De-Briefing
Several days later, Lebel was sitting at the conference table in the back of the staff room with the Candidate Interview schedule when a friend walked in.
"Hey, Raj! Over here," he waved. "I knew you'd make it to round two."
Raj Ishapore sat down. "So you made it, Antoine?" His thick black hair was oiled and pulled up tightly and tied off at the top back of his head and the ends of his moustaches were also oiled, to a point, and curled up slightly on the side. His goatee was thick and short.
"Um-hmm. See? I'm a corporal now," Lebel said, and pointed to his epaulettes, almost as if it were a matter of pride.
Havoc opened the door from the small conference room. "Sergeant Ishapore?"
Lebel handed Raj a folder. "Give it to the major," he said.
Raj was squirming. With his ability to speak and understand Ishvalan, he'd thought he had it in the bag, but now they were going on about war crimes. What was the point? If anyone knew the score, it would be the guys in Mustang's office.
"Look, sirs," he said, "do you want me to sign a confession?"
"No," said Miles. "We want to hear you tell us what you did. Or do you wish to withdraw –"
"No, sir, please..."
"We're waiting, corporal," said Miles, calmly.
"But you already know..."
Little Brother looked at him then. "Yes, we do. And so will every other Ishvalan survivor you work with."
"Sergeant," said Havoc. "It will come up. This will only be the first time you have to talk about it."
Raj hadn't considered that. He'd planned to go to Ishval and help out because he thought it might help with the nightmares. He was already willing to give up his sergeant's rank and pay. Wasn't that enough?
They waited a few more moments, then Miles said, "Sergeant Ishapore, please take your folder to First Lieutenant Breda. We'll be in touch."
Raj reached over and took his folder back. He stepped into the staff room, looking dejected. "First Lieutenant Breda?"
Heyman's face fell. Lebel's buddy hadn't made it? "Here," he said, and took the folder from him. "That's all I need."
Antoine's face fell too, as he saw Raj's folder added to the stack of rejects on Breda's table.
"Raj," Lebel said, walking over to him. "Go back. You can still do it."
"But they wanted –"
"– the truth," finished Lebel. "I already went through that with Jenny before I even came here. You just never said it out loud before. Come over here. We'll practice."
"Antoine, it's going to be more than this." He couldn't really expect him to do this here! In the staff room!
"Yes, it is. But Raj, don't you want to do something?"
Just then, the next candidate came into the staff room, and Lebel handed him his folder. "Give it to the major," he said, and sent him into the small conference room.
Less than half an hour later, the candidate came out again. He handed his folder to Breda. "Here you are, sir," he said angrily and left.
Then Jean came out of the conference room. He lit a cigarette and looked over the room. Lebel was there and his friend Ishapore was still there, too, talking to him at the conference table. He went over and sat down.
"You smoke?" he asked the sergeant, to be polite.
"Yes, sir," answered Ishapore, and took the cigarette Jean shook out of his pack. Then Jean got out his lighter and lit it for him.
"So," asked Jean, "you ready to try again?"
Next out of the conference room was Little Brother, still tense. He saw the little group over by the conference table. He went over to Breda's table and when he reached across him to the stack of folders, Breda moved quickly out of the way. The Ishvalan grabbed a folder, brought it back to the conference table and slammed it down in front of Raj.
"Ishapore!" he said in Ishvalan. "Stop fucking around. You did it. If I can hear it, you can say it, by all the demons above the sand and under. Get back in there when I come back or else."
Then he left the staff room, still muttering angrily in Ishvalan.
"What did he say?" asked Jean.
"He's really mad at that other guy," said Ishapore, looking concerned. "What did he do in Ishval?"
"Nothing," scoffed Jean. "Never served there at all."
"Oh," said Ishapore. "He told me to talk or else."
Finally, Major Miles made it back into the staff room. "Sergeant," he said with a smile, glad to see Lebel's friend still there. He headed over to the conference table. "Do you want to try again? We've got a slot open in half an hour, and I don't think any of us are up to another interview like that one right now."
"I think I have to," said Ishapore, matter-of-factly, taking a drag on his cigarette. "Little Brother's going to do something if I don't." Miles froze for a second, but then seeing the calm expressions on everyone's faces, just smiled and walked back to his desk.
