December 13th, 1990
Morning fog lay thick over everything; the town, the army, and the mountain pass. If not for the sound of the river roaring by and down the rapids that tumbled down to the valley beyond and below, it would have been possible to think that instead of a pass, there was just a wall of rocks and ice.
Sara stood along the top of the city wall, which was the best viewpoint to look out over the military encampment, and the longest expanse of the highway they were controlling. Her hands cupped around a mug of thick, dark coffee; she was grateful now for the winter-weight blue wool of Amestrian Northern military uniforms designed for this weather. She was also grateful for having all of her limbs, and no exterior auto-mail. Thanks to its internal nature, the metal parts of her knee did not react to the cold as severely as full auto-mail limbs. Her knee ached, but it was a dull, persistent throbbing that was minimized by the warmth of her clothes.
Beside her, Cal stood in a similar stance, wool-swathed, holding his coffee, though he looked grumpier than her, and the way he shifted his weight stiffly told her his auto-mail—even swapped out for cold-weather—was hurting him. Not that he said anything, which only told her it was probably pretty bad. Like her father, Cal was more prone to griping when it was only irritating.
It was just past dawn, and there wasn't actually a meeting scheduled until mid-morning. After weeks of planning, and training, there was little to do besides keep sharp and wait. A new dusting of snow covered everything, and the peace of the scene ran directly contrary to the fact she was looking down at a military force, with an enemy out of site beyond.
"There was an intelligence report late last night," Cal commented softly. Even then it seemed to carry in the empty fog. "It said reinforcements were rolling in under the cover of darkness, including more well-armored tanks that move faster than anything previously reported."
"How much faster?"
"Several kilometers per hour. Not much compared to other vehicles, but faster than our tanks."
"Something to keep in mind when they end up in range of each other." Sara filed the information away. The Drachmans would deal with the strategy for taking that speed into account. All the alchemists had to do was stop the things, and a few kilometers speed difference did not mean much against alchemy. "Have you and Rapid figured out how to freeze radiator fluid inside a vehicle while it's running yet?" It was one of the many techniques they had been brainstorming and testing with their available time.
Cal nodded. "It takes much less energy when they aren't running, or are idling, but it can be done. The problem is that it's not all that effective at-distance while they're moving. Also, not every radiator fluid in Drachma is exactly the same. Turns out to keep the water from freezing, a lot of them use different mixes of cheap alcohol."
"And they don't have a problem with the soldiers drinking their fluids?" Sara quipped, wondering at just how troublesome it might be to have that much liquor around tired soldiers.
"There are additional additives that make it poisonous," Cal elaborated. "All the soldiers know this. Apparently, decades ago, when they first started using tanks and vehicles in war, they had that problem."
A brutal but efficient solution. Sara cringed. "I'm sure that discouraged people quickly. Anything besides the tanks we should be concerned about?"
"While they couldn't see much in the dark, the report estimates an additional ten-thousand soldiers, and an entire convoy of supply trucks. I'd place bets on us seeing some action before the week is up."
"I won't take that bet," Sara replied, "because I agree with you."
"Mark this date on the books, then," Cal quipped, sipping his coffee. "I—do you hear that?"
Sara didn't ask what. She stopped, listening, and almost at once heard the mechanical whine Cal was talking about in the distance. A mechanical whine that sounded familiar, but shouldn't be there, and the rhythmic buzz that told her what was coming as it grew quickly louder. There were two of them. "Planes!" Horror burned in her core as her hand went straight into her pocket for her radio. Each alchemist had one trained to a frequency the military had assigned for them. "This is Twilight to all Liondragons," she barked, using the codename the Drachmans had given them on seeing the symbol on their watches, "Twilight to Liondragons, Report! Enemy inbound and coming in high. Use Plan Four."
That was all she had time for as the frighteningly familiar whistle of falling ordnance passed her ears, and part of the camp before them erupted in flames and debris.
She vaguely heard the very-alert reports of alchemists confirming orders before another one dropped, missing any critical targets but taking out a row of tents near the very edge of the encampment. Destructive, but their aim might not be all that accurate.
