Full Metal Journal: The Life of a Military Private

I don't own FullMetal Alchemist, and I think he's too whiny for my liking.

And here we go: the beginning of the end.

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Entry 36:

Well, my squad's going back to war in the North- and this time, I'm not going with them.

Something a tad more important has come up.

After Castillo told me that Col. Mustang wanted to see me, I packed this journal away and went there as fast as I could, wondering how the meeting with the Fuhrer had gone and sweating as to what he wanted me to do.

I walked in and immediately saluted. One look at him told me news that we had been expecting for a while- the good ole' Col. had finally been promoted to Brigadier General. He returned the salute and motioned for me to sit down, which I did.

"Sergeant," he said to me, "I'm sorry to have to do this, but we're gonna have to put your squad back into the field. A rebellion in the North needs to be squandered, and I've been ordered to lead my division out there."

The words were completely unexpected: combat. With all that had just happened, I couldn't believe they would be sending us out again so soon. But then, I realized it made sense- this was Bradley's way of silencing us, by sending us out to the front to get killed.

Brig. Gen. Mustang then asked me about my men. I told him they were fine, which was definitely true. Guys like Smokey and Shadow, I could trust with anything. He asked me if they could handle themselves in the field and take any orders. I told them that we would fight without hesitation under a good leader.

"Good," he told me, "because they're gonna have to go on without you."

And right here, I knew things were about to get even worse for me. "Sir?"

Brig. Gen. Mustang looked at Lt. Hawkeye, then stood up and looked out the window.

"I need your help, Rodyle," he said finally.

He was going after the Fuhrer. He was finally gonna take care of him. And he wanted Lt. Hawkeye and me to provide escort. It was gonna be a risky business- the assault force was going to go on ahead, with recently promoted Lt. Col. Armstrong leading them and Lt. Havoc and Sgt. Maj. Fuery, both only partially healed from the wounds they got in the woods, going disguised as the Brig. Gen. and the Lt. They were the bait. In the meantime, the three of us would sneak into inner Central towards the Fuhrer's mansion. Lt. Hawkeye would distract them while Brig. Gen. Mustang snuck in and do the deed. I would wait with the car we would drive about six blocks away, waiting for the radio signal to go and pick them up. Then we would drive the hell out of there and wait for the next events.

This would happen in about a week and a half, when the Fuhrer would be leaving to go to his son Selim's birthday. The strike force would be leaving tonight, and everyone had been bulletined already. This would probably the most risky thing any soldier had ever pulled off, and the possibility of us getting out alive was about 16 percent.

Hell, I figured my death percentage was at about 8 already, so that just meant I had twice as much of a chance.

Brig. Gen. Mustang looked at me with that glare I was already all too familiar with. "I won't lie, Rodyle: this is dangerous. Even if we do make it out of there, there's still a chance we'll be executed by the State- this isn't exactly the most loyal thing a man does for the president. If you want out, now's your last chance to say so."

I pondered my options. There weren't too many: either go to the Northern Front and probably get killed, or go after a crazed homunculus and probably get killed. The odds just didn't seem to like me; they never had, of course, so why should I be complaining now? So my mind turned to the things that convinced me to go: my buddies, the Northern Front, a sniper who has a bullet with my name written all over it (I'm such an optimist, aren't I?). And then the reasons to take Bradley down: the guys we lost in Lab 5, Brig. Gen. Hughes, the guys we lost in Lior, the guys we lost in Ishbal and the Ishbalans, and any other men lost in past wars and for the country in future years.

Needless to say, I think those reasons beat a sniper bullet any day.

Besides, if it wasn't risky, then I'm not a soldier, right?

So, right away, I said, "I'm in."

So, two hours later, I stood in the compound and watched as the unit packed it up and began hauling it for the North. And for the first time, I sat on the sidelines and said good-bye.

Saying good-bye to Regazzi and Squeaker was a hard thing to do- they were best friends, the heart and soul of the squad, taking over as jokesters after we lost Blake and Waverly. Regazzi, who had been my friend since I had joined up, shook my hand, that big grin on his face. Squeaker, the buck-toothed former replacement, slapped me on the back. I held back my tears and pulled both of them into a big bear hug.

Castillo was up next. Right before we shook hands, I told him to take care of the squad and try to get them all back in one piece. And it was weird- for the first time, he nodded, didn't smirk, didn't argue. He knew what I was trying to do. Right then, I think he finally accepted me for the team leader I was. We shook hands, our eyes never leaving each other, before he nodded and walked away.

Next on my list was Shadow, one of the best friends I would ever have ever. Everything I had been through with him came back, and a few tears indeed came out as I said good-bye to my dear alchemist friend. As we shook hands and hugged, I noticed he looked a little thinner, a little paler, but he still smiled his smarty- pants smile. He wished me good luck and then walked away.

And finally, there was Smokey. My best friend in the whole damn world Smokey. The Smokey that, from day one, stayed by my side as we fought court martials and chimeras, bad pranks and enemy soldiers, superior officers and homunculi. He had forever left an impression on me as I had him, and he was special to me- more than my friend, more than my brother, hell. I knew him better than anyone I had ever known in my entire life, and vice versa. I can't even begin to imagine what this entire nightmare of an experience would've been like if I hadn't found him here.

Before we parted ways, we shared one final serious conversation.

"So, you're really gonna do this?" he began.

"Yeah… I guess I kinda gotta now," I shrugged. He shrugged. We both grinned, because it reminded of us of the day I got promoted. Then his smile left.

"This is gonna be rough, man. I mean, why you? Haven't you suffered enough of this homunculi crap? Just come with us."

But I stood firm. "We've lost enough men because of them, don't you think?" I came back with.

He knew I was referring to our old squad mates, old C.O., and the guys in Ishbal and Lior. He nodded.

Then, he gave me his bit of bad news:

"You know… I got my orders an hour ago. Meaning after this whole mess is done… I'm going home."

I looked at him, all stunned. He shrugged again, "or at least what I'll call home until someone gets around to re-building Lior."

Then, he did something I'll never forget; he reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, and pressed it firmly into my hands. When I opened it, I almost broke down again- it was an address and phone number. I looked back up again as he continued.

"That's where I'll be staying, and that's my number. Promise me you'll call any chance you get, and come visit when you get out. Clear?"

I smiled and sniffed in a tear.

"Do you even need to ask, man? Of course, I'll look you up," I put the sheet in my pocket, grabbed his hand tight in a brotherhood handshake, and pulled him into a hug. We both must've looked pretty queer, but I didn't care. We were parting ways; after all this time, the Dynamic Duo was finally splitting up. Both of us were crying a little, nervous that we would never see each other again, neither one of us wanting to let go.

But in the end, we did. The whistle rang, the guys waved good-bye one final time, and before I knew it, I was waving to the trucks as they pulled my best friends away.

And for the first time since I had come to Central, I truly felt alone.

The thoughts were weighed in all of our minds- would any of us ever see each other again? Maybe. And half- OK, all- of me wanted to go with them. But they had their own path to follow.

And I… I finally had mine.

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Like Hughes' funeral, I almost did cry when I wrote the Scotty-Smokey farewell scene.

They're not gay, for all you sickos that might read this- they've been through hell and back, forging a bond earned only by the time they've shared together and the crap they've seen.

Yes, this is a good-bye scene- the squad mates, unfortunately, don't play much of a big role from here on in, so we won't be seeing them as much. So say good-bye for now.

And God, I apologize if Mustang talks a bit OC like. Maybe it's just me; tell me what you think.

Well, that's all for now. I'm trying to finish this story up before I go back to school on the 1st, so you can expect this story to end soon.

Review please.