"Half an hour?" asked Falman, heading over. "Maybe he should practice with us first then, Havoc."
"Aw, man," complained Havoc. "Finally found another smoker and you're sending me away already?" But he got up from the table and went back to his own place. By the time Little Brother got back, Ishapore was ready and passed with no problem.
Another day, more interviews. But they'd come up with a strategy now that cut down the number of rejects. The de-briefs were recovering many of the volunteers who had just needed time and direction. They were finally filling their reqs at a decent rate.
The sergeant leaned against the wall outside the room where he'd just had his second round interview. "First Lieutenant Breda?" Mauser was light skinned with very short cut yellow hair. In his left ear were two flat silver earrings and one small gold loop. About an inch to the left of his left eye and even with it, a vertical scar went up about an inch higher than his eyebrow. It looked like whatever had caused it must have needed stitches and not gotten them, because it was fairly thick, about a finger's width.
"Over here," said Breda, waving. When Mauser handed him his folder, he took a look at the interview status, then added it to one of his stacks of folders. "Report to Corporal Ishapore for a de-brief," he said, directing him to the conference table at the back of the room.
Sergeant Kaufman Mauser, most recently of the Youswell mines, had re-enlisted for the chance to volunteer for the posting to Ishval. But it was turning out to be more difficult than he had anticipated. When he saw the ashtray next to the corporal at the conference table, he asked, "Mind if I smoke?"
"No problem, said Ishapore, smiling, and reached over to light the sergeant's cigarette.
"So," he started. "You're here, so they think you're a possibility, but you're here, so they think there's a problem, too. Do you have any idea what the problem could be?" So far, every one that had made it as far as the de-brief had known what the problem was.
"I don't think the lieutenant liked me," Mauser answered. "He deferred to the Ishvalans and then the major sent me out of the room with my folder."
"Just the lieutenant?" asked Ishapore.
"The Ishvalan civilian said he was satisfied. I wouldn't say he liked me, but..."
Ishapore smiled. "I don't think Little Brother really likes anyone. Around here, anyway. He lost everyone in '08. So do you know why Havoc doesn't like you? He's usually pretty straight with that kind of thing."
"I think it's because I managed to get through Gunja without killing any non-combatants," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "He didn't, did he?"
"No," said Ishapore, "you might be the first to get this far who has. How did you do it?"
"Well," he said, "there was enough actual combat that if you played it right and you were lucky, you could avoid getting your hands dirty.
"When they trap people against a wall, you only aim for the combatants. You let the schmuck next to you get the ladies and the kids and the geezers.
"When you see non-combatants, you pretend not to see. Then the sharp-shooter on your team sees them and takes them down instead of you.
"When you clear a building and all the fighters are down and you come to the people they were protecting – they were almost always there – that's why they were fighting in the first place – you just manage not to be in the same room with them. Then whoever ends up with them has to shoot them. Or maybe they call in a guy who likes killing them, or doesn't care."
"Yeah," said Raj. "I see the lieutenant's problem. I was the schmuck, the lieutenant was the sharp-shooter and we have another guy here who they called in."
"I was starting to figure as much," said Mauser. "Look, I play the odds. I didn't want to get shot for disobeying orders in a combat zone, but mainly I didn't see any chance that anything I tried to do would matter. I could've risked dying for a chance, but not for no chance."
"And we just followed our orders," said Raj. "What do you think of us?"
"I could've ended up like you. I was better at keeping my head down, or maybe just luckier? It never got to where I actually had to risk getting shot, like you guys."
"Did you say that in your interview?"
When the door closed on Mauser, Miles turned to Havoc.
"You can't defer to us," he said. "You have to be sure. We agreed that everyone has to be acceptable to both sides."
"So I must work with murderers, but you can't deal with a man who left it up to others whether they would murder or not?" said Little Brother testily.
"I didn't say no to Mauser!" Jean objected.
"Is that what bothers you? He said no and you did not?" returned Little Brother.
"But I did say no!" Jean blurted out.
There was stunned silence.
"Then why would you say you –" Miles started.
