December 20th, 1990

Kavik Provlovich—as he was going by for the moment—had done many different jobs in his lifetime. He had been a short-order cook, a grocer, a brick-layer, and a few less legal things as well, mostly smuggling and information brokering; nothing that had killed people, but enough he had found himself doing time for five years when he got on the wrong side of a not-entirely-legal government operation. Afterwards, with nothing to go back to, he had settled in Holavon and gotten work as a bartender. At least until the dangers of politics had sent him into the resistance. Valhov had been behind the deal that had gotten him sent to prison, and Kavik hadn't been interested in a government with that man in charge. Savahin was even worse.

His eclectic set of skills made him an unlikely but excellent spy. So, when he'd been told to enlist in the Zinovek army for the purposes of reporting information back to the resistance, he hadn't hesitated.

Up until now, he had almost always found a way of getting the information needed to give the resistance an edge, or at least enough of one to survive. Now, however, he'd been asked for something far more specific; the location of a person who may or may not be there, and may or may not be alive.

So far, his search had yielded nothing. Not that he could just outright ask about an Amestrian body, but there had been no buzz among the lower ranking soldiers, or anyone else in the camp within his hearing. Kavik hadn't seen one amongst the dead either, when the bodies had been laid out after that disaster of an attack, and he'd been assigned to help put them in coffins to send home. Not had he heard or seen anything when he'd unloaded a truck of medical supplies and brought them to the infirmary. None of the injured were anything other than Zinovek soldiers.

Chances of finding the Amestrian alive dropped with every passing hour, but as he kept his ears open for other information, he kept listening and looking as he went about his duties. He was on kitchen duty when he was finally handed—literally—an opportunity to get an ear near the ranking officers.

:Take this to the officer's mess,: the head cook handed him a tray with the best of what the kitchens had to offer, :and don't drop or spill a thing. That's for General Korvoskaia.:

:Yes, Sir.: At Kavik's lowly rank, everyone was Sir. It was the perfect chance. Walking briskly and with purpose, he went straight to the officers' private mess only twenty yards away, and ducked inside.

There was no real luxury to be had in the military camp, but what there was could be found here, or in the General's private offices. In this case, that meant better lighting, and chairs and tables that weren't rickety, along with better food and drink when there was any to be had.

General Korvoskaia was in the tent, sitting with a handful of his highest officers, clearly holding a meeting even while they ate. It looked as though the other officers were availing themselves of the food brought over earlier that they could self-serve, which meant that the cook had something special for the General. He got a look at it as soon as he set it in front of the General, then stepped back out of the way. Instead of leaving immediately, he waited by the side table holding trays of food and pitchers of drink, in case the General wanted anything else.

Korvoskaia barely acknowledged him, taking the lid off the tray and revealing a steak—a cheap cut of steak, but better than what anyone else was getting—and steamed buttered cabbage. Kavik refrained from drooling, and was pleased when one of the other officers—a Colonel—waved him over for a drink refill. That got him started around the table with the water, and no one paid him any mind as the conversation continued.

It seemed whatever they were discussing at the moment was not of any particular secrecy amongst them, and it was understood that any soldier serving them would keep his mouth shut.

The first part of the discussion focused on updates from the various units regarding preparations for the next attempt to advance, which would require them to first find a way to clear away the detritus that now blocked their path. So much of the discussion was the best way to do that, from night expeditions, to simply dropping another bomb on it and lighting it on fire again until it burned out and blew up to clear the way.

From there the discussion shifted to intelligence from the top of the hill, which continued to be—for them—frustratingly minimal, as yet another one of their spies had been captured, or had defected. In either case, they had stopped communicating.

:Speaking of information,: Lieutenant General Radikoff commented with a wry chuckle, :Have you gotten anything out of the Driftwood?:

Korvoskaia frowned slightly, shaking his head. :Not a thing. Hasn't stirred since the first day. Medic Kolinski says he's in a coma, but he's dying. Probably won't wake up again.:

Driftwood… the Amestrian had fallen in the river, it certainly sounded like they were talking about him.

:I'm surprised you haven't just run him through,: Radikoff shrugged, stabbing the food on his plate with a fork.

:A kindness.: Korvoskaia shook his head. :No. If the blue-coat wakes up, we might be able to wring something out of him, or at least use him as a hostage. If not, well, we can drop him out of a plane over their camp as a message. Until then, he remains in my office, and none of you will mention that he's there.:

That elicited several chuckles around the table, some slightly uncomfortable. Still, no one suggested giving the man medical care, or trying to save him. As they finished eating a few minutes later, the meeting also came to an end. Once again his presence was barely noticed as he simply stepped in and started clearing dishes, as if he belonged there. The officers walked out without a word to him.

Just to be safe, Kavik completed the task of clearing and returning dishes to the kitchen. If the man—or what remained of him—was in Korvoskaia's office, than Kavik knew where he was, because the man had placed the tent up against an outcropping of rocks, and the real office was back in a very defensible, well-protected cave on the side, where it was out of line of any direct fire. Now, he just needed to wait until he had a moment that was safe to signal his allies, and he could pass that information on. He just hoped it wasn't too late.


It was amazing how much the old warehouse storage facility outside of the city had changed in a very short few weeks. Additional buildings, and the first factory designed for manufacturing airplane parts specifically, were brand new additions to the property. The roadway had been extended out into the field beyond to form a proper length runway better suited for takeoff and landing, especially with less experienced pilots.

Edward was impressed. He was also impressed with how quickly the small core of best-and-brightest of the military engineers picked out and recommended by their superior officers had taken to the concept of building machines that could fly.

The first of the new planes, the first primarily designed as a cargo and personnel flyer, was already in Drachma, having successfully flown practice flights, and now all the way there without any reported problems.

In Drachma, where the part of him that worried about his daughter, and his granddaughter—the part that couldn't ever leave anything alone—wished he were as well. At least what he and Winry and Al were doing here was important to the war effort, and the defense of innocents, even if it wasn't front-lines alchemy. Alchemy was a critical part of the process of developing and building planes for Amestris; something the Hashman Syndicate, and the Zinoveks, did not make use of. By using alchemy to perfect the lightest, but strongest, metal alloys possible for flight, their new planes were already superior. They could fly higher, for longest distances, with better fuel economy, and handle the temperature changes better than even the original model off which they were roughly based.

"I know that face."

Ed looked up from the plans on the table in front of him, to find Winry watching. "What face?"

"The having the urge to do something reckless and glorious face." She stepped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leaning over him and his chair. "There is no way anyone is letting you get on one of these flights to Drachma and you know it."

He did know it, and it frustrated him. Hadn't he flown the critical mission to bring Sara home just a few months ago? Admittedly, that was because he had been the most experienced pilot in Amestris, and that with next to none. Now, even Trisha and Rothschild had more flight time than he did. The new crop of pilots they were training were a small class of ten, but that was just the start. Eventually, there would be more, and he only hoped that what they were starting did not lead to an era of war of the levels of mass destruction reported from the other side of the gate. "I could still be useful," he grumped.

