Whumptober 2020 Day 5: Where do you think you're going?—On the run/failed escape/rescue
Word Count: 1588
Author: Katie/Ally (aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl)
Rating: T
Characters: Olivier Mira Armstrong
Summary: Warrant Officer Olivier Mira Armstrong has been deep undercover in Drachma for months—at least, until it goes wrong.
Notes: Just playing around with an idea that a younger Olivier had dealings with Drachma as well, and it's one reason the country seems to have it out for her.

Failed Escape

Her breath came in clouds as she ran through the snowy landscape around her. She knew that they wouldn't be far behind her. It didn't matter. She wasn't going to give up. She didn't give up! Armstrongs never gave up! And Warrant Officer Olivier Mira Armstrong wasn't going to be the first to give up. She would not fail in her mission! Even if the mission had gone sour and she was now running for her life, she would get back to Amestris, and she would do it with the intel that she had gathered!

Until two days ago, her mission had been on track and going well. She had been deep undercover for about six months now, and there had been no indication that she had been found out until everything had gone wrong.

Her mission had been a long-term undercover mission in Drachma. Oliver was already part of a team that had done numerous successful border crossings into various countries, and they had been called in for their expertise. They were good at what they did, and Olivier had been told that she had a knack for this, with good instincts and a sharp eye. She was the only woman on the team, but she didn't let that stop her, and none of the men on the team seemed to pay it much mind, except when it could get them something tactically. Still, they were a small special forces team, not a team for a long-term spying mission, and they had only been there for their expertise in crossing borders.

Names had been tossed around and cover stories that, to Olivier's ears, had sounded flimsy at best. All of it sounded like a good way to get their informant killed and likely have some of their own intel given away. She really should have kept her mouth shut. She really shouldn't have said anything. Her CO wasn't saying anything, so she shouldn't have said anything.

But that wasn't how Olivier approached life, especially when it looked like it would get someone killed.

"What about me?" she had said, and heads had swiveled towards her, staring at her with varying states of emotion. It made her nervous, but she remembered her mother's lessons about how to act in high society, and kept her true emotions hidden from her face. Of course, her mother might not approve of the expression that she was using now, but the concept was the same. A military situation required a military face, after all.

"You?" a high ranked general had asked.

"Yes." She had said it sure and firm. "I already speak Drachman, and without an accent," she said. "I've learned the culture and it's customs. It was part of my upbringing to learn about different cultures. I'm familiar with the territory as well. We've done crossings in that general area before, and my family spent many winters in the north. Snow and cold don't bother me. I have sharp eyes and I'm well trained in combat and subterfuge. And additionally—who would expect a young woman of being a spy, especially with the right backstory."

She had laid out her case point by point and they had, after some discussion, agreed. She had crossed, on her own, without her team, without her typical gear, and made her way through the mountains into some towns where she took on the role of a poor Drachman girl whose parents had died, whose husband had beat her, and so she had left. It worked, and any unfamiliarities with current culture were easily explained by her being from one of the mountain villages that wouldn't be accessible until late spring, if then, and the insular life that people from those villages typically led.

For a few months, it had worked very well. She had gotten a job in a local inn, sometimes serving drinks in the attached tavern, sometimes cleaning the rooms of guests. Once a month she took a trip out into the woods alone to meet with someone from her team to pass on information. When questioned about it, she explained it away as being a "ritual of womanhood" relying on the superstitions that some of the mountain people had to explain why she left every month. It led to some teasing from some of the townspeople, most didn't bother to question it too harshly. Superstition still held a high place.

She had managed to feed her contact—one of her team—quite a bit of information about Drachma's inner workings, about some of their higher ups, and about some of the plans. It had worked well for months.

But a couple of days ago, something, somewhere, had gone wrong. Soldiers had burst into the inn where she worked, and had drug her off, roughly handling her. She had been accused of being a spy, and drug to the nearest military prison, but she hadn't broken character. She had kept to her role, if for no other reason then to give the townspeople a reason to hate their government. She had thought about dropping the role once outside of the town but decided that it behooved her to keep it up.

Unfortunately, her last drop off had been a week ago, so she wasn't likely to get back up or be missed for three weeks or more. Three weeks as a young woman in a Drachman military prison did not sound like a good idea. And Olivier wasn't stupid. She knew that she was attractive. She knew what would happen. So, when the first opportunity had presented itself, she had taken it, killing a guard, stealing his gun and knife, sneaking out of the prison, and literally running for the hills and the forest as soon as she had the chance. Of course, she expected that she would be followed and chased, and it seemed that she wasn't disappointed.

Olivier didn't slow down.

She ran over the snow, weaving in and out of branches and avoiding rocks. There was a river nearby and at this time of year it should be frozen over. If she could get on that, then she'd stand a better chance of escape. True, she didn't have any skates, which would make her faster, but she could still go fast enough on her feet over the ice. She was an expert at ice skating, and if she could get to ice, then she'd stand a better chance. Even with the barking and the shouts she could hear behind her, she might, maybe, could make it. She just needed to get a little further, move a little faster, just be a touch quicker.

It wasn't enough.

She felt a weight hit the back of her legs, and paws scrambling up her. A growl and hot, heavy breath were entirely too close to her head. She twisted under the weight and fired the gun, heard the cry of a dog, shoved it off of her and scrambled up. But that little bit had cost her, and now the other dogs had caught up to her, jumping at her with mouths open, ready to take her down. The men weren't far behind them. She fought, firing the gun, kicking, hitting, and darting out with the knife. It wasn't her sword, but it would do. Between that, her strength and her skill, she actually managed to injure or maim a few of the dogs, and a few of the men. It was too little too late, though, and it wasn't long before she was wrestled down into the blood-soaked snow.

How much of it was hers, and how much the men and animals she had killed or injured? She was bleeding deeply from a bite on her arm, and there were other, smaller cuts and bites on her. Still, she was alive, which was more then she could say for some of her opponents.

A man walked up to her-the prison warden she realized-and he looked down at her with anger blazing in his eyes.

"You are not Drachman, nor from the mountains. Who are you?"

Olivier glared at him. He kicked her in the ribs.

"I said—who are you?"

She spit blood into the snow, at his feet.

He sneered at her. "Take her back," he said. "We will get that information from her one way or another."

She was hauled up and, still fighting, and bound tightly before she was pushed and pulled back to towards the prison. She was bleeding and injured, yet they were still rough with her. She expected no less, but it did make the prospect of whatever torture they were about to put her through all the more terrifying. She at least managed to hide showing her fear, although she couldn't get rid of feeling it. She had something of an idea of what they would do to her, and she hoped that it wasn't true, although she was certain that it was, and that there was worse.

As she struggled, though, something caught her eye. It was a piece of cloth, one of a make that you didn't typically find in Drachma. And its pattern, in the middle of the scrap, was perfectly preserved. She recognized that. She knew what it meant. It didn't make what she was about to face any easier, but she could at least go into it knowing that her team wouldn't be too far behind her and would be staging a rescue as soon as they could.