The morning quiet was shattered, and the sounds of shouting and alarms going off filled the air as Sara abandoned her coffee on the edge of the wall and smacked her hands together, grateful for the transmutation circles carefully stitched on all of her fresh new gloves.
Cal was pelting for the stairs, but for her work, it was better to be up here on the wall where she could possibly see the enemy. Even if not, she didn't need to go anywhere to manipulate air, or light. She could do both right here.
She pulled as much energy to her as she could handle, and whipped up the air around her into a loose whirlwind that grew quickly, spinning out wider and wider, up into the sky. At the best, she might be fortunate enough to knock the planes off course. Causing them to crash would be ideal, but even driving them away would be enough for the moment if that was all she could do.
Below her, she knew Trisha had found a place to make a stand for her own transmutations, because suddenly the air was alive with bright, piercing beams of light that cut through the quickly-shredding and dissipating fog bank like bolts—incredibly powerful searchlights out of pure alchemical energy.
Another whistle, and this time the explosion was close enough that Sara could sense the heat, and the force of the explosion blasted wind past her face, despite the distance. It slammed part of the wall, collapsing it into the city.
How many could eat plane drop? Sara had no way of knowing for certain. Their knowledge of what planes the Drachmans had built was outdated, and based on what Roy and Ted had seen before destroying the original factories. None of what they had described included easily-dropped external bombs.
A glint of steel caught above made her change the direction of her wind in an instant, striking with a sharper, more directed wind instead of the general clearing. Aiming just ahead of the plane, she had the satisfaction of watching it veer sharply off-course.
Plan Four was not one Sara had honestly expected them to need to use except maybe for taking out tank rounds or missiles fired from the ground. Still, she was glad they had prepared it. While she and Trisha handled identifying the enemy in the air, pinpointing them, and the initial attack, the rest of the team was also in action.
Marble was also on the offensive, using alchemical energy to fling small boulders into the air. Having trained to hit flying targets this way, she helped distract and divert the enemy. They could not ignore her rocks and be safe in the air.
Whitewater, Rapid, Molecule, and Live Wire were the defensive squad in this scenario, putting out fires with water, and healing the wounded. Even focused on targeting the planes in the air, Sara could feel the energies being pulled by the other alchemists around her. The army could handle the destruction. It was the alchemists' job to keep the enemy from causing more while they did so, or until they got to their own defensive weaponry. They had some fairly powerful guns that could hit a low-flying craft or missile possibly, if the gunners were good enough. They'd had minimal practice however, because it had never been necessary.
Which meant it was up to them.
Except that the Zinovek planes weren't going to give them the opportunity. After only a few minutes of dodging, and one more dropped bomb—this one directly into the industrial center of the city itself—they veered off, vanishing back into the clouds that remained beyond the pass. At least one of them was smoking out the tail, so it had taken some kind of damage.
Less than ten minutes after the attack had started, it was finished. Sara could feel herself sweating inside her wool uniform, and was grateful that wet wool continued to generate heat, or she'd be freezing quickly. Panting, she let the energy stop flowing, and took a good look at the mess below in both directions.
The town's fire department had arrived at the scene of the fire, and the damage to the wall, while devastating to the wall, had not fallen into a residential district. At this hour of the morning that was a blessing.
Which meant Sara could focus on outside the wall. She hurried back to the internal staircase, then down, coming out in the streets near the gate. No one even looked at her as she walked briskly out into the military camp. People were running in both directions, towards the damage zones, but Sara conserved what little energy she had left. Running on her knee wasn't something she wanted to push, tired as she was now. Her alchemy might still be needed in other areas.
The nearest area of destruction was the one in the middle of the camp, so she headed there first. "Liondragons report!" she barked into her radio.
"Whisper here. Both planes seem to have cleared out of range," Trisha's voice came through first. "Nothing is coming up the pass so it looks like that might have been the entire attack."
"Rapid reporting," Ryan Wilkes' voice came through immediately following. "Fires are out, but we've got casualties. Half the third company camp's in ruins."