Winry hugged him tighter. "What would you do, die gloriously?"

Ed reached up and clasped her hands. "Death was not part of my plan."

"And yet, it seems to like to come after you." She squeezed back, then loosened her grip as he stood.

"And I keep kicking it in the face." Ed grinned, turning to face her. His hands rested on her upper arms. "You know what they say about age and treachery."

"Yes, and I'm pretty sure it was coined about you, or Roy Mustang." She smiled sadly. "Edward… please, be grateful we're still able to be involved, and leave it at that. You'd be nothing out there but a liability."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it's true. It won't matter that you're retired, if you show up all eyes will be on you. Everyone will assume you're the one making calls for all actions regarding the State Alchemists, and it'll make Sara's job harder. Right now, we want our daughter to come home alive, and her daughter, and if they have to contend with that, or with taking care of you, it will just put everyone at more risk."

"No one has to take care of me."

"Are you going to lie to me and tell me your joints don't hurt? Or that you can outrun falling missiles?"

"Well, no," he replied begrudgingly.

"Are you going to tell me with absolute certainty that your ninety-one-year-old body won't give out if you try and go full out and use alchemy with the energy needed to be effective in full combat on the levels Sara's been reporting?"

His mouth tightened. "You've made your point."

"I'm sorry, Ed, but we're the old people now." Winry's smile was gentle and sympathetic. "Nowhere in the world is over ninety even middle aged, and that's okay. We've trained them to kick ass, and they'll do it for us."

As long as they survived to do so. Taking out Whitewater was tantamount almost to taking out himself, or Al, or Mustang in his prime… or Sara. What were they in for if they couldn't get those Drachman planes out of the sky fast enough? "You're right, but that doesn't make me feel any more confident about this."

"Me either," Winry admitted. "But it's what we can do. Come on, I was about to do an inspection of the engines that they completed this morning. Want to join me?"

"Sure." He dropped his hands, and offered her an arm instead. "I enjoy watching them sweat while you nitpick their work."


Sara had a plan. It was a daring plan, risky, and potentially lethal if it got out of control. It also went way beyond the scope of their mission objectives as defensive allies of Western Drachma. Still, if they wanted any hope of rescuing Cal, or even recovering his corpse if he had died in the past few hours, it was their best bet. It would also benefit their allies.

The other alchemists sat around the table, grim-faced. This was Sara's call, and she would not be reporting it to Central ahead of time. Any word getting out might get back to their enemies. If they didn't say anything, they couldn't go against orders that hadn't been given.

"How much of this do we tell Mihalov and the generals?" Sensation asked, a logical question to come from the diplomat. She and Glacier had been easily retrieved with the use of the second plane, as scheduled, and Sara was glad to have them now. Glacier would be integral to her plan.

"Only that we have a plan, and that the end result will be beneficial to his cause," Sara replied. "I'll handle that myself. He will understand that the less he knows, the better. In case this goes badly, he will have plausible deniability and can say we took action without consulting him. If it goes well, he can take credit for approving the plan and reap the benefits."

"And that's what we want?" Rapid looked skeptical.

"It is if it means we rescue whatever is left of Whitewater." Sara met his gaze without blinking. "This isn't a glory mission. It's a retrieval, and a risky one at that. It's relying on us all to do our parts and work flawlessly as a team. What we are about to unleash has never been tried before and there's no room for mistakes." Or some of them might die in the rescue attempt. "Does everyone understand their role?"

Heads around the table nodded. Trisha spoke first. "You, me, Rapid, and Glacier will be up on the cliffs, waiting to perform the transmutation."

Marble spoke next. "I'll lead the retrieval team down the path during dark of night, to avoid being spotted, and we will use the cliffs and our path as a shield to protect us from the transmutation. Then, once you've cleared the path, Live Wire, Molecule, Sensation, and I make our way in, locate Whitewater, collect him, and make our way back to the trail with all haste."

A simple summary of a more detailed plan, but they had already gone over it several times. Sara nodded. "Correct. Timing is key, and protection. We can't know how effective the transmutation will be in dealing with the Zinoveks; whether it will distract, destroy, or immobilize them, or for how long. Remember, this is war. Avoid being seen, but injure or kill if you have to." The last thing they needed was someone holding back or showing mercy to an enemy that would almost certainly not reciprocate. Alchemists were still little more than demons to some people in Drachma. Even though the retrieval team would not be in Amestris blue, the moment anyone used alchemy, the truth of their identity would be out.

As they were already in agreement, there wasn't much else to be said. The others simply looked at her expectantly.

"All right. Go prepare. Retrieval team, I want you at the bottom of the hill by three. That's when we'll hit." No one expected an attack at three in the morning in the dark, in the cold. Of course, most people didn't fight wars in the north in winter either.

"Yes, Ma'am." When they were done, they stood, each heading to their own tent to pack any needed supplies, catch a couple of hours sleep before the mission if they could, and then for the retrieval team, start making their way down in the dark of night. Sara's team would head for the top of the cliffs only a little after they left.

Now, it was time to give Mihalov just as much information as he needed to know to stay out of their way.

December 21st, 1990

Trisha had done a lot of things in her lifetime, and it certainly wasn't her first mission to Drachma, but it was definitely the coldest, darkest, and most primitive. She preferred her first trip, years ago, when they'd been wined-and-dined as diplomats. The part where terrorists kept trying to kill them, and Roy had been kidnapped and injured, were not fond memories, but it was still better than this one was likely to be.

Climbing to the top of the cliffs at the top of the pass on a cloudy night was definitely the most athletic thing she had done in a while however, even with all of the training she gave the younger alchemists on a regular basis. Fortunately, she was in good shape, because she was panting anyway by the time they reached the top. She managed not to look smug when Rapid and Glacier looked as tired as she did.

The only person she worried about—not that she voiced any concerns—was her mother, if only because of how much of a workout it was for her knee. Still, the Twilight Alchemist made it to the top right behind them, looking none the worse for wear no matter how she might actually be feeling. The trail they had followed they had only found by asking one of the locals, because they had been certain people must go up there sometimes. It was only a quarter mile to the top from this end of the pass, while it was over a mile of cliff at the other end, in the valley. The pass itself, being a couple of miles long, meant that they still had a bit of a hike along the top, which was not quite a wall of rocks and ice, though it seemed close. The remains of unlogged old pine forest across the top shielded them from the worst of the wind as they made their way through the dark.

There were unlikely to be any enemies up here, nor would they be spotted from the air. The only possible danger might be the local wildlife, and from what Trisha had been told, these forests saw people enough that the largest thing in them was the occasional Drachman Bobcat, and a lot of large, fluffy pale-gray squirrels, and birds.

