Chapter Thirty Five: Fireside Chat
Disclaimer: I do not own FMA. I do not own FDR.
The small convoy of military vehicles rattled and shook as it rumbled down the dirt road to Camp Carlyle. Mustang wondered why the military had spent so much money building this camp as a home for their special forces but never bothered to pave the goddamn road.
The trucks pulled around the last bend and pulled to a collective stop next to Camp Carlyle's main office.
Mustang got out of the truck and suddenly felt very out of place. Camp Carlyle was manned entirely by Special Forces units. Mustang saw a lot of Light Infantry green around, as well as the deep arsenic grey worn by the Mountaineers, and the lighter, silvery slate grey the Marines had adopted. But there were also a lot of soldiers clad in black uniforms, which Mustang did not recognize. As far as he knew, no one wore black fatigues. Then he began to recognize the individuals in the uniforms, and he realized that the black uniforms must be the Heavy Infantry.
The door to the office opened and Mordecai walked out and approached the new arrivals, saluting as he did so. "General O'Malley," he said.
"Brigadier General Mordecai," O'Malley said, returning the salute.
"Ya never told us ya were comin' up fer a visit, sir," Mordecai said.
"I know. I'm not here for a show, I want to see how you unit is progressing in its training. We're just here to observe."
Mordecai nodded. "A'ight then. Whatcha wanna see 'ere?"
"Well, General Geiger had a fit when you stole his E.W. unit. He'd want me to observe how they're doing in their new environment."
Mordecai nodded again. "Let's go," he said, indicating for the new arrivals to follow him.
He led them away from the center of the camp and down a road that had been cut through the woods. It opened up into a large oval-shaped clearing cut into the earth itself. Mordecai mentioned to the men how this used to be an old gravel pit but had shut down when the military bought the land and built the camp. Now it had become the test ground for the E.W. boys' experiments.
O'Malley was like a kid in a candy store, ecstatic over the new devices and weapons the E.W. unit had developed. They stayed there for about an hour before Mordecai was able to convince O'Malley that'd he'd seen enough and that he should let the E.W. crew get back to work. The General agreed, however reluctantly.
Mustang held his tongue, although it became more difficult by the minute as Mordecai lead O'Malley's party through a seemingly never-ending sequence of firing ranges, CQB-training facilities, mock trench systems, and something that struck Mustang as downright ridiculous. Apparently, the Heavy Infantry had built a gigantic plywood and compression board mock-up fortress and bunker system and were running drills.
"What's this, Mordecai?" Mustang laughed, "Your clubhouse?"
Mordecai glanced over his shoulder. "Mustang, fuck you."
Mustang could feel the blood building behind his eyes, but he bit his tongue when he caught a disapproving glare from O'Malley. The Alchemist said nothing else until the delegation returned to the main office. Mordecai thanked them all for coming and apologized but said there were a number of forms that needed his signature and they had been waiting on his desk all day. He turned the delegation over to Col. Corvin Caine for the rest of their review. O'Malley thanked Mordecai for his time and turned to follow Corvin, who was already talking about something or other involving the changing role of the heavy machine gun for the unit.
Mustang didn't give a shit about heavy machine guns. He waited a few seconds for O'Malley and the rest of his party to pass on ahead a bit before turning around and heading for the main office. He walked through the door, ignoring the glares slung his way from the soldiers in the building. The elite units of the military did not appreciate Alchemists very much.
Mustang continued down the hallway. The doors each had a little sing on them designating which branch of the elite units occupied this office. Mustang kept walking until he found the sign that read 'Heavy Inf. Command' and he opened the door and strode in.
Mordecai glanced up from his desk near the back of the small office. "Brigadier General…" he said, "to what th' fuck do I owe th' pleasure?"
"Can it," Mustang hissed, looking back and forth from the other two desks in the room, "whose are these?"
Mordecai said nothing.
"Damnit, Mordecai! Don't be an asshole!"
"But you told me to 'can it,'" Mordecai said, grinning, laughing a little. Mustang glared at the man in black, realizing that he was being toyed with.
"Who uses these desks, Mordecai?" Mustang growled, trying to sound threatening.
Mordecai grinned wider, feral and rebel. "Why, those desks belong ta my Aide-de-Camp an' my Executive Officer, of course… those bein' Major Havoc and Lt. Col. Hawkeye, respectively."
Mustang narrowed his glare some more, near-squinting at his foe. "Where are they?" he said, almost a whisper, afraid if he raised his voice any higher he'd wind up screaming at the man.