Moments later, Sara came around a corner and could see for herself. Dozens of tents, flattened, destroyed, flung into the distance with a smoking crater in the earth in the center. The shouts she heard were organized chaos—officers barking orders as men and women pulled their comrades out of the wreckage. The first thing she noticed was that there were more soldiers standing than not, and it occurred to her that the nearest Mess tent was still standing, and many of the occupants of these tents, despite the early hour, would have been eating breakfast.
She moved towards the nearest unaided moan for help, and pulled the flap of smoking canvas up to reveal a young soldier, maybe in his twenties, pinned to the earth by a splinter of wood that had caught his uniform leg, with most of his tent on top of him. :I've got this,: she told him, bending down long enough to sketch the quickest circle in the dirt. In a moment, she had used alchemy to push the tent out of the way and propel the wooden steak out of the ground. Immediately, the part of his leg that had been run through bled freely, and Sara diverted her transmutation to the body. She wasn't a healer, but she could at least keep him from bleeding out immediately while she applied a tourniquet made from a ripped shred of his own tent canvas.
No one had come to assist by the time she finished. Assessing him as safe to move, she put an arm under him and helped him to his feet. :Lean on me,: she ordered. He grimaced, nodded, and complied. Together they hobbled towards the infirmary, which was not far but had not been in range of the explosion. Sara wondered at the fact the crater and debris field weren't larger. Maybe the bomb had sunk further into the earth, and that had kept more of the explosion in the ground, or maybe they just didn't have the ability to make something bigger. In either case, she'd be grateful.
:Thank you,: the young man said as she left him with medical staff, and headed back out again.
By now, enough time had passed that a semblance of order had been restored. While many of the soldiers in the Western Drachman army were new, they were not easily scared, and they could take orders. The living had mostly been retrieved and were being moved for treatment if possible, or stabilized in place so they could be.
She assisted in moving two more injured because she caught up with Whitewater and Live Wire as the younger woman finished a healing transmutation on a terrified looking young soldier whose leg made Sara wince empathetically. It wasn't gone, but it might still require amputation. The medics standing by moved him to a stretcher, and hurried off towards the infirmary.
Everyone was grime-streaked and exhausted. Live Wire wobbled a little as she stood.
"How many have you healed?" Sara asked.
Finn looked up at her. "Seven so far."
"Go rest and get something to eat."
For a moment the girl looked like she was going to object, but a sharp look from Cal immediately checked her. "Yes, Twilight." She turned and headed towards the alchemists' tents, which were in a different part of the camp entirely.
"Where are Rapid and Marble?"
"I sent them to help finish clean-up of the second and third blast sites," Cal answered. "Rapid's soaking the other camp, and Marble's helping shore up and reconstruct the wall." He shook his head. "Planes. We should have anticipated planes."
"We did," Sara pointed out. "We just didn't anticipate them to have rebuilt this quickly. It was always a possibility." Just one she hadn't wanted to have to try and face for herself. "I'd say we did better this time than when they hit you south of Petrayevka, except that we had more men to lose here."
Cal pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his neck and forehead. Like her, he was sweaty from exertion. "I don't disagree, I just hate being caught off guard like this. It means we're going to have to start keeping a much more active watch, and we'll need more than one plan of attack in case they get better at dodging what we have now that they've experienced it. We can't assume they'll give up using them."
No. They could count on the enemy continuing to wear them down. Damage was damage, and if they had two planes now, it only stood to reason they might have more, or more coming later. I hope our little secret project at home is going well. Amestris might need war planes even sooner than anticipated. This would definitely be in the next report wired home.
Though the news might beat the report depending on what the journalists covering the war put out on the airwaves. Sara had a feeling that was going to be another conversation had this afternoon. What should be aired, and what needed to be suppressed for the sake of military success? Sara wasn't a fan of suppressing information from the public, but sometimes things needed to remain classified, even if only for a marked period of time.
"How's the city?" Cal startled her by asking, a worried look on his face.
Of course, Gloria and Alexei were here now. "Headquarters is fine," Sara assured him. "I could see that from the wall. The areas that got hit were industrial. They should have been mostly empty of people this early, so there won't be many casualties, if any, outside of any injuries earned in cleaning it up. The fire department and police seemed to have it in hand when I last looked." Though his question made her turn and look. There was still smoke rising from the city, but it was thin, as if the fires themselves were mostly out, and remains were smoldering. "Alchemists' meeting in an hour?" she suggested. They needed to go over what had just happened in detail, and make other plans accordingly.