None of which were in evidence tonight, except a brief glimpse of one very white owl, staring at them from the trees above. The walk to the edge of the cliff was made without incident. It was also made in almost perfect silence. Something about the hush of the world made it feel right, even though no one would hear them speaking quietly up here. It was only when they broke out of the trees, and could see the few rocky yards to the sharp precipice beyond that they stopped, and turned to Twilight.

Her mother nodded to them all. "All right. You all know what to do. We have fifteen minutes until we're supposed to start. The retrieval team should already be in position. The area is as flat as we'd hoped, I want everyone to stand no more than three feet apart, so we can all reach each other should anything not go as planned, and we can hear over the noise we're about to make. Are there any questions?"

Trisha had rarely seen Rapid or Glacier look nervous, and she'd been part of their training. Right now, both normally cocky young men looked a bit like they were in over their heads, which was only appropriate, since they were. It was Glacier who voiced what they might both be thinking. "Are you sure we're up to this, Twilight? I mean, I know you and Whisper can, but this storm it—well it's something no one has ever tried before. A four-alchemist transmutation of this size using raw nature?"

This was not the first time they had voiced skepticism, even though they had agreed to the plan. Trisha understood. If they lost control of the storm they were about to whip up—part blizzard, part hurricane—there was a good chance they would destroy or bury a lot more than just the camp below. If they couldn't pull it apart again, it would carry on out into the central Drachman valley, possibly all the way to Petrayevka.

Not that Trisha didn't think that might not be the best thing they could do for this war, but it would hit a lot of civilians if it was allowed to keep going. It was, to be fair, the most complicated transmutation she had ever tried either, and that included the various combined efforts she and her mother had put in of late. This storm required a concerted control of air and water to stir up a storm of driving winds and snow, dump it where they wanted it to go and then break it apart again afterwards.

"If I weren't sure we wouldn't be standing here," Sara replied flatly. "It's a bit late for doubts now, gentlemen. Fortunately for both of you there is already plenty of moisture in the clouds tonight. Just pay attention to the energy once we start, and stick to the plan. Remember that you're not doing this alone, and if you have any trouble, the other three of us will help. Now, let's get set up."

There was no arguing with that. Trisha watched both Glacier and Rapid steel themselves, and move off to the left, following Twilight as she identified the best location to stand, which was just east of a little stone ridge that would break the wind a bit coming from behind them, now that they would not be standing directly up against the trees. They did not need to shove themselves off that cliff. Trisha moved close enough to glance down into the dark, while still staying several feet from the edge. Beyond them, the glow of lights in the Zinovek camps were clearly visible.

Trisha returned to her spot, standing to the right of the boys, between Glacier and her mother. Perhaps the most efficient part of this plan—and most genius—was that none of their transmutations would require specialized circles. Each of them could wear the military-issued gloves with their most used transmutation circle on them, instead of drawing them out on the rocks, and hoping that wind and weather didn't whip them away once they got started. Her mother seemed to think of everything.

Or maybe she had just been giving this particular idea too much thought for a very long time. Sara had admitted that thinking up ways she would have used alchemy on her captors if she'd still had it once they blocked her ability to transmute had been a common pastime when locked in solitary confinement.

Fifteen minutes, now that they were here, seemed to take an eternity to pass. Trisha wondered if the team below was feeling it even worse than they were. They would be waiting, watching, and then they would have to run into whatever was left after the storm subsided, extract Whitewater in whatever condition they found him, and make it back to the trail and up without being followed.

"It's time."

Those were her mother's only words. Trisha focused, concentrated, put her hands together, and felt the flow of alchemical energy as she reached out into the atmosphere. Immediately she could feel the others doing the same; all reaching out together, but focusing on different elements within the clouds, and what they would be doing with them. First, they held everything in place, letting it back-fill, while Glacier and Rapid piled on the moisture, filling the clouds with as much as they could hold, keeping it cold enough to guarantee snow, or at the least, frozen rain.

Trisha had often heard people talk about the feel of a storm building, and she had always understood what they meant in that sense of knowing it was coming. This was an entirely different sensation as the pressure built against and within the alchemical energy she was pouring into the sky above, controlling the air itself. It built until it felt like she was holding back the river itself, or a thousand swimming pools of water, all wrapped within those frozen clouds. Water that Glacier was turning to snow and ice.

"Now."

At the command, the storm was released—not uncontrolled, but the retaining wall of air was removed, and the storm rolled forward with terrifying speed, rolling and twisting in the sky as Trisha and her mother whipped it into a huge whirlwind. There on the hill, the winds battered them, and stinging snow began to fly in her face, sharp and icy. It held in mostly until it was over the camp just beyond, and then all hell broke loose, as the howling winds began to dump snow in a driving beast that should—if it was doing its job properly—be ripping apart tents, tumbling vehicles, and burying supplies in a sudden and terrifying blizzard the likes of which no human had ever seen, even in Drachma.

Trisha closed her eyes against the cold and focused. There was nothing to be seen more than a few inches from her nose anyway. Her only sense of where she stood, the world around her, and the storm, came from her connection to them through the alchemical energy coursing through. With it, she could feel the other alchemists beside her, bolstering one another. Despite their fears earlier, neither Glacier nor Rapid wavered.

A particularly strong buffet rocked her where she stood. Trisha crouched down, letting the ledge behind them shelter her more from the wind, not daring to divert any energy into protecting herself, lest they lose control of the storm. She was grateful she had worn her full winter wools, including the scarf pulled up over most of her face. The sting from the part that was exposed was enough, and she began to feel the cold seeping in even through her boots.

Moving in a giant cyclone, the storm rolled across the landscape with incredibly slowness, and for all its focus, Trisha was certain it ran several miles across, and was no longer entirely certain how far out the edges extended, only that it finally moved beyond the cliff, and past the extensive military encampments.

"That's enough."

Trisha felt a moment's relief, though she did not release her control. Now came the trickiest part; slowly and undoing what they had done. With the care of someone unraveling a ball of yarn, trying not to tangle it in the process, she began to unwind her energy from the others, dropping it away slowly, feeling them do the same as the monster storm slowed, stopped spinning, and ran out of the worst of its load, until they released it, letting it drift back into the rest of the weather-pattern as a natural light snowstorm.

For a moment, Trisha held the energy within her she had taken from the ground, using it to restore some of her own. A trick new to State Alchemists thanks to the infusion of more general knowledge of some basic alkahestry techniques. Even if someone wasn't inclined to go into healing, not using entirely their own internal energy was definitely a life saver. Still, she was sweating inside her clothes, and painting as if she'd run a marathon. Trisha opened her eyes, and looked to see how the rest were faring.

Glacier and Rapid were also on the ground, on hands and knees, panting heavily. All their usual bravado had been scoured clean away by the immensity of their task.
Her mother was already up and moving, walking closer to the edge to look at the results of their work.

