Baptism of Fire
I don't own FMA, a snowball's chance in hell I have of actually owning anything.
Eh, just an idea about what it was like during the war, first time in battle. Read and review please. Enjoy!
"Take cover, goddamnit!" The sergeant shouted, gesticulating at the men. A hail of bullets rained down upon their position, each bullet slamming down into the ground with force enough to stir the earth.
The sergeant cursed, just his luck, had to draw a patrol today, instead of the replacements he needed, he scored himself a goddamn green officer. A captain, fresh from Central, not even a minute of combat experience, and then, of all things, he leads them straight into an ambush. And the guy is State Alchemist, a lot good he's doing. In fact, he isn't even doing anything. "Goddamn officers." He spat, cigarette dangling out the corner of his mouth, and emptied a clip into the settling dust.
The captain was seated awkwardly behind a wall, trembling and almost on the verge of tears. He couldn't stand it; the staccato sound of automatic weapons, the thunder of artillery off in the distance, and most of all the wails and shrieks of the dying people. Such terrible noise, such inhuman sounds, raw and unnerving to his ears.
It was his first real promotion.
"Congratulations, Lieutenant. You're being promoted." Nothing fancy, a handshake, a set of captains' bars.
It was his first combat command.
"You're the new captain? I Company? Down there, in one of the buildings." Someone gestured towards toward a group of buildings left standing amid a city of rubble.
It was his first mission.
"We got to clear this whole sector by nightfall." A square quadrant on the map, numbers and coordinates, and by nightfall, the place was going to be nothing but ashes.
It was the first time that the lives of so many people were in his hands.
His hands. He looked down at them, white gloved hands, untainted by blood and death. He looked back up, peaking around the wall. A machinegun fired and his head retracted immediately.
The ground was littered by the bodies of the dead. Blue uniforms soaked with scarlet blood, settling in pools around the bodies. Weapons discarded, lying uselessly next to the bodies. Shell casings everywhere like leaves in the fall.
A hideous, blood curdling scream, one that send shivers down his spine and touched a place deep inside his mind. A body collapsed next to him. He was stunned, staring at it with wide eyes. He backed up against the wall, trying as hard as he could to move away from the body. The blood was crawling towards him, picking up sand as it went, inching towards him. Then he stopped.
Out there, out there under the sizzling rays of the desert sun, in the stifling arid heat, his men were dying. Out there were men acting under his orders, men that he was responsible for, dying because of his inability to act, dying because he failed.
This was not the way it was supposed to be, he was their leader. He was meant to be out there, in the field fighting. And a sudden, enormous resolve filled him. He slowly rose, eyes fixed on the fall soldier. A vindictive need to repent for the death of this person mixed with the guilt of cowardice urged him on. He stepped out from behind the wall. The sergeant glanced at him and raised his weapon. The captain began walking forward, unfazed by the bullets that nicked at his feet. He walked passed his men, staring at him as if he were insane.
"Captain! Get down!" The sergeant shouted over the gunfire. He watched the man walked further into enemy lines. "Good lord," he muttered, cigarette twitching as he spoke, "The man's lost it."
The sergeant spotted an Ishbalan sniper, seated in the window of a sand colored building, rifle raised and aimed at the captain. "Goddamn officers," The sergeant raised his own rifle and took aim.
Snap. Before he had the chance to pull the trigger, a thunderous explosion knocked him to the ground. "What the?"
The sergeant slowly picked himself up, dusting his uniform. He tried to make out what had just happened. He gazed in disbelief as the dust settled, cigarette falling limply out of his mouth. "Holy…"
Entire blocks were demolished, incinerated, gone, in mere seconds. Flattened, destroyed, whatever you want to call it. Gone. Just gone. And in the middle of it all, black coat flapping in the wind, gloved hands by his side, stood the captain.
The man turned around, jet black hair with a pair of eyes equally striking to match. There was something different about him now. He wasn't the officer that got out of the jeep this morning, he wasn't the officer that had foolishly led them into a trap, he was a State Alchemist, he was their leader.
"My name is Roy Mustang. I am the Flame Alchemist. I am your commanding officer."