Febuwhump Day 1: Head Wound
Word Count: 829
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: T
Characters: Vato Falman
Warning: Just some blood!
Summary: Falman isn't entirely sure what's happening, but despite his head hurting, he's going to keep pushing on.
Notes: If you look at the end of Brotherhood, when they're showing the snapshots of everyone, there's one of Falman up north with two kids in the background. If you look closely, you can see he's wearing the rank of Colonel :)

Head Wound

Falman picked himself up off the ground slowly, trying to make sense of the world around him. He could feel the cold of the ground—some kind of…metal? —underneath him, hear loud noises—shouts? Booms? —happening nearby. It took him a moment to realize that he was feeling some sort of vibration from the metal he was laying on, and that a sharp cold was biting into him.

He suddenly realized that he hadn't moved beyond propping his elbows under him, and he endeavored to move more. Up, slowly, onto his arms and knees he went, feeling the vibrations increase and the deck—deck? —he was on start to list to the side.

Or wait—maybe that was him listing to the side and shaking.

Falman braced himself as best he could, and looked up, squinting as he did so. The light stabbed into his eyes, and it made his head pound. But something about this was important, he knew it, and he knew that he needed to do something more than just laying here.

He reached a gloved hand out and found it wrapping around a railing. How did he know that was there? It didn't matter. He could figure that out later. Right now he had more important things to do—even if he wasn't entirely sure what they were.

He used the railing to pull himself to his feet, wobbling as he did so, and looked around, squinting and wincing at the pain going through his head. There were other men around, dressed similarly—in uniforms? —and some of them were at a…a canon. They were picking themselves up too, trying their best to load and aim the canon.

Suddenly, things came back to Falman, rushing into his head. This was Briggs. They were under attack by Drachma. The Fort had been hit. And there was a voice from the comm unit on the wall, the receiver hanging down, yelling that they needed them to fire.

"Colonel! Colonel! Fire! Fire now! Fire at mark 1! Falman!"

Falman lurched toward the canon, the men looking his way as he did. "Is it loaded?" he asked.

"Yes, sir!" one of them replied.

"Then let's get this thing aimed."

The men worked together pushing the canon where it needed to go. The mechanism that would have let it move easily was damaged, but they were determined, nonetheless. Bit by bit they moved it, Falman ignoring every sharp pain in his head, every pound that went through it as other canons fired. He couldn't remember why this canon was so imperative, but he knew that it was. It felt like hours before they got it in place, although there was no way that it could have been, and then, once it was ready, they fired.

The boom was deafening and sent Falman back to grabbing onto the railing to keep himself upright. The canon itself was propelled backwards a few feet. One of the men grabbed onto him, helping him stay upright. They all watched as their payload sored through the air and landed in the middle of the Drachman troops—and then exploded with such a large explosion that it even reached the edge of the troops the northern country had brought.

"Whoa…" said one of the men.

For a moment, there was silence. And then words—reports, orders—rang out through that com receiver again, orders to keep firing and to make sure not an enemy soldier was left. Falman braced himself. "Alright men. Let's keep working."

"Yes, sir!"

It was a struggle to keep his knees from buckling, or to stay focused, but Falman pushed through until the all clear came from the general on the other end. It was only then that Falman let his knees buckle and his head swim. He would have fallen, if not for one of the other soldiers catching him and another coming up along side to share his weight.

They were injured, Falman couldn't help but note, and felt concern go through him. "You're injured," he said. "You should get to sickbay."

"No offense, Colonel, but you're not looking so great yourself."

"Yeah, you should probably get that head wound looked at."

"Head… wound?"

He suddenly realized that the side of his head and face was wet with something and that the shoulder of his coat was sporting a growing dark stain. Maybe he was bleeding. A head wound would certainly explain a lot of things.

"Yeah, Colonel Falman, didn't you realize…?"

Falman's lips tipped up in a smile. "No. But I guess that's adrenaline for you. It does explain some things, though."

One of the men laughed. "Yeah, I bet it does. Come on, Colonel. Let's get you looked at."

Falman acquiesced to the demands of his men, not having the ability to resist them anyway. Besides, maybe with some rest he would remember what was in that charge that made it so powerful. He really wanted to know.