A/N: I think the beginning of this chapter needs a rewrite BADLY, I don't particularly like it at the moment. In fact, I think I need to erase the whole opening and write it over. Damn. That's so aggravating. Anyway, I wasn't originally planning to introduce everyone's favourite comic relief; he just sort of introduced himself. Have fun with this chapter!
5-Wall of Sand
Everything went downhill emotionally after the alchemists got whatever items they had been given. Several of them –including Mustang- retreated into their tents, only coming out to eat, receive orders and go to the bathroom. Then, there were the alchemists like Kimbley. I had heard some rumours that he was almost insane with joy. Apparently, -I also heard- he was being court-martialed for killing both allies and enemy troops. I didn't publicly display my concern over the subject; that was something for myself only, or so dictated my new army branded state of mind. On all of the occasions that I saw Mustang, he looked paler than usual and there were always dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep.
We were separated into groups with an alchemist to each, which were to be sent to another city. I was once again assigned to Mustang's group. We were to travel temporarily with tyrannical Colonel Gran, the notion of which improved moral oh so much.
While we were traveling with Gran's unit, we passed through an Amestran medical camp. We were to stay there for one night, so I decided to have my shoulder checked again. The inside of the med tent was horribly surprising to the average Amestran soldier. Inside the canvas walls were both the light-skinned Amestran soldiers of the West and the dark-skinned Ishbalans of this land. I was checked by a charming doctor with kind eyes and a caring smile. Dr. Rockbell, her name was. When I asked her about the plethora of people in the recovery room, she laughed.
"Really, that's a bit closed-minded of you. Although, being a soldier, I suppose you're trained that way. It's nothing really. My husband and I just want to save as many lives as possible. It's the oath we take as doctors. That pertains not only to our own people, but to the Ishbalan people as well."
"I see," I muttered and gave her one of my now rare smiles, "That's very kind of you."
"Like I said, it's nothing. Don't thank me for doing my job. Anyway, there you go," she smiled and patted my shoulder lightly, "You look like you're almost fully healed. Just don't strain it too much, alright."
"Alright. Thank you ma'am."
"No, thank you. It's nice to see a soldier with no Y chromosome out there for a change."
I waved goodbye as I exited the tent, glancing around the recovery room at some of the children of Ishbal staring back at me with their blood red eyes, clinging to the bed sheets like a safety blanket, which was exactly what it was reduced to being. They clung to it as if their vary lives depended on it. Which they did. As soon as they let go and returned outside, they were the enemy again, they would be shot at again. As long as they clung to those woven threads, they were safe. I passed with reluctance through the tent flap, leaving that sanctuary and emerging back into a war-ridden land.
We spent the night at that medical outpost. More to let the troops recuperate than for medical treatment. On my way from the mess tent, I heard a two gunshots. Instinctively, I pulled out my pistol and moved to investigate. It was at the Rockbell's tent. I heard people speaking inside.
"They were only trying to save as many lives as possible!"
"The lives they save eventually kill my men."
I moved the flap slightly and peered inside. My insides writhed in horror. There were the doctors that were in charge, the Rockbells, lying in a bloody heap on the ground. And who was standing above them with the gun, but Mustang. He looked as if he was going to go insane. Looking back, I think he did lose a part of his sanity.
Later into the night, I stood for a moment and closed my eyes, breathing in the smell of the desert, burning it in my mind so that I would never forget. The Ishbalans, ill or strong, were all being shipped out to designated camps. Along with the protests of the Isbalans the faint sound of rushing wind met my ears. It was an unfamiliar sound, unlike the sound of the winds I had grown used to by now. This was a harsh wind, a carnivorous wind, a wind that sounded like it would eat anything in its way. I opened my eyes and turned my head to the side. What I saw made my face drop its mask for a second. A towering wall of sand was rushing straight towards us.
I froze for a moment in complete awe of the phenomenon barrelling towards the camp. Men and soldiers were running about, trying to secure things down. I tried to help, but probably ended up getting in the way as I had no clue what to do. It was then that the wall of sand rolled over us. Sand whipped past my face and burned the exposed flesh of my hands and neck. I coughed on the sand that had quickly coated my throat and yelled in pain as it stung my eyes. I raised my sleeve to my mouth and nose to breathe through and stumbled through the sand-filled air, half-blind to where I thought a tent would be. When my hand hit canvas I followed it, coughing through my sleeve as I tried to find an entrance.
I got to the tent flap and, as I had expected, it was fully sealed. I squinted and fumbled with the zipper, finally unzipping it enough to fall inside. Sand blew into the tent as another person braved the winds and zipped the tent closed again. I coughed and spat the sand out of my mouth and rubbed my eyes in an attempt to clear them of the hellish grains that clouded my vision. The person who had zipped the tent back up kneeled down and placed a hand on my shoulder. Squinting, I made out the figure of Jean Havoc, his uniform dulled by the brown particles of sand that dusted it.
"Hey, y'alright?" he asked. I coughed again, but nodded my head in the affirmative. Outside, I could hear the wind and sand pelting the canvas walls. As my sight adjusted to the unnatural dark, I looked around the tent. It was a fairly small one that held two people that I knew and one that I didn't. These people included Havoc, myself, Mustang and a man with square glasses and messy (A/N: or spiky, take your pick) hair.
"Sirs," I stated as I stood and saluted. Mustang nodded, signalling that I could be at ease. I let my shoulders drop slightly as I raised my hand to rub my eyes again. The man I didn't know sighed.