"Did it work?" Trisha managed to find her voice, and forced herself back to her feet. Slowly, she moved to join her mother. At the edge she looked down, and stopped, eyes widening.

Below them, gleaming despite the diffuse moonlight above the clouds was a thick white blanket of snow that had to be at least four feet deep, where it wasn't drifting. That much, dumped that quickly, appeared to have collapsed any structure in the camp without a rigid roof. The lights had all gone out. If there was shouting, it was too far away for them to hear.

Trisha watched as her mother pulled her radio out of her pocket, keyed it to the private alchemist's frequency, and uttered softly, "Twilight to Marble. We are go."


Amalea Finn had never been more grateful for the talents of her fellow alchemists as she waited within the surprisingly warm and windless protected space Marble and Molecule had created at the end of their walkway, right at the base of the cliff. Through the long, narrow horizontal slit left open at eye-level when standing for them to look out of, she could hear and see the storm driving and burying everything in its path outside. The door to their hideout was transmuted from driftwood, and while it was snug-tight, the howling could be heard from inside.

Molecule's talents had been used to keep them warm for the two hours they had been huddled here, thawing out from their walk down, preparing for their part of the mission.

Molecule's job was just this, providing warmth for them now, and more importantly, for after their mission. If Whitewater wasn't dead, then dragging him out into the frigid weather would probably kill him from exposure long before Amalea could do anything to heal him, or get him to the alchemical doctor waiting up in camp.

Marble was in charge of protective barriers, clearing snow if needed, and anything else involving immediate force or blocking nature… or bullets. They had no way of knowing what the situation would actually be when they hit the camp.

Sensation would be there to distract those around them, though it should be easy, and just keep their eyes sliding past the enemy as the alchemists went into camp, and came out again.

Amalea's job was the obvious one, as healer. She just hoped there was someone left to heal, and that if he lived, he didn't die in her care.

They had a variety of supplies ready, including a Drachman-issue military sleeping-bag in which to wrap the man before putting him on the portable stretcher. A full medical first aid kit beyond just Amalea's abilities was also at hand. Easy snap-on cross-country skis had been provided for them by the quartermaster with no prying questions. They would be much faster than wading through snow or trying some kind of snow-shoes. Amalea was grateful now that her parents had taken her skiing a couple of times on winter vacations, because it had not been a regular part of her State Alchemist training. Food and water rations completed their kit.

Then it was just a matter of waiting.

Finally, the storm outside began to die down, and the snow turned to a light, natural looking fall. The wind stopped howling, and the radio crackled to life. "Twilight to Marble. We are go."

Misty held the radio up. "Marble to Twilight. On our way." Then she put it back in her pocket. "Let's go, Ladies."

The removal of the door allowed them to step out into the snow-clear path Marble had made before, protected by the natural exterior of the rock-face. They moved down several yards before they hit the ocean of white.

"That's some snow job," Molecule whistled as she looked towards the Drachman camp. "It just gets deeper the closer we go."

Given it was only about two feet deep here, Amalea believed it. "It's a good thing we're on skiis then."

They set off, moving as quickly as they could across the several hundred yards towards the buried camp, barely visible as taller white mounds in the dark. It was hardly a straight shot, and they had to pause long enough for Marble to make a very long, straight, sturdy stone bridge wide enough for them to cross. They moved around copses of trees, and brush, and crossed a smaller, frozen creek so buried in snow it was more of a divot.

They paused just outside of sight of the camp, listening for voices, and using binoculars to assess the situation.

"I see roughly two- dozen people from here," Marble whispered. "They've got shovels and they're working on digging out soldiers whose tents have completely collapsed. It looks like several have steep enough roofs they didn't cave, but a lot of the snow fell off them and blocked all the entrances. Some of them are on skis, so the fact that we're in their uniforms and on skis shouldn't be too odd. Also a couple of them do appear to be women."

All of these were good. It meant that they—dressed in uniforms transmuted to match one they had taken off a dead soldier—on skis, and being women, would not immediately be suspicious.

"So, what's our approach?" Molecule asked.

"Our best bet is to come in from different angles, in sets of two," Sensation suggested. "Look like you're heading from one location to another on business. If a lot of people are going in different directions, we won't really be noticed. Try to follow tracks of folks who already have gone the way we need, so the skis will mix in and it will be harder to tell where you came from. We'll meet at the office marked on the map we looked at earlier. If the tent has collapsed all the better for us getting in. Hopefully the General is out helping save his men and not worrying about military strategy at three-thirty in the morning. It should give us a few minutes to get in, assess the situation, retrieve what we came for, and move out. We'll be more obvious then, but hopefully we will know the lay of the camp well enough at that point to take a route that keeps us out of eye-shot and use Sensation's skills to keep them from noticing us making off with a person in a sleeping bag. If not, we follow orders."

Fight, kill, whatever was necessary to get back out of the camp again and escape. Amalea understood, but it still made her afraid. She had become a State Alchemist to save lives, not to take them.

"All right. Live Wire, come with me. We'll edge around to the left and cut straight in. Sensation and Molecule, come in from the south-most position here, behind that tent, and go in about two rows, then take the best route you can. We'll meet you there."

At that point, the snow-laden plant life, which was now mounds of snow instead of delicately-coated branches, became excellent cover. Amalea followed the Marble Alchemist as they crept steadily around the perimeter of the extensive camp. She was grateful that the General's camp, and the hill of rock into which it was situated, was only about a quarter mile in. If it had been truly in the center, they would have never made it.

Before long they had made it to their entrance point. Marble stopped her, and then took a look around. From what Amalea could see, this part of camp was less active, as the huge tents that served as mess halls were here, and no one had been in those at this hour. Amalea followed as Marble led the way. Her heard pounded against her chest so loudly she could hear it in her ears over the shushing of snow beneath her feet, and the murmured shouts of voices and scraping shovels as the Zinoveks tried to dig out their comrades.

She just hoped no one stopped them to ask what they were doing. They hadn't been here long enough for Amalea to feel at all confident in her Drachman, and she didn't think Marble knew much more than she did.

They passed through the row of mess tents, and into the first rows of neatly-ordered camping tents. Or at least, they had been. Most of them were collapsed, and a couple were already dug-out, showing twisted wood and canvas, abandoned.

Hopefully they would simply be mistaken for one of any number of displaced soldiers and ignored. Amalea didn't dare hope, but that seemed to be the case as they passed two men digging vigorously at one mound of snow, shouting back and forth with whomever was inside. The buried person, whoever they were, must still have a pocket of air, because they sounded concerned, but not terrified.

Row after row of tents, and Amalea felt like she had lost track of how far they had gone, or even where they were going. Thankfully, Marble had a keen sense of direction, and seemed to have the map memorized in her head, even without landmarks to go by. They drew nearer to a huge, stony hill, and eventually came to the edge. Turning left, they went only a few yards before they came up right next to a small temporary building set up directly against the hillside. Sturdier than anything near it, the building, while heaped in snow and not at all dug-out, was still standing.