"None o' yer business, that's where."
"Stop fucking around, Lt Col…" Mustang growled through gritted teeth.
Mordecai's head snapped upward from his desk at that. "Excuse me? What did ya jus' say?"
"'Stop fucking around.'"
"Not th't, after th't." Mordecai's voice was little bit lower now, and a whole lot deadlier.
Mustang caught the undercurrent that he'd found here. 'Oh, you mean your rank… 'Lt Col?'"
Mordecai slowly rose from his chair. "Ya see this star?" he barked, jabbing a finger at the rank star on his collar.
"Oh," Mustang said, tone cutting and mocking, "I didn't see that there. Did they bust you down to Major? I apologize."
Mordecai went off. "Fuck it, Mustang! What th' fuck d'ya 'bout anythin'? Yer a fuckin' prick alchemist who's been handed everythin' from day one! I joined th' military at th' fuckin' bottom o' th' barrel, an' I have slugged an' fought my way ta where I am now! 'Case ya ain't noticed, I'm th' same rank as yer ass is! Now get th' FUCK out my office, bitch!"
Mustang fired back. "Look, I don't give a shit what rank you are! I don't give a shit about you! I don't care about anything you have to say about who you are or who you think I am!"
"Then what th' fuck are ya still doin' 'ere!? If ya don't 'give a shit' th'n vote with yer feet an' get th' fuck out!"
"I'm not here because of you or any of your shit!"
Mordecai made as if to respond, but caught himself, expression slowly sliding from fury to one more confident and assured. Mordecai nodded as he began to speak. "I know why yer 'ere. Well, 'ere's some advice; jus' get out, yer too late an' they're better off 'out you."
Mustang raised an eyebrow slowly. "What are you talking about?" he said, slow and venomous.
Mordecai cocked his head slightly to the side, a sharp-toothed grin drawing across his face. "Ya know what I mean. I mean Hawkeye an' Havoc." Mustang's eyebrow came back down quickly at this, narrowing into a death glare. Mordecai kept talking; "Jus' leave. They're both better off 'ere than they'll ever be with yer lot. Havoc, he's a Major now an' he's in th' best position he's ever been in! Come back in two o' three years an' he'll be runnin' a battalion o' regiment o' his own! O'Malley told me he wants ta triple th' size o' th' Heavy Infantry within five years an' ya can betcha ass Havoc will be runnin' one o' those new units! Now, Riza-"
Mustang cut the man off. "Don't call her that!"
"What? That's her name, ain't it?"
"Don't fucking call her that!"
"Ach, shut th' fuck up Mustang! Jus' get it through ya head th't she don't belong ta you an' she never did!"
"Just stop talking, damnit!"
"Hell no! Yer gonna hear this th'n yer gonna get out! She ain't yer's. She don't belong ta you. Ya can't keep thinkin' like she's yer little pet anymore! Ya treaded her like shit fer far too long, but now she's with people whot actually care 'bout her! Now she's got someone who actually loves her too!"
"Shut the fuck up!" Mustang roared, louder than anything he'd ever said before in his life. "What the fuck do you think you know about what she wants! What the fuck do you actually know about her!"
Mordecai laughed once. "More th'n you ever will."
That was it. The straw that broke the camel's back. It was that statement, that laugh, that tone in Mordecai's voice, the intuition and insinuation behind the words. Mustang had had enough.
He snapped his fingers.
The first explosion blew Mordecai off his feet, straight back into the wall. The black clad soldier landed heavily, dropping to one knee and catching himself with his hand. Before the man could move again Mustang set off another blast over his target's right shoulder, blowing him to the floor. Then Mustang used a trick he hadn't called upon in a while. He set off an explosion underneath Mordecai, lifting him up into the air, then another blast immediately after, blasting Mordecai back into the ground. Mustang wondered how many of those it would take to kill the man. In all honesty, he could have ended his enemy's life with one explosion, but he didn't want to kill Mordecai outright, he wanted to hurt him as much as possible before Mordecai stopped feeling pain for good.
Then the door flew open, slamming against the wall as is flew all the way around. Mustang spun. He recognized the soldier who was framed in the doorway.
"Havoc!" Mustang shouted, surprised and happy to see his old subordinate.
Havoc looked stunned, unsure exactly what was happening and unsure with which of these men his loyalty lay.
"Smoke…" a low, strained voice hissed from the back of the room, "…duck."
Havoc dropped to the floor as he watched Mordecai seize a chair and hurl it forward, letting two words escape from his mouth; "Oh, shit."