at his brother with a firm smile. "I trust you, Al. You can do this."
Al returns his firm smile with a confident nod. "Corporal Breda, keep that light over the wound. I'm going to need it to see in."
"Roger that, doc," Breda responds.
Al crosses to another nearby table, a medicine chest on top of it. He pulls out some rubber surgical gloves, some long tweezers and something else –
Ed gulps. "Al. What is that?"
Al turns around, a syringe in his hand. "Just some local anesthesia to numb the pain."
Ed's voice suddenly rises to a pitch it hasn't seen since puberty, "It's automail! It doesn't need anesthesia!"
"Yes, but aren't the wires in your automail connected to your nerve endings? I'm sure you'll feel something once I get to work. I should at least numb the surrounding area – "
"Skip it! I'll be fine!"
Al sighs, "Ed, stop acting like you're twelve. A shot is not going to kill you."
Ed has his other arm wrapped around the bottom of the exam table, he looking like a grumpy cat stuck at the vet's: "You don't know that. We're out in the middle of a dirty old forest. I don't know where that needle's been. There might have been bugs crawling all over it."
"I assure you it's sterile. Now quit fidgeting!"
"YOU'RE fidgeting!"
"That doesn't even make sense. Hold still!"
"OW! That hurt!"
"It wouldn't have if you'd quit moving. Now lie still."
Ed grumbles, refusing to admit that the anesthesia is already beginning to do its job, numbing the surrounding tissue near his automail.
Breda holds the flashlight steady as Alphonse looks through the magnifying glass, and carefully, steadily, the young doctor slips the tweezers down into the bullet hole. The tweezers touch the bullet, and Ed feels a shock, it jumping all the way through his shoulder to his neck, up to his ear.
"Ow! Damn it!"
"Ed! You okay?" Al asks.
"No! I felt that! You gave me that shot for nothing!"
"What did you feel?"
"It felt like a bolt of lightning just went through me."
Al frowns, thinking aloud. "The bullet must be going through an electrical wire. The lead's blocking the current, but as soon as my tweezers get down there, they touch the wire and close the circuit up again."
Breda gives a short laugh, "Sounds like those wire loop games they have at carnivals, huh?"
Ed gripes, "Yeah, well I'd prefer it if you win this round and don't touch the sides, okay?"
"All right, Ed, settle down," his brother tells him.
"You can say 'Settle down' all you want when you get a bullet stuck in you…"
Breda suggests to Al, "Maybe if you put rubber tips on the tweezers?"
Al shakes his head. "There's barely any room on the sides of the bullet as is. If we put tips on it, there's no way I'll be able to slip them around the bullet and pull it out."
"Then just pull it out quick then," Ed says as he braces himself, hugging tight to the table.
Breda sets the flashlight aside momentarily, pulling his leather belt off his waist. He folds it in half, holding it out in front of Ed. "Here. You might want to bite down on this. No telling how many tries we'll need."
Ehck, Ed isn't at all thrilled with this – but if it keeps him from breaking his teeth when clenching them so hard, might as well do as the, uh, assistant surgeon (?) says.
Ed bites down on the belt, Breda returning to his post, manning the flashlight as Al attempts once more. The tweezers go down into the bullet hole, and Al stops just shy of the lead bead, he taking a breath to steady himself.
And then he dives down, driving the tweezers onto either side of the bullet, sparks flying again.
Ed clenches down on the belt, his screaming muffled by the leather.
Al quickly pulls up on the bullet, but it does not move, the tweezers losing their grip and slipping right off the bullet.
"Damn it," Al wipes his brow. "Sorry. I'm going to have to try again."
"No worrieths," Ed mumbles wearily with the belt in his mouth, "Take yer time…"
Al does it again, stopping the tweezers just a little ways above the bullet, making sure they're in position, and then quickly slipping them around the bullet, the live wires reacting, and Ed screaming as he clings to the table. Al squeezes the tips of the tweezers together, the back of the soft bullet squishing under the pressure, and the flow of electricity stops, Ed sighing. Al pulls back on the bullet, trying to lift it up, and instead all that happens is that the lead stuck betwixt the tweezers rips off from the bullet.
Al holds up the little bit of metal in front of him, sighing.
"What'samatter?" Ed mumbles. "Did we geddit?"
"I'm afraid not," Al tells him. He thinks for a little bit, staring at the little broken chunk of lead in front of him. And then says, "Maybe lifting it out isn't the answer."