The door was completely blocked by a huge snow drift.

A few seconds later, she heard skis coming up right behind them. Startled, Amalea turned around, prepared to salute, fight, or do whatever needed to be done.

Sensation and Molecule smiled at them from underneath their scarves, still pulled tightly over their faces.

"Too easy," Molecule mouthed, without making any noise.

Marble turned around. "Either we dig, or we make our own door," she mouthed carefully, not wanting to make any obvious noise while they were being conveniently ignored.

"We'll cover you," Sensation mouthed back.

Marble nodded, and they all backed into the nearest recess in the rock. While Amalea watched, Marble placed her alchemically-gloved hand against the rock face, and closed her eyes. The transmutation must have been very focused into the rock, because there was almost no sense of energy at all from where Amalea was standing.

After a minute, Marble nodded, and then slowly, almost like liquid, the rock began to roll back into the hill, vanishing into darkness.
Amalea turned her back, standing watch and hoping that no one decided they needed the General's office dug out now, and no one decided to glance behind that particular pile of snow-covered supplies. With their luck, it would hold the extra shovels.

Minutes ticked by. Several times footfalls came close as people shoved through the heavy snow, but no one stopped, or spotted them. Sensation had very carefully erased any trace of their ski tracks on the snow leading behind the mound.

A tap on her shoulder startled her. Feeling stupid, Amalea turned, and followed the others into the narrow crevasse, just barely high enough for the tallest of them to walk through. It went straight back, and then curved slightly to the left. From there, a faint glow quickly became the clear if dim light of a lamp someone had left on in this cave that was the back of the Zinovek General's office. The cave where all the protected secrets were being kept.

Including a mangled, beaten body that lay not-at-all comfortably across a table at waist height; clearly for the benefit of whomever had been dealing with it, and not his own.

Amalea looked at the mangled, beaten, bruised face of the Whitewater Alchemist, and almost vomited. Even under the bruising and cuts and some very rough stitches holding close a gash across the forehead, the skin was an unhealthy color of gray. She rushed forward, immediately placing her gloved hand with its alkahestry symbol on the only exposed skin—she was grateful the rest of the body was draped with a blanket. They were deep enough back in the cave that the temperature was above freezing. She thrust energy into the body, feeling desperately for any signs of life, and reading the prone form for damage. What assaulted her was a barrage of information that at once gave her a flicker of hope, and then a sinking dread.

Whitewater was not yet dead, but it was a sheer miracle that he wasn't a corpse. Muscular damage, nerve damage, bruising down to the bone from careening through the rapids in several places so firmly she could almost read the order in which he had sustained them; a terrifying knot on the skull, the savage gashes that had—at the least—been stitched and dressed, though they were starting to become infected. His heart was sluggish, his lungs held water and infection—a rapidly developing case of pneumonia in both—and the slow breathing was labored. His extremities were cold, his head and core fevered. Brain activity was minimal, and she sensed he had been in and out of coma… how many times she couldn't say, but he seemed to be in one now. She hadn't much experience with coma patients.

The Zinoveks had done basic work to keep him alive for questioning, that much she could tell, but if he was in this state, then obviously they hadn't been able to get him awake enough or well enough to be of any use. Now, it looked like they had simply left him to die. The damage to the spine and the nerves concerned her as much as the head.

Stabilize…. stabilize and sustain. They had hours before he was safely in a hospital. She was going to have to handle this herself…now. Or he'd die if they moved him for certain.

Amalea pumped every bit of healing alchemical energy she could manage into him, fighting what she could and where it would do the most good. "Molecule," she heard herself speak without removing her focus, "We need heat."

Within moments she felt the air around them warming slowly. Not too rapidly, but it was noticeable. She focused, absorbing the water in the lungs, dispersing it into proper parts of the body, however temporarily, healing the tissue, strengthening the heart, feeling for where the pain and injury were sharpest, or darkest, or reddest… going by feel. His auto-mail was a broken splintered mess, but there was nothing to be done for that. She soothed the nerves there and numbed them temporarily, to ease the strain on his body.

Eventually, she became aware that she was sweating in her clothes. Opening her eyes, she had no idea how many minutes had passed. The room was comfortable now, though not by any means hot. What mattered was that her patient's breath was rising and falling a little more steadily. Still shallow, still not strong, but it no longer faltered. The blue in his fingers had receded, and his fevered head was slightly cooler. Almost a side effect, the bruises she could see looked as if they had a couple of days healing on them now. Not that it improved the look at all. Many of them were so bad they were still black. The angry skin around the stitches was slightly less so, but not healed. There was just too much, and too much energy too fast might kill him even using only her own energy for healing. She didn't have that much. "That's it. He… should… make it up the hill at least," she panted. "Let's get him in the bag. Be careful, his spine is in bad shape."

She stepped back then for a moment allowing the others to come up, pulling the sleeping bag out of one of the packs as they did, and unfolding it. Getting him into it and onto a stretcher was going to be a challenge, but as a team effort, it only took a couple of minutes to maneuver the bag and stretcher under him, zip him in until only his mouth and noise were visible (breathing would be essential), and then Molecule and Amalea lifted him carefully. Between them, they were the least useful in sneaking or combat on the way out, so having their hands full was the least problematic. "How long has it been?" she finally asked as they angled him towards the tunnel, which bent just enough for them to angle the stretcher through it.

"Almost twenty minutes," Marble replied. "I think we're all right, but we definitely shouldn't dawdle."

"No, we shouldn't," Sensation agreed, slipping some papers into her bag. "These will make for some useful intelligence," was all she said before turning to them. "Let's go."

Amalea wanted to know just what Sensation had found so interesting, but now was not the time. Carefully they edged their way out of the tunnel back into the bracing cold. She almost immediately began to shiver.

They paused then as Marble closed the tunnel back up much faster than she had made it, taking particular care to avoid transmutation marks on the inner or outer walls.

They would never know how, snowed in and dying, their prisoner had escaped with critical paperwork.

At least, not unless they got caught on the way out.

Now it was Sensation's turn. With her in the front, the body between, and Marble behind, they carefully edged their way along the rock, keeping out of sight, while Sensation used her rather unique abilities to turn the attention of anyone who came near them. Thankfully, most of the camp was still focused on rescuing each other, though there were many more soldiers out and about now, and some of them were cleaning off the larger tents, and putting them back up to give people somewhere out of the cold and wet to gather.

Amalea's arms began to ache quickly. Aside from the cold, hauling a stretcher was not the easiest thing to do on skis over four feet of snow. They sunk down further and it slowed them down quite a bit. It was only the preciousness of the cargo they carried that kept her moving. A life she was determined to save.

They almost made it unnoticed. It was during the short dash from the edge of camp to the first row of snow-coated trees that Amalea heard a shout behind them that didn't sound like one soldier calling for help or instructions to another.