"Roger that." Cal pulled out his own radio, and gave the command across the frequency. Then he put it away. "I'm going to check the city and see if they could use any alchemical assistance. I'll meet you there."
Sara watched him go, then turned and headed towards the command tent to check in with the other officers and give a report.
The Command tent was in chaos; though it was tightly controlled, organized chaos. Voices overlapped into a nearly incomprehensible babble as various officers pointed at the maps spread across the table. In this case, organizational camp maps, as they took apart not only the unanticipated battle that had taken place almost without any soldiers being involved except those who were wounded, but where to route the people who were now tentless for shelter and food in the immediate future.
Sara stepped up to the table and took a moment to just listen, gathering information based on the discussions going on around her. Casualties were, so far, not as high as they could be given the bad aim of the second bomb, and the fact that—as she had hoped—almost eighty-five percent of the soldiers that used those tents had been at breakfast or using the restroom and shower facilities set up at regular intervals throughout the camp. The death count was currently up to fifteen, with at least two dozen more injured, some seriously, but it could have been much higher.
:Fortunately, thanks to our Amestrian allies, it wasn't: Gavril Mihalov—looking far more disheveled than usual, having clearly dragged on only pants and a shirt that was not tucked in before dragging on his coat and running over—spoke up, nodding to Sara. At that moment, she had everyone's full attention. :In fact, I dare say that without them, we'd be looking at a slaughter.:
:We were just doing what you asked us here to do, President Mihalov,: Sara replied matter-of-factly. :Fortunately, we've had experience with knocking out objects in the air with alchemy. All of our people are accounted for and uninjured, and we plan to have at least one of us with the ability to strike at planes at range on watch at all times from here on out. It's only good fortune that General Fischer and I were in a position to both see and hear their initial arrival this morning. A few minutes earlier could have been a disaster. In the meantime, we will work on a coordinated plan with the artillery battalions to work on more effective and wider-spread attacks on enemy aircraft."
The Captain present from the artillery units nodded.
There wasn't much else to report, and as soon as Sara was done, she excused herself and stepped back out into the morning light. The fog that she had scattered had cleared away into a partly-cloudy day, with rare peeks of blue sky.
The alchemists had the use of a smaller unit command tent for meetings, and that was where she found everyone except Live Wire and Whitewater when she entered an hour later, having changed clothes and eaten a second breakfast to make up for having used up more than the entire first one in transmutations.
Her daughter handed her a fresh cup of coffee, which Sara accepted gratefully. "Where's Live Wire?" she asked as she took a seat in the nearest available chair. There was no reason to stand on ceremony at the moment.
"She went back to the infirmary," Marble—Misty Parkwaller—reported from the other end of the table, where she was braiding her thick, freshly-washed hair back into a neat braid. "She said she wanted to make sure everyone who needed her abilities got treated."
Sara refrained from shaking her head, though she wanted to. That girl was going to use herself up that way, even if it was noble. "Did she eat at least?"
Marble nodded. "We all did."
Sara looked over at Wren Muniez, the Molecule alchemist, whom she hadn't seen yet this morning, even though she knew Muniez was on the defensive team. She, like the two water alchemists, was working on the fuel-freezing project, since quick temperature manipulation was one of her specialties. "Report, Molecule."
The dark-haired, warm-skinned woman sat up from where she had been laying back in a chair. "Twilight, Ma'am. The south-west crater area has been cleared and Rapid and I repaired everything we could that had enough base material to be transmuted back into functional tents and vehicles. The central crater is cleared, and they are under orders to sort the rest of the parts there for usability into piles of the appropriate materials for us to repair later." Given that was a much larger pile, Sara could understand why it would take longer.
"Good." She turned back to Marble. "What's the situation with the wall?"