"Looks like we're just going to have to let the sandstorm blow over before we can go outside." He rubbed the back of his neck. Seeing my unfamiliar face, he turned to me and offered a hand, "Captain Maes Hughes, at your service." I took his hand in a handshake and choked back a cough.
"Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, sir," I stated. He smiled and shook his head slightly.
"We're all in the same boat for at least a day, Hawkeye, I think we can drop the formalities at least for now. Right Roy?" he called back to the Major. The man in question just shrugged from his position near the flapping wall.
"Whatever."
Hughes shrugged and fell back onto a chair in the corner of the tent. It was then that I took in my surroundings. The tent walls were unnaturally dark , causing the inside of the tent to seem darker than usual. There was a small desk in one corner on top of which lay assorted papers sporting alchemic nonsense and a loaded pistol. In front of this was the small chair that Hughes had draped himself over. To the left of the desk was a bag of personal belongings bearing the name MAJ. ROY MUSTANG sewn on to the cover flap. There was a small bunk next to a wall on the other side of the room that Havoc now sat at. Mustang was farthest from the door, sitting on the ground near the back.
I listened to the wind howl for a few more minutes before Havoc asked the question that had plagued my mind.
"So, Captain, what brings you to this hellhole?" he asked. Hughes looked pushed his glasses back up his nose.
"Just checking up on my best buddy, Roy," he said perkily.
"I doubt that that's all. Why are you really here, Maes?" A voice from the corner asked. Hughes sighed.
"I'm here about the info you asked me for," he stated. With that, Mustang actually looked up with concern in his eyes.
"Is it really that bad?"
"Yup. It's over fifty thousand total. That's for both sides combined." Mustang looked back at the ground while Havoc and I looked at each other in confusion.
"What is?" I asked, somehow thinking I wouldn't like the answer. I was right. Mustang looked up at me with a sad look on his face.
"The death toll."
I balked. Over fifty thousand people dead. Ishbalans, Amestrans, all of us. I winced when I thought that over the past year, I had contributed to that number. When I had shaken Hughes' hand, I had noticed that he had the calice on his middle finger common to most people with writing jobs. He had not added to this enormous number.
"This isn't a war, this is a massacre," Mustang mumbled, then laughed, "Alchemists like us are horrid creatures. Horrid, horrid creatures. Disgusting, dirty, deviant, ungodly pieces of filth," he said, each word more strained with unshed tears. I noticed his glance shifting over to the pistol on the desk every once in a while, "The Ishbalans are right, we should all die! Every last one of us! We aren't creators, we're destroyers!"
"Roy," Maes tried to speak. Mustang seemed to not hear his friend. Instead, he was focusing all his attention on the pistol on the table. When he started to get up, I was there before him. I grasped the pistol, thrjew it across the room and walked up to him. I hesitated for a split second, but then slapped him across the face. Hard.
"Wake up Major!" I yelled. Havoc and Hughes were staring open-mouthed at us. Mustang, drew a hand up to the tender skin of his cheek. Then anger grew on his face.
"What the hell was that for!" he yelled back.
"Did you honestly think that that would solve anything? Did you think that your death would stop innocent people from dying? Come back to reality. If you want to stop this massacre, than do something about it! You're the Flame Alchemist!"
"Only the Führer has that kind of power!"
"I don't know. Then become the Führer!" I yelled and then blushed slightly at the absurdity of that comment. Slightly intimidated by his intense dark gaze, I looked at my feet, "I'm sorry, sir, that was out of line."
"Damn right it was," he growled before resuming his sitting position. I retreated back into one of the tent corners, making sure I brought the pistol with me. There I sat, looking out over the dumbstruck men and the fuming one. Havoc mouthed "Nice" in my direction. I fixed him with a glare that soon got him off my back. Hughes sat with a troubled look on his face. Mustang sat rubbing his cheek and grumbling something that I didn't catch. I had a strong feeling that it pertained to me though.
The storm howled like a banshee outside those four protective canvas walls, the masses of sand riding with the wind rapping against the taut fabric like hands on a drum. An hour had passed in complete silence before Mustang spoke up again.
"That death toll is insane… Hawkeye …Riza," he said. I looked up at the sound of my given name. He had used it to get my attention, "You were right. Someone has to put a stop to it. That person is the Führer. So, as crazy and impossible it may seem, I will do exactly what you suggested; I will become Führer," he paused to let the words sink in, "Jean, Maes, Riza," he said, looking at each of us as he said our names, "Can I count on you to follow me?"
"Roy, buddy, I'm always with 'ya!" Hughes grinned, giving the thumbs-up.
"Sure, I got no problem with it," Havoc shrugged and smirked.
I hesitated. Gamble my life away on a half-minded chance like that? I was ready to say 'no' when I saw the determined gleam in Mustang's gaze. I sighed in defeat.
"Riza?"
"Sir, I will follow you anywhere," I nodded and smiled slightly. He grinned.
"Thank you. All of you. When I'm Führer, I-"
"I'd be a little more discreet with those declarations, sir, some would call them treason," I stated. (A/N: Yes, I took a line from the eng FMA, so what. Don't like the English as much as the Jap, though.) Hughes grinned.
"She's got your back already, Roy."
Mustang locked his dark gaze with my amber one, "That she does… That she does."
(A/N: There, a longer chapter to make up for my shorter one before. Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I had temporary writers block. Meh. I actually made it into the Royai Army! I'm so happy! Anyways. Enjoy!)