She didn't have a chance to turn around. Marble whispered. "Run… head for the tunnel as fast as you can," and the alchemist behind her turned, and Amalea heard the sound of the ground rumbling as the Marble Alchemist used her most effective weapon.

Sensation gave up any pretense of trying to hide them and fell back too, leaving Amalea and Molecule to tear forward, skiing as quickly as they could manage with Whitewater between them. How Molecule could ski forwards, with the poles in her hands coming from behind her, Amalea could not imagine, but they picked up speed, and she was grateful for the cold. The snow had crusted quickly, and as they moved past the first of the trees, she found they did not sink nearly so far. The snow depth dropped markedly too as they hit the edge of the storm line. It was still a couple of feet thick, but it wasn't as difficult to get over. The sound of combat behind them faded faster than she anticipated, but she just kept moving. This was her mission. It was not to fight the Zinoveks; not tonight. It wasn't running away to follow their direct orders. She just hoped that Sensation and Marble were right behind them.


Sara's jaw was clenched tight, her nerves spring-wound as she watched the progress of the mission below from the very edge of the cliff, lying on her stomach with her binoculars out. Knowing the plan, it hadn't been too difficult to spot the team on the way in, watch them split up, and follow the two that had skirted along the outside to their insertion point. She had lost track of them in the maze of tents, and had instead focused on trying to gather as much information as possible on how the Zinoveks were dealing with the disaster they could not have seen coming, and traced her eyes to where they knew the General's office was; their real target. She thought she saw shadows briefly in that direction, even in the dark, with only the glow of light off the snow. Then, after an eternity, possible movement again. Then nothing. That would be Sensation at work.

Their discovery was simply a matter of unfortunate timing. As the clouds began to roll out and unblocked moonlight struck the snow, the Zinoveks nearest the most direct route out spotted them. One man, turning the right direction, possibly having not even clearly seen them, shouted and motioned, and then there were two or three, and then one had a pistol out and shot in their direction.

Sensation's illusion dropped as she and Marble turned to face the enemy, and the others kept moving as fast as they could.

"Shit." Rapid cursed beside her, looking through his own binoculars. She was not the only one on her stomach staring off an incredibly steep drop.

As they watched, an entire wall of rock rose up between the alchemists and the Zinovek camp, clearly Marble's handiwork. That dealt with the issue of any shooting. From here, Sara estimated it to be at least ten feet tall, and nearly a hundred yards long, blocking off almost the entire width of the narrow strip of valley. I didn't realize she could draw quite that much energy that quickly. She's almost got Dad's speed at barriers.

It wasn't much of a fight, since they turned and skied after the others as fast as they could. Clearly it was designed to stall them if nothing else.

The Zinoveks were not about to let them just get away either. That much was clear. The soldiers were already boosting each other up on top of her wall. From the top, even as a handful jumped down, one paused to fire his pistol.

Sensation might be at work again though, because the shot went incredibly wide. Or maybe the guy was just a terrible shot. The shooting continued, and the only edge the alchemists seemed to have was that they were on skis, and the Zinoveks were mostly in their boots alone, or had strapped on snow shoes of some variety to help them walk on top of the mess, if they had them available. They could not organize a coherent attack like that, as much as they tried.

Moments later, Marble stumbled, staggered, then came upright again as Sensation grabbed her arm. Sara heard Trisha hiss through her teeth. "Hopefully she's not hurt," she commented calmly. As they kept moving, she doubted it was critical if it was a wound. In any case, as long as they got away, they had Live Wire to treat her.

It wasn't much of a chase after that, the Zinoveks realized it was hopeless, even as they hit the shallower snowbanks, which were still two or three feet deep in most places, and their legs were skill crunching through the surface. They eventually gave up, and turned back.

The alchemists made it to the river, crossed the bridge, and kept going, though Marble stopped long enough to once more knock her own bridge into the water. There would be no easy following them, or seeing where they crossed.

Sara watched them until they were completely out of sight due to the angle of the cliff. Surely, they were back in the wall. Still, she waited for a radio signal. With nothing else to see, she edged carefully back from the cliff face before standing up and moving back to the tree line. The others followed.

Finally, the radio crackled to life. "Marble to Twilight," the voice came through, panting heavily. "We got him."

Sara felt a moment's relief, though it was hardly complete. "Status Report," she replied.

"On the team, minimal injuries; one twisted ankle, one grazing shot to the arm, lots of very sore muscles when it's all over, but we're okay. Whitewater… he's not dead yet, but he sure looks like it. Live Wire's checking him again now. I've got the path blocked up again. They'll never see us, but we need a moment before we make the press up the hill."

"Understood. We'll get back to camp and tell the infirmary to expect you."

"Good. Tell Von he'd better be as good as we were told. He'll have to be to keep this one alive."

Noroki Von was the Amestrian-Xingese alchemical doctor that had come with the most recent resupply. He had several years of experience on Amalea. "I'll tell him. Anything else?"

"Just keep the place warm for us. It's damned cold down here. That little snowstorm you all whipped up is like wading through an ice age."

"That was the idea," Sara gave a dry quip in reply. "We'll have everything ready. If you need assistance we'll send people down the hill for you. Heading back now."

"Thanks. Marble out."

"All right. Let's head back." Sara stowed the radio, turned back towards the dark forest, and started moving. It was definitely easier than standing still out here in the cold. Standing for even a few minutes made her joints stiffen up further. Getting back to camp and warming up definitely sounded appealing, though she knew the first place she would be was the infirmary, and she would probably not leave until she had at least seen Cal, or what was left of him.


The next two hours were the longest of Amalea's life. She had never had the experience of treating a patient so close to death—who by all that she could figure out probably should be dead already—in her training or in her time treating others with her alchemy. She was a State Alchemist trained in medical alchemy. Keeping someone alive with a non-lethal wound, or keeping them from bleeding out, she had always been confident she could do. The sheer overwhelming extent of what had been done to Whitewater, and what had happened to him, assaulted her senses every time she used her alchemy to examine and bolster him. She had worked as quickly as she could once they reached the safety of their cave hiding place to repeat what she had done earlier, faster, to give him a little more energy—this time shared from the other alchemists with her and not just herself—to keep him breathing so they could haul him up the hill without killing him outright.

Molecule used her alchemy to not only head the air within the bag, but to warm several rocks that they tucked into corners around him, to keep the warmth of the bag high enough. They all took a few minutes to warm up again and catch their breath, drink from their water, and then they were off again, up the steep incline. They traded out who carried Whitewater several times. Everyone was exhausted, and they moved faster by taking shifts.

Still, by the time they crested the hill into camp, the day had begun. It was still pre-dawn dark because of the winter, but soldiers were up and about. Not that Amalea gave them much thought as they hurried across the grounds towards the infirmary. She didn't even realize that someone was waving them down until they arrived, and she found the stretcher pulled from her hands by doctors, and saw them handing Whitewater up into a civilian ambulance.