Misty set down her own cup of coffee. "It's repaired for now. There wasn't enough material left to fully restore the wall, but it's not in danger of collapsing, and I was able to use the material to transmute much of what was blown up back together. The wall looks complete from the outside, but it's about two feet thinner on the inside in that area, and the walkway at the top isn't what I'd call roomy. That said, it won't collapse under anyone."
"Rapid."
"All fires are out, naturally," Ryan Wilkes grinned. "We were able to wring most of the water back out of the tents or send it deeper into the ground so it's not a muddy mess either, and the tent canvas should be dry enough for people to sleep in again tonight once the tents are repaired or replaced."
Trisha's report included information from the city. Civilian casualties were numbered at two unfortunate janitors in one of the factories. There was a lot of structural damage and debris, but the loss of human life was thankfully minimal. "Unsurprisingly, the reporters from all three countries want to speak with us about our part in this morning's defense."
"You mean because we were the only defense?" Rapid snorted.
"Circumstantial, and fortunate for them," Sara commented with a stern look. The last thing she needed was a cocky young fool mouthing off at the wrong moment in front of journalists. There were moments Rapid reminded her a little too much of Cal in his early days. "So be politically astute and don't say it like that. In fact, unless you're specifically addressed, leave the answers to Whitewater and I. If for no other reason than we both speak all three languages and we can avoid mistranslations and misunderstandings."
Rapid looked put out, but no one else seemed bothered. Probably they were relieved to not be expected to give interviews.
"There's not much chance of us keeping the fact the Drachmans are using aircraft to drop weapons on us for long, not with any kind of truth in reporting," Sara continued. "That doesn't mean we want the world dwelling on that fact. We've had hot air balloons for a long time, and no one will ever forget the zeppelins from that freak incursion from the Gate decades ago, though none of us here were alive for that." Not even her or Cal. Her parents hadn't even been married. "We focus on the facts of how we diverted the attack and drove them off before they could do more damage, and that we have plans to counter them in the future. That's all we say, so when the enemy intercepts any news reports—because they will—we don't give away anything that might be used against us."
Her instruction elicited nods of consent. "All right. From now on, one of us will be on watch at all hours. The alchemist on watch does not have to be someone with long-range alchemical capabilities, though we'll take the hours when we're not likely to have artillery back-up quickly. This afternoon, we will be teaching the artillery how to time and aim their shots to better hit airborne targets moving quickly with this kind of maneuverability. I'd like everyone present, for maximum flexibility when it comes to targets, and because any ideas you might come up with, I want on hand for consideration and testing." She paused and sipped her coffee before continuing. It was about to be an even longer day. "Before that, we repair everything we can. Now, before that, I want any ideas you've had on what we can do to keep this from happening again."
By midday, Gloria was smudged, streaked, and exhausted, but she would not have traded a moment of her choices in how to spend the day. She and Alexei had been fast asleep when the explosions started, and it was over fast enough that even rushing into clothes, grabbing basic gear and hurtling outside, it had been over almost before either of them hit the streets.
Though there had been plenty to do in the aftermath, and despite the role of a journalist to report facts, they could not dispassionately stand by and watch, nor did Gloria think anyone would have really expected them to. Shoving into the chaos, she and Alexei had helped with what they could in clearing the debris and fires within the city, and afterwards they had talked to the local fire and police services, witnesses to the attacks, and then moved on out into the military camp, doing interviews, pausing to help where an extra hand was needed, and then moving on and doing their best to stay out of the way.
An impromptu press conference late in the afternoon allowed them, and the other reporters, a chance to ask questions of Gavril Mihalov, the Generals of the Western Drachman army, and Sara Heimler and Cal Fischer. They asked about the attacks, and the alchemists' defense, and dutifully took down notes and recordings as they spoke about how the military did have a plan going forward for dealing with the new threat, though they could not of course give that information to the public.
After that, they were dismissed. The agenda for the rest of the day was set, they were told, to what it would have been if the attack hadn't happened. That meant that aside from dinner, they had no other official obligations until the evening broadcast.
Gloria wasn't ready to simply go back to their rooms. Not even with pages of notes to type up, and rolls of film to label and store until they had a chance to develop them. Thankfully, the reporters had all been given the use of a large basement room to use as a dark room, so they wouldn't have to wait months to send anything out.