"Because I did that, too," he answered, lowering his head, unable to meet their eyes. "Sometimes I murdered and sometimes I didn't, sometimes I let them go. And when I did let them go, sometimes I ended up in the stockade for a few days. And every time, when I got out, someone from my squad was dead. It's in my file, the times I spent in the stockade."
"Why weren't you shot?" asked Miles.
"I was too good at actual combat. Except I never really knew each time whether they'd shoot me or keep me in the stockade or send me back in the field. Always ended up back in the field, though."
"I knew we'd get someone like Mauser sooner or later," Havoc continued after a pause. "I just didn't figure it'd hit me so hard. We can't rule him out because I got problems."
"Will it just be you?" asked Miles. "How is it going to hit the others? You don't just have your own problems to deal with, you have to be able to make it okay with the rest of your men, too. If we have to choose between war criminals and men like Mauser, I have to vote against Mauser. The vast majority of our volunteers are war criminals."
Jean came out of the conference room. At least, with the new interview schedule, he didn't have to sit through a whole day of this anymore. He had to get outside, to the range.
Little Brother's words kept going through his mind: a man who left it up to others whether they would murder or not. That was him, too, wasn't it? The others could have made the same decision he had. And it could have added up, right? And if they'd been shot, instead of just ending up in the stockade, like he had… well, soldiers died, and better to die for the right reason… Hadn't that been how he'd thought? After all, he'd expected to be shot…
Little Brother came out next. He needed to spend some time with his own people, meditate, pray. At least he hadn't had to do full days of this for a while now.
Havoc's words kept going through his mind: But I did say no! Havoc and Miles were both soldiers, still, who followed orders. He himself had been a warrior priest, who followed Ishvala. And yet, had he actually been doing that when he had gone on his rampage for revenge? His master had not thought so. Miles had never needed to disobey orders. Havoc had. And he had disobeyed. And yet, not every time. And it seemed that Havoc considered himself guilty, not just for murdering the innocent, but also for the deaths of his comrades.
George stepped back into the staff room. Both Havoc and Little Brother were gone. Wouldn't it be ironic, he thought, if doing the right thing actually disqualified a soldier from helping out here? He went to his desk in the staff room and Breda came over with some files and sat in front of him. They needed to go over the open issues for the next meeting with the headman, High Cleric and Mistress Shan.
When Jean came back into the staff room, the range had cleared his head some. There was Mauser sitting with Ishapore and Lebel and Carcano at the conference table in the back.
He sat down at the table, so of course they stopped talking. "Are you done yet," Jean asked, "or am I jumping the gun?"
"It's okay, sir," Raj answered. He was sure Havoc's problem was how the rest of them would take Mauser. "I don't have a problem and neither do Caesar or Antoine."
Carcano was still not completely sure what problem he was supposed to have with Mauser. "Sir," he said, "I would like to clarify. If I understand the concept of blood guilt correctly, Sergeant Mauser could provide a unique service. He could interface more easily with the Ishvalan clerics."
So Jean went over to where Manny was sitting in front of Miles' desk and stood next to him.
"Yes, Havoc?" Miles asked.
"I'm good. And my guys are good, too. Mauser's okay."
When Little Brother came back into the room, he saw Havoc and Breda in front of Miles' desk and went over to join them.
"I think we should keep Mauser. Havoc doesn't have any men who can work with the clerics."
"That's what Carcano said," said Jean, with a small smile. "Agreed."
Miles looked from Havoc to Little Brother and then over to the men at the conference table. "Very well, give him to Falman."
Author's Notes:
The name Raj just came to me. His appearance is not based on anything in the manga. His last name is based on the Ishapore 2A/2A1 7.62×51mm NATO caliber bolt-action rifle adopted as a reserve arm by the Indian Armed Forces in 1963.
Kaufman is listed as one of Hugh's subordinates in Ishval in Volume 15, Chapter 60. Every other name mentioned for Hughes' subordinates looks much more like a first name than a last name, so I'm assuming Kaufman is meant to be a first name as well. I have based his description on one of the Youswell miners in Volume 1, chapter 3, page 107; the one whose pickax Ed fixes in the manga. His last name is based on the Mauser Gewehr 98, which became the standard German Army rifle used during World War 1.