"Based on what we told them, they decided he'd be better off going right to the city hospital." Twilight joined them. "Live Wire, you're welcome to hop in there with them. Everything's waiting for you there. Anyone else who wants to go, we'll follow after a proper debriefing."

"We've definitely got some things for you," Sensation commented.

Amalea nodded, and then turned and hopped into the ambulance with the medics. She had her job to do. The rest could report on what had happened. She just needed to keep her patient alive for a few more minutes, and he would be in the car of much more experienced physicians.


It took all of Sara's willpower and professionalism not to immediately follow the ambulance the hospital, where Von, a military doctor, and the civilian medical team that worked the city's hospital awaited his arrival. Even if she did follow them now, all she would be allowed to do was sit in the waiting room while they tried to stabilize him, and for hours afterwards. She had sent a runner to wake Gloria as soon as she had arrived back in camp, and at least Cal's daughter might have a shot at being allowed in with him sooner, being family.

As the ambulance pulled away, she ordered the remaining alchemists to go get wounds looked at, clean up, and change, and then meet her in their planning tent for the debriefing. The other alchemists would be there, and she had alerted Mihalov as well, so he could be present, and bring whichever of his military officers he saw fit to have present. She had left that decision up to him.

Having already changed into clean, warm uniform herself, Sara stopped off only long enough to request coffee and breakfast be sent to the alchemists' camp, and then returned. Within half-an-hour, all of the alchemists except Live Wire had gathered, and Mihalov joined them with one personal aide, and only his lead General present. :It seemed prudent to keep this small until we decide what to do with the information,: he commented as they all sat down around the table.

While Sara's team had already washed and eaten earlier, there was no surprise that they were still hungry enough to eat again, especially Rapid and Glacier, who dug into the warm pastries, eggs, and coffee with the same vigor as the retrieval team, who ate like ravenous wolves.

The General and aide looked a bit startled at the lack of decorum. Mihalov just seemed amused. :Alchemy burns a lot of personal energy,: he explained casually. :Four or five times as much as a normal soldier uses in combat on their most active missions.:

:That is correct,: Sara nodded approvingly. "All right then, we'll be doing this in Amestrian. First, for your sake, I'd like to sum up the initial plan in detail." She proceeded to give Mihalov and the other Drachmans precisely that, and what they had anticipated, and their strategy and reasoning behind it. This brought a lot of very wide eyes, and some skepticism from the General.

"Fortunately for us, and for you really," Sara went on, "it worked. The entire Zinovek camp has been beaten down and buried by a hurricane-force blizzard, leaving it under four or more feet of snow. Right now, they should still be far more focused on digging themselves out and surviving than attacking in the immediate future." She described briefly how the four of them had created the storm and watched from the top of the hill, and what they had observed, before turning it over to Marble to report their experience from the ground. While it mostly tracked her own observations, there were many more details about the layout of the camp—what remained after the destruction—the location of the office, what they observed the Zinoveks doing on their way in and out, and everything through the frantic chase back to the river.

It was when Marble had finished the primary report that Sensation pulled out her pack, and opened it. "While we were in the General's office, I took the liberty of grabbing these." She pulled out and slid several thick folders of documents across the desk.

Sara watched several pairs of eyes widen even as she stared at the files themselves. "What's in them?" she asked.

Mihalov had already pulled them to him first and was flipping through them, his expression growing eager and excited. "Battle plans, supply inventories, officer rosters, a detailed accounting of every tent, vehicle, and piece of ammunition in their camp… even documentations of communications from Petrayevka." He closed the last file, shared a glance with the General, and stood. "This is incredible. You've given us invaluable information. I hope you'll excuse me, but we need to have a meeting now and figure out how we're going to act on this information… while they are scattered, snowbound, and vulnerable."

"Of course. We understand." Sara assured him. "Send for us if you need us."

"I will." Then Mihalov excused himself and the Drachmans left.

"They're not really going to make us fight again today are they?" The question came from Glacier.

"It is unlikely, but possible," Sara acknowledged. "If they choose to take the advantage, we've given them and attack, they will need us to remove the barrier in the pass. They would be fools not to press the attack today, take the pass, and secure the base in the valley. Eat, sleep, hydrate, and be ready if we're needed. That's all we can do for the next few hours." Sara took a long slow sip of her coffee. Her own catnap had been brief and she knew she was going to crash hard when she did. Right now though, that was not an option. "Excellent work, Alchemists. Dismissed."

As they stood and filed out of the tent, Trisha hung back for a moment. "You're going to the hospital."

"I am. I'm certain they won't tell me anything over the phone, and I need an update on Whitewater's condition." As an officer, as an Alchemist, as a friend…

Trisha nodded. "Let me know what you find out. Just, make sure you get some rest soon, too."

"Of course." There was no reason for them both to go, even though Sara was sure Trisha wanted to, even if it might be to check on Gloria as much as Cal.

They left together, but parted ways at the edge of camp. Sara took the sensible, if slightly self-serving, advantage of her rank to get an enlisted driver to give her a ride into town instead of making the fifteen-minute walk to the hospital on her own. However much better she was, her knee was giving her not-so-subtle warnings that she had pressed it to near the limits on this mission, and mountain-climbing should not be on her list of activities again in the immediate future.

By the time she arrived at the hospital, it had been almost three hours since she saw Cal only long enough to see the sleeping-bag wrapped body being hurried into the ambulance and rushed away. Without Live Wire at the debriefing, she knew only what little information she had been given about his situation that they could have guessed just based on the events of the past few days. It was a miracle he hadn't already died by the time they found him. It would still be a miracle if he lived.

The receptionist in the hospital lobby recognized her uniform for what it was, and when Sara announced herself, she was immediately given the floor to go to. Sara took the extra couple of minutes to wait for the elevator, and was unsurprised to find that the floor onto which she had come out was the intensive care ward, and that here there was another desk, and closed doors, and several pieces of furniture that looked only slightly more comfortable than that down in the regular waiting area. Clearly, they anticipated family and friends spending a decent amount of time in this waiting room.

At the moment, the only people in the room besides her were Gloria and Alexei, who were already looking her way, probably having heard the sound of her boots on the tile floor.

Gloria looked tired and impatient, and despite being impressively well put-together given the circumstances, for her the younger woman looked frazzled. She stood as Sara approached and accepted her hug. "Thank you," were her first words. "Whatever happens, you and the other alchemists have already done the impossible."

"Well, the improbable," Sara stepped back again. "Has there been any news?"

"About an hour ago," Alexei answered. "They took him straight into the emergency room. We didn't even get to see him. So, we sat in the waiting room there for a while, and then they sent us up here, and we've been waiting."

"What did they tell you?"