The recorded interviews would be played tonight over the radios and news stations of Western Drachma, and to the resistance, as well as reaching out to Creta, Kartos, and Amestris, who had all agreed to connect television wires and relay radio coming out of Western Drachma for the purposes of international news coverage.
"We should still get something to eat and get cleaned up before we go on the air tonight," Alexei pointed out as they wandered back through the camps that were already being rebuilt.
Gloria nodded. There was nothing else they could do now to be helpful that wasn't just as easily done by another pair of more experienced hands. "All right. I could use a shower."
"We both could." There was a subtle question in his tone, and Gloria just smiled and took his hand.
The walk back to their rooms was uneventful. Thankfully there was plenty of hot water, and by the time they were both clean and dressed for that night's broadcast—which would be sent out from the regional television station, which was fortunately located here in town—it was still early evening, but already dark.
"Do you want to eat next door, or try out the café?" Alexei asked as he used a garment brush to clean off their coats before they put them back on.
"Let's try the café," Gloria decided after a moment. Who knew when they would have time, and she thought it would be quieter than the crowded dining room where Mihalov's staff were constantly going in and out.
As she was putting on her coat, there was a knock at the door. Alexei answered it to find one of the military guards from the front door standing there. :Can I help you?:
The guard nodded. :I have been asked to deliver a message. There's a soldier downstairs who says he is a Mr. Yasha Deviatovski, a relative of yours. His military identification says the same.:
Gloria recognized the name. That was one of Alexei's relatives she had met during their trip last year, an uncle.
:I know him,: Alexei replied excitedly. :Please have him wait. We're on our way down and we will meet him.:
:Yes, sir.: The soldier headed downstairs.
Alexei turned to look at Gloria, his eyes wide and hopeful. :If Uncle Yasha is here, I wonder who else might be.:
Gloria reached out and took his hand. The last they had heard from any of Alexei's relatives had been months ago, when a letter had somehow gotten through to his parents saying they had fled their home town in the valley and headed West, and were safe in an undisclosed location in the mountains. :Well, let's go find out.:
The man waiting downstairs was definitely the one Gloria had met. Middle-aged but generally fit, he looked a lot like his brother—Alexei's father—and thus similar to Alexei, if a little more wrinkled, a couple of inches shorter, and with a little less hair.
Alexei grabbed the man up in a bear hug. :Uncle Yasha!:
Yasha, chuckling, hugged him back with equal ferocity. :Alexei!: he finished the hug and stepped back. :The word around camp was that you were here. One of the other men told me the Amestrian reporters had my last name, though they were skeptical. I had to come see if it was really you for myself.:
:Well it's me,: Alexei assured him, :And Gloria. You remember Gloria.:
Yasha's grin widened even further. :Of course I remember this vibrant treasure.: He bowed over Gloria's hand. :Congratulations to you both are in order I see. Good. I think Mama would have disowned Alexei if he had let you get away.:
:Thank you.: Gloria hoped the flush of pleasure was hidden under the flush of cold cheeks. :It's nice to see you again, Yasha. We were just about to go to dinner, would you like to join us?:
:Well, I ate in the mess, but I'll join you for dessert,: Yasha agreed readily. :You can fill me in on everything we've been missing out on not being able to get family news from your folks, and I can pass it on to the family in my next letter.:
:So no one else is here with you?: Alexei asked as they headed down the street.