Ed spits out the belt, catching it in his free hand. He looks over his shoulder and asks, "What do you mean?"
Al suggests, "What if instead we break the bullet into smaller pieces? Then all you'd have to do is lie on you back and hopefully all the pieces will fall out."
Ed frowns, not liking the prospect. "And how do you propose we break it? You're not gonna ram a chisel into my back, are you? That'd just jam the bullet in further."
"We don't have to literally break it," Al tells him. "We can just dissolve it."
Ed brightens up, "Hey, yeah! Lead's real soft – nothing a little hydrogen peroxide and acetic acid won't fix!"
Breda crosses his arms, "I've heard of that first one, but what's the second one?"
Al looks at the mechanic and asks, "Do you know where we can find some vinegar around here? Any organic acid will do, really."
"Vinegar, huh? Lemme go check with the cook." And Breda leaves the tent.
Ed chuckles, "First you bring in a mechanic to fix me up like I'm a car, now we're gonna get the cook in here to dress me up with some vinegar."
The boys both laugh, Al glad to hear his brother's voice and jokes and laughter again.
Meanwhile, Breda is making his way across the darkened campgrounds, past the soldiers and trucks and tents, and he enters the mess tent. Soldiers sit around the short tables, they eating the grub given to them.
Breda cuts to the head of the line, the soldier behind him going, "Oi!"
"It'll only be a minute," Breda tells him, and then he turns his attention to the cook dishing out the food. "Hey, do we have any vinegar?"
"Vinegar he says!" the cook cries with indignation. "I'm lucky if they send us salt out here and he wants vinegar."
Breda lowers his brow. "Look, have you got any or not?"
"No, I ain't got any," the cook tells him. "You want some, you got to talk to the boss o'er there," he says, motioning his ladle towards a table.
Breda turns around, and sees that at a table not too far away is Chief Hawkeye, Captain Mustang sitting at the table with her, she dropping a sugar cube into her cup of tea. Sitting in front of her is a bowl of lemon slices.
"Anything acidic, huh?" Breda says with a smile, a light bulb coming to life in his head. He dashes to the table, sweeping up the lemons and running for the door!
"Hey!" Lisa protests. "Get back here with those!"
"Sorry, Chief!" Breda calls back to her, "Need these for a patient!" And out the tent he goes.
"A patient?" she questions, raising an eyebrow. "What's he on about?"
"I don't know," Roy responds, already rising from the table. "Let's go find out."
Breda returns to the med tent, holding out the bowl towards the doctor. "I couldn't find vinegar. But I found these."
Al takes the bowl of lemons, looking them over. "Well, citric acid is as good as acetic acid I guess."
Ed smirks, "Good. I'll be lemony-fresh when this is all done."
Al puts the bowl on the table, setting it next to the medicine chest, and starts squeezing the lemons into a nearby beaker.
Just then, the tent flap pulls back. They all look over and see Mustang and Hawkeye entering.
Roy looks down at the exam table and gasps. "Edward?"
Ed gives him that big old smarmy smile of his. "Hey there, Roy! Or should I say 'Captain'? Nice to see you in uniform."
Roy smiles in return, "It's good to see you too, Ed. I'm glad to see you're alive."
A smirk crosses Lisa's face. "So this is the older brother, then? Good. That's one less thing on our To-Do List." She approaches the table, just a bit, looking down to Edward. "Lisa Hawkeye, Chief of Operations. I'd shake hands, but I see you're a bit indisposed at the moment."
"Just a little bit," Ed comments.
"What happened?" Roy asks.
"Got shot in the back," Ed tells him. "For better or for worse, it hit me in the automail."
Al, still at the medicine chest, is now stirring something into the beaker, the yellow liquid starting to lighten and turn clear. "The bullet's lodged in there. I'm hoping we can soften the lead with hydrogen peroxide and lemon juice."
Lisa gives a wry chuckle through her nose, "If that fails to work, at the very least you can use it to lighten your hair."
Al pulls an eyedropper from the medicine chest, and he dips its tip into the beaker, sucking up some of the liquid concoction. He turns around, holding one hand under the dropper to catch any drops that might fall, and he crosses back over to the exam table. Then, holding the dropper steady over the wound, Al begins dropping the mixture into the open bullet hole.
Ed yelps, returning the leather belt to his mouth, biting down on it as more electricity begins to pulse through his neck and into his ear, it now feeling like the current is setting his brain on fire. And not just that, but the winter air has chilled the liquid, the cold being conducted down to the very core of his automail, the iciness seeping through the areas where metal meets bone, oozing into his marrow, chilling him to the bone.
Ed is now thankful that he didn't catch anything to eat this afternoon – for he is beginning to feel nauseous, heaving dry coughs as his stomach shudders and jumps.
Al rubs him on the back. "We're almost there. You can make it."
A few more drops and the dropper is emptied. Al sets it aside, repicking up the tweezers.
"I'm going to break up the bullet now," he tells Ed, "You're probably going to feel this."
Ed clenches his fist, preparing for what's to come.
The tweezers descend into the automail, the metal probe squeezing and smooshing the soft material between its tips, Ed trying to hold steady, trying to keep his back from arching due to the shocks that jump through him.
Al says to Breda, "Hand me that gauze."
Breda does as requested, and Al pulls the tweezers out of the bullet hole, laying the gauze on top of it, keeping his hand on top of that. He lays the tweezers aside, slipping his free hand under Ed's chest.
Al leans down a little. "I'm going to roll you over now, all right? Think you can manage?"
Ed nods though he says nothing, his eyes closed against the pain as he steadily breathes in and out through his nose. He starts to roll over onto his back, Al helping him – and as the liquid trickles out of his body, the nausea strikes Ed in the stomach again, he coughing so hard the belt falls from his mouth as he sits up slightly.
Al rubs him on the chest, "Hey, it's okay, you're okay.." And he helps Ed to lie back down onto the table.
Ed gulps in a breath of air, calming himself. "…Ugh…"
"You all right?" Al asks him.
"Yeah…" Ed nods, sweating. "I just hope I never have to do that again."
"What did he say?" Breda asks, looking at Al.
Ed raises an eyebrow, "What do you mean 'What did he say'?"
Breda looks back down at Ed, "Just now – you were speaking German."
Ed is surprised. "I was?" He starts to laugh a little. "Wait, how long have I been speaking English?"
Lisa responds to Ed in German: "Funny thing about polyglots – we switch in and out of languages without even realizing it."
Breda looks at Hawkeye, "Now wait, what did YOU say?"
Al laughs.
Ed smiles at Lisa, "So, you speak German, huh? Where'd you pick that up?"
Lisa has returned to speaking English, "My father made sure I had a quality education – that included the study of several languages. He wanted to be sure that I could pursue the family trade."
"And what would that be?"
She says with a smirk, "Translating and code-breaking enemy messages, of course." She says with pride, "You have stumbled upon the camp of Adelphi."
"Adelphi?" Ed questions.
She explains, "We are code-breakers for the British Crown – interceptors of foreign intelligence, which we then crack and translate in order to ensure the safety of our country."
"That's neat," Ed comments. "But what are a bunch of code-breakers doing out in the middle of the woods? Shouldn't you all be manning radios someplace?"
Al smiles, "We came out here to find you!"
Roy adds, soberly, "Well, sort of. We've had our troubles."
Ed looks over at Roy. "How so?"
Lisa instead answers, "For starters, you are but one man in the entirety of a large-scale war. The government has their priorities, you realize."
Ed furrows his brow a bit, "Of course."
Roy speaks up, "I'm sorry, Ed. I worked really hard to persuade them to let us come out here. And they only finally agreed after… Well… You're probably not going to want to hear this, but – "
"But the Nazis have the uranium bomb, I know."
They all gasp, Al asking, "You do?"
Ed looks at Al, "Yeah. I found that out while still being held captive by Reistrom."
"Who's that?"
"The guy I was telling you about earlier."
Lisa hums, one hand to her chin as the other holds her elbow. "So, you've met the Spider Knight, have you?"
Ed looks over to her, he raising an eyebrow. "The what now?"
Lisa reaches into her pocket as she says, "One of the members of an order called the Knights of the Black Sun. He's the only one we've been able to identify so far." She pulls out a piece of paper, unfolding it as she explain, "We've intercepted various messages referring to people by the code name 'Knight,' preceded by an animal moniker typically. Insofar, we have counted twelve in total, with a thirteenth member being referred to as 'Raven King.' We assume that he is the leader."
Ed tilts his head a little, furrowing his brow in suspicion, "Animals, you say? One of those wouldn't happen to be called 'Goat Knight,' would they?"
Lisa looks down at the paper and then looks back up at Ed, she a bit surprised. "Well, yes, actually."
Ed looks aside, muttering to himself, "So, that explains the goats."
Al asks, "What goats? What's going on?"
Ed looks back up to the group, "After being held prisoner by Reistrom, I was transferred to a science lab where they put me to work. The commander in charge there, a guy named Geizsler, he's real fond of goats – keeps them as pets."
Roy comments, "That's odd."
Lisa quips, "If only they all kept pets, then they'd be much easier to find."
Using his left hand, Ed reaches for his fallen jacket, lifting it up as he says, "I don't know about all of them, but I know where Geizsler is." He, now standing, lays out the map out on the exam table, pointing to a star drawn on the paper. "This is his base here. The Nazis have a lot of scientists held prisoner there." Ed looks up, past Lisa's glasses and into her eyes. "Please, the people in there are my friends. They're good people. You have to break them out."
Lisa eyes the map. "A science division you say? Am I to understand there are weapons being developed there?"
Ed nods, "And more than that – airships, missiles, even automated tanks."
Al asks, curious, "Really?"
Ed grins at Lisa, "Imagine the feather in your cap when you return home with a boat-load of weapons blueprints under your belt. I bet the crown would be happy about that."
Lisa, as her namesake implies, eyes Ed like a hawk, scrutinizing him as she sizes him up, trying to get a read on him. And after a moment, she grins. "You make a clever point, Mr. Elric. But if it's a rescue mission you're after, that will have to wait. We already have a mission to attend to currently."
"And what's that?" Ed asks.
Roy responds, "We've slowly been working our way through enemy territory, trying to get here," he points to the map, a pinpoint hole underneath his finger. "The Germans are running a mining operation not far from where we are now. We believe they're trying to find more uranium to power the bombs they're producing."
Fear fills Ed as his eyes widen, "They're already producing them?"
"We don't know yet," Roy tells him. "If they are, and if there's a factory nearby, then we need to wipe it off the map."
Lisa adds, "And even if there isn't a factory yet, it's hard to produce a uranium bomb if you can't mine for uranium." A catlike grin crosses her face, "Ours is a mission of sabotage."
Ed mirrors her grin, a fire starting to stoke in his belly. "I like the sound of that. Think you all could use a hand?"
Lisa restrains a scoff, "Forgive me for saying so, but we need soldiers with both hands available. Judging by how your prosthetic arm hangs by your side, I'm guessing it's not very useful."
That fire moves straight from his belly to his head, Ed shouting, "You caught me on a bad day! You should see it when it's fixed! I'll show you who's useless!"
"Ed, calm down," Al pleads.
"Still," Hawkeye says, still looking at Ed with a discerning eye, "You have been on the inside for nine months. I'm sure you could provide us with a wealth of intel that will aid us in our missions. For now," she folds up the paper she's had in her hand, placing it back in her pocket, "What do you say we all retire to the mess tent for supper? I'm sure you're famished."
As if on cue, Edward's stomach grumbles loudly for all to hear. He blushes, covering it with his hand. "Yeah. That actually does sound pretty good."
Al crosses back over to his traveling medicine chest, "First let me fix you up with a sling. That might help to take some of the pressure off your shoulder."
Breda pipes up, "Let me put all that armor back onto his arm first. And while we're at it, we got any extra tarp or leather hanging around? I can close up that hole for you. Really stupid design leaving it open like that."
Ed can feel a vein slightly pulsing on his forehead. "Hey, don't knock the automail, pal, or it'll knock you!"
X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X
"Ed clenches down on the belt, his screaming muffled by the leather." *looks around, confused* …Did I accidentally wander into a smut fic? There are actually quite a few lines in this thing that when taken out of context sound like they came from a smut fic. "Al […] is helping Ed to lay belly-down," "Al resting his hand on Ed's back," "Ed trying to hold steady, trying to keep his back from arching," "probe," "inside of you," "We're almost there," ""Ed clenches down on the belt, his screaming muffled by the leather," "He starts to roll over onto his back," "Al rubs him on the chest," "You all right?" Al asks him."Yeah…" Ed nods, sweating." *UGLY IMMATURE LAUGHING* I'm sorry! I'm sorry! X'D I just couldn't resist! Let's get back on point – AL'S BACK! :D YAY! *throws confetti* My babies are back together! And they're getting ready to bust down some doors and kick some ass! Mustang's here, Hawkeye's here, Havoc and Breda – eeee! Things are heating up, folks! And what is this mysterious Order of the Knights of the Black Sun? Who are they? And what are their nefarious plans for the world? *strokes villainous mustache* Buahahahahahaha….