"Not much." Gloria sat down again, and Sara did the same, on the opposite side from Alexei. "Almost all things we already knew or guessed, and they didn't want to give me any kind of predictions about survival." She took a deep breath. "He's in coma. He nearly drowned, and suffered from hypothermia at some point. He has several cracked and broken bones, and a back injury, though they aren't sure how badly. They said he has double-pneumonia. I… it's just so much. How he's not dead…." She broke off, shaking her head. Alexei squeezed her hand. "All they would really say is they were still working to get him stabilized."

A horrifying summary, and Sara knew that the individual list of concerns would be far longer for the physicians; every break, every tear, every vital reading painstakingly noted and treated. The concerns of internal bleeding or organ damage from being dashed against the rocks, from nearly drowning, from whatever the Zinoveks might have done to Cal to try and get information out of him. There were many injuries and medical concerns on that list that any one singly might be a serious and life-threatening issue. All together… Sara was just grateful there were two alchemists in there with the physicians. "Doctor Von and Live Wire are both excellent healers," she said aloud. "I'm sure with the two of them, and an entire team of doctors, if he can be stabilized, he will be."

Though it would be a long, anxious wait in the meantime. Sara knew that a strike against the Zinoveks was in planning at this very moment, and she would be stunned if it didn't move today. Still, no one came looking for her, and she saw no reason to wait anywhere else, so she stayed. When lunch came, she went and picked some up and brought it back for Gloria and Alexei so they didn't have to leave the waiting room and miss a possible update.

It was mid-afternoon when Trisha arrived with a report, which she handed Sara without a word. Wise, since speaking aloud in the hospital was not a secure location. Sara read it over quickly; a note from Mihalov himself that sketched out the plan of attack. The Western Drachman assault would begin just after sunset. The only alchemical support needed—aside from medical once things got underway—was the quick removal of the remains of the massive pile of dirt, metal, and slag remaining from the failed Zinovek attempt to advance.

"Marble and I've got that part handled," Trisha said. "It's nothing you and Grandpa didn't teach us."

Transmuting it out of the way required energy, but minimal finesse compared to what they had pulled off this morning. "I'll leave it to you then. Keep me posted."
Trisha was just turning to go when the doors through which they had not been allowed to step opened, and Live Wire came through them, looking around for only a moment before spotting them and coming directly over.

Gloria leaped to her feet. "How is he, Amalea?"

The Finn girl looked completely drained and pale, even for her usual pale complexion. "Stable, for now," she replied steadily. "He's still in a coma, but given what he's been through, being still and unconscious is what's keeping him alive. We've pumped the water out of his lungs again, put him on proper fluids, and antibiotics to treat the pneumonia and the bacteria in his wounds. When they pulled him from the river, the Zinoveks must have thought they could get information out of him, because the gash along his ribs, and on his forehead were both stitched up before we got there. I've checked them, and they're holding. Using alchemy we've managed to seal all external injuries, and stop the small amount of internal bleeding. Aside from the overall strain, his other organs are still functioning. He's also had a blood transfusion, and he's on oxygen for now. There are no major broken bones, though we had to heal a couple of cracked ones, and there are several ribs that are going to take another session or two to heal. He doesn't have the energy for that though, so they're going to have to wait."

All of that, and he was still just considered stabilized. Sara winced.

"What about the spinal injury?" Gloria pressed.

Live Wire's face fell. "There's nothing more we can do about it with alchemy. He's fortunate it wasn't completely severed, but while we could reinforce what's there, I can't transmute new cord. That, and the concussion, are going to have to heal as they can. While the concussion will with time… it's too early to tell if his spine will heal at all, and how much nerve damage was done, or if any signals from the brain are making it below that point.

"Where is the injury?" Sara asked, more sharply than she'd meant to, but she had a sudden sense of foreboding.

"Mid-back," Live Wire replied. "He… right now he's paralyzed from just above the waist down."

Gloria gasped, and Alexei wrapped his arms around her as her eyes welled with tears.

"It may or may not be permanent," Live Wire continued. "There's just no way to know this soon, but if it can be repaired at all, it will require surgery, and he'll need to be in good enough condition for his body to handle the strain of going through it."

Which would take time. Sara was only too familiar with time. "Do they have a physician here who can do that kind of surgery?"

Live Wire shook her head. "No. He'll need to be transported to a bigger hospital. The best place, would be to send him back to Central as soon as he can withstand the stresses of flight."

An option that would have been impossible until recently. If they sent Cal back in one of the planes, he could be in the hospital in Central, with the best care possible, in just a couple of days. Weeks on the road would have made it all but impossible. Flying however…. "When he's safe to move, I want him—and you—on the next flight back to Central."

Live Wire blinked. "Me?"

"I'm not sending Drachman medics on an Amestrian aircraft into our Capitol city, and Von is fresh and just arrived. He can spell you for a few days. You will go along to keep him alive on the flight, then I want you on the next flight they send back up here."

"I'll warn Rothschild to be ready," Trisha spoke up.

"Good. Thank you." One less thing for Sara to keep track of for the moment.

With that, Trisha left.

"Are you still needed here?" Sara asked Live Wire.

The younger woman shook her head. "No. Von's handling any emergencies for the rest of the day. I was ordered off-duty until we're needed for combat duty."

Which would be coming. "Well, I'm backing up those orders. Go wash up, take care of your needs, and get some sleep while you can, Live Wire. Good work, and thank you."

"Just doing my duty, Ma'am." Live Wire replied, falling back on protocol. The girl really was tired. "They probably won't let any visitors in to see him yet, but they might tonight."

"I'm not going anywhere until I've seen him," Gloria replied firmly, then her expression faltered. Sara was sure she had remembered that she would still have to report on the news tonight, even if she had to leave before seeing him.

"I'm sure we'll see him before then," Alexei replied confidently.

"Probably. I'll go now." With a tired nod, Live Wire followed Trisha out.

Sara hoped she made it back to her tent before falling over. In all fairness, she should also go back to her tent and get some real sleep, along with a couple dozen other duties that fell in her lap now that she was the highest ranking active Amestrian Officer in Drachma. The next one was Trisha. She made a note to split her list of duties and assign anything that did not require her direct orders or involvement to her daughter for the time being, and consider what else could be delegated and to whom. "Do you need anything?" she asked Gloria and Alexei.

Gloria shook her head. "No. You've already done so much today. I promise I'll send you an update as soon as we've seen him."

"Thank you. Do you want to handle calling your mother, or shall I?"

"I'll do it," Gloria looked resolved. "It's best that all of this come from me. I'm not going to say much on tonight's broadcast about his condition until we have more certainty."

Wise. "You may also have bigger things to report soon." Sara left it vague, but hoped they caught her implication. "In fact, I'd count on it."


Author's Note: 3/21/2020 Greetings to all readers from my spot of the world. I hope everyone is safe and healthy. I and my family are fine, tucked away in our house. Most everything has shut down around here so there isn't anywhere to go anyway. So I am posting a couple of chapters tonight to add to the options for 'distractions and entertainment' on the internet.