Yasha shook his head. :No. Most of the family's in a little town south-west of here, Tarokova. It was a dying mining town before the war started. Now every house is filled with families who fled the valley and managed to escape before the Zinovek army took control of the town. Nearly a quarter of our town is crammed in there plus a few from others we picked up along the way. Folks who ran with their supplies from businesses in trucks have set up shop, just changed where they get supplies from to local markets. It's a functional town. Things are tight, but it's a living, and it's better than living under Genn Savahin.: Yasha scowled at the name, the twist of his words sounded as if he were spitting on the man. He paused to hold the café door open for both Alexei and Gloria before following them in. :The important thing for now is the family is safe. Well, enough about that,: he changed subjects as they took a nearby table. His smile returned. :Tell me everything about the proposal, and the wedding.:
The proposal. Gloria laughed. :Well, we may only have time for the short version. There was a riot and a coup in the middle.:
I'm never going to convince her I can make her and Amylla a priority, Gavril lamented to himself as he walked back towards his headquarters in the dark of evening. He had been ripped from sleep that morning by the unanticipated air attack, and gone pelting from the building half-dressed with his aides scampering behind him. Over the course of the day he'd been in meeting after meeting, some military strategy, other updates on the work within the city and the camps to repair the damage, and the lives lost. He had even spent some time observing the alchemists and artillery units working together on additional training, and gotten a detailed report on the alchemists' plans from Sara Heimler. He thanked her, and the other alchemists, profusely again for their being the only line of defense that had been any use against the planes. Without them, this would have gone far worse. Not that it wasn't going to get worse. Surely the Zinoveks would try again.
At some point the rest of his clothes had appeared, and food and beverages at his hands without him having to go hunting for them. It was the benefit of his position, but he had refused to stand back and play bureaucrat while everyone else worked to save and repair what they could. He was still impressed that, thanks to the alchemists, the damaged camps and vehicles had already been repaired and put back up, with only a 25% loss of materials. That didn't help the lives of the people lost, but it was an incredible feat still. Gavril could not imagine why Drachma had not ever tried to employ alchemists in this fashion. If they had, however, history might have turned out very differently.
He went inside, and up to the room Darya had been given for the duration of her stay, only to find it empty. His heart sinking, he went to his own rooms. Darya wasn't the sit around all day type either, which meant she was probably out helping with the clean-up efforts herself. He closed the door, and leaned against it, eyes closed for a moment as he let out a deep, therapeutic sigh.
:It's been quite a day.:
Startled, he turned around. Darya was in one of the chairs, dressed casually—for her—in slacks and a fine-knit cashmere sweater. There was a covered plate—dinner he presumed—on the table, along with a carafe of water, and a bottle of wine.
:It has,: he agreed, trying to control his quickly shifting emotions. :I'm sorry.:
:For letting Savahin's machines drop explosives on us without warning?: she asked, her voice surprisingly calm. She smiled slightly. :It's not your fault, Gavril. Thank goodness your Amestrian allies were here.:
:I've thanked them profusely.: He stepped away from the door, removing his coat as he went. :I mean I'm sorry I didn't come check on you sooner.:
Darya nodded, as if she had expected him to say something of the sort. He wasn't sure what to make of her calm in this situation. :Well you knew I was safe, seeing as you knew I was here,: she pointed out sensibly. :I don't expect you to drop everything for me. Frankly, until I arrived, I wasn't even sure you'd want to talk to me at all. You've been putting your whole being into this, like you always do. Now, sit.: Even in that tone, it had an air of command. :The staff brought your dinner up. I hope you still like pelmeni and beef cabbage soup.:
His mood brightened slightly. Both had been favorites as a boy, even though they were often considered peasant food. They were staples of Drachman cuisine, and eating at all classes of society, though the recipes and quality of ingredients varied. :Did you by chance have a hand in that?: he asked as he joined her, taking the seat she pointed at without objecting.
:I did stick my nose in the pantry and make a few pointed suggestions,: Darya admitted.
:Well, thank you. I couldn't have asked for a better meal.: He uncovered the plate and the fresh hot smells of both wafted up, tickling his nose. :Or better company. Have you eaten?: He noticed there wasn't a second plate.
:I ate earlier with the staff,: Darya admitted, :But I'll keep you company, and I haven't opened the wine yet.:
:So I see.: It would be nice to have her here, and Gavril was grateful she honestly did not seem slighted by his not rushing to her side when things went crazy. :After the day I've had, it will be most appreciated.:
:I thought it might.:
:Not as much as I appreciate your understanding,: he added earnestly.
Darya shrugged her shoulders. :I told you, it's fine, and I mean it. I'm not upset. Though I will be if you don't eat that before it gets cold.:
Gavril chuckled. Whatever the future held, at least tonight would be a good one. :Yes, Ma'am.:
