A/N: C'mon people! I get like seven notification of people adding me to their favorites list or adding me to their list of notifications with every update. I love getting reviews so much and it's sorta like author "street cred." Thanks UP2L8 for your constant commenting. You're an angel! Hope you all enjoy!
Chapter 17
Edward startled awake, hair clinging desperately to the cooling sweat on his face. Roy slept heavily next to him as Ed attempted to calm his racing heart. His dry, pale tongue snuck out to test the moisture of his lips. There. He could taste the sulfur and his slowing heart began to race again. Smoke drifted to his nose as another dim flicker of light, like lightning, filled the tent, and a soft rumble followed. It was sharp and acrid, not the rich, fatty musk of cremation. A part of his mind prayed to unworshipped deities that this was just a nightmare within a nightmare, that this was just a warped expression of the traumatized mind. Roy jerked awake when the screams started.
His feet sank quickly into his boots and he strode from the tent, uniform lank and haphazard around his body before Edward could even react. His fingers shook as he struggled to pull tight the laces of his boots before rushing to follow him into the thick of the camp. There was yelling and thick billows of smoke; charred fragments of what could be anything littered the ground. Roy's voice bellowed orders above the rest, but Ed could not hear them. His feet carried him forward, past the injured men that moaned on the ground.
The med tent was on fire. Ed could hear their choked screaming above everyone and he squelched towards it through the mud. Out of the darkness a bloody familiar face lurched towards him.
"Major Elric! Major Elric!" Private Connely gripped his shoulders frantically, his brown eyes wide and white, the blood drained from his face. Edward's hands trembled in front of him, palms ready to snap together. The men in there would burn alive. He could think of nothing else, that most of them would die a slow death. Even if they survived the fire, none of them would be able to walk should they escape.
"Oh, God, they're here! What do we do?" sobbed, Connely, frantic at his officer's indifferent gaze. What could he do? Drown them in earth and end their suffering now? The energy crackled between his waiting hands, potential and electric, until a slap across the face brought him back.
"Fullmetal, we need to go," a cold voice ordered. The scrape of Mustang's glove drew a blush of blood on his cheek.
"But, the others," Ed started.
"I've rounded up as many as I can. We will look for others in the morning. Now we need to run. Go get our rucks. Meet me at the wood-line by the Officer's Tent."
The camp had become disturbingly silent as Ed ran back, Connely stumbling behind him. His breath rang loudly in his ears alongside his heart beat. The rumbling of the mortar fire had stopped but it did nothing to ease his anxiety, reminding him only of the calm before a storm. His eyes flickered to every structure, vision murky in the sluggish lightening of the sky with daybreak.
Connely clasped Mustang's ruck to his chest as they ran to the wood-line; Edward's own had been slung over his shoulders. Beneath the trees it was dark as night and the silence louder. The two men panted, lost. Edward hesitated to shout and Connely was even more confused.
"Where are they?" He whispered, voice high with a frantic edge. A whistle came through the trees, and Edward ran towards it. Bird song mockingly began to fill the silence and Edward bit his lip to stop from screaming.
***
The day passed in flashes. Edward felt numbly obedient, stumbling along with the group as they marched. Roy had spoken little, walking sternly forwards while Edward brought up the rear. They were headed to the meadow where he and Roy had waited out the storm, reasoning that the clearing would make it easier for them to send and receive radio communication and it would be harder to be taken by surprise again.
The humidity rose with the sun, dew beading on Edward's automail while the rest of his body sweat heavily, white undershirt clinging to his test. Connely seemed to hang back with him, walking in time with the smaller man while six others doggedly followed their Colonel. A quick glance over showed that the head wound he had sustained earlier had finally stopped bleeding, but the blood had still congealed heavily on his face and neck. The sweat stained the Private's shirt pink and his normally pale hair hung in dark, rusty clumps. Quietly, Edward whispered.
"How are you feeling?" He felt foolish asking such an innocuous question. The other man was silent beside him, feet falling heavily on detritus and twigs and their dogtags beat out a gentle tattoo on their chests. For awhile, Edward thought the man would never answer.
"All of my friends are dead," he murmured. "I saw them all get shot." He licked his lips as they both fell slightly back behind the rest of the survivors. "Major, are we really all that's left?" More thumping filled his ears as he tried to puzzle out the best way to answer. How would Roy answer?
"The Colonel wants us to return to search tomorrow morning," he clipped, harder than he meant it. Ahead, he watched as a young man he could swear was related to Fuery stumble briefly under the weight of their hastily obtained radio. The antenna wavered almost comically as the other men worked to keep him on his feet. The brown-haired man fell silent, eyes lowering to the ground, passing over bits of leaves and mud blindly. What sort of comfort could he offer to someone who had just lost so much? He could think of little that could have comforted him and Al after that day.
***
At the field, Roy mercifully let them break for lunch instead of demanding that they set up camp immediately. Golden eyes watched as the older men made his rounds, talking to each of the men, learning what they saw and knew of the situation. Edward watched especially closely as he spoke to Connely, even pulling the young man aside and gingerly pouring water from his canteen over the stained brown hair. Skilled fingers parted the damp strands, searching for the wound. Edward realized that none of the medics had made it out with them. The burning stinking tent filled his eyes again. Suddenly hard tack and water seemed a lot less appetizing. Instead he preoccupied himself by watching ants crawl up and down the flower at his feet and swarm over the scattered crumbs of his lunch.
The respite was blessedly brief, and soon Mustang was assigning jobs, most important of which was to have the radio up and running before dusk. Grudgingly a sandy-haired man took the large, kite-like receiver and began roaming the field as the radio operator listened closely for the correct frequency to tune in on. Edward was apparently last on the list on the Colonel's concerns and it seemed like forever had passed before the man sad down heavily beside him, just now cracking open his own rations. The blonde watched as Roy cracked open a tin that claimed to contain corned beef and began scooping it out with and dense, stale cracker. The man ate with no apparent pleasure, and his eyes held the reserved thoughtfulness that Ed was more accustomed to seeing behind a desk.
"This is bad, isn't it, Colonel?" He finally choked out. Roy was in no hurry to answer, chewing thoroughly and swallowing. A second bite was halfway to his lips before he answered.
"Yes, Major, this is very bad. Fortunately, a few men had the foresight to secure a large quantity of radio equipment before retrieving. However, we don't know how long our batteries will last. I expect that our camp will be too raided for us to be able to restock." The dark eyes were watching the treeline and Edward followed his gaze nervously. To his surprise there were small songbirds watching them, flitting from branch to branch flashing with reflective blue of their feathers. He could not say why, but Edward felt a comfortable and familiar rage begin to well in his lungs. "We are losing this war, Major. We are of the least concern to the brass." His eyes glanced at the young man standing next to him. "We're on our own." It was even more final as Roy took another bite of his rationed meal. Edward lost it, jumping up from his seat on one of the rocks that littered the meadow.
"Then why the fuck are you just sitting on your fucking ass watching some fucking birds? We're dying here! We just watched all of our friends fucking die and you're acting like nothing ever happened!" The tirade dragged on, and the blonde lost track of what he was saying, but in true Mustang fashion, the Colonel looked nonplussed. A few of the men briefly stopped to watch, looking up from their various chores. Edward was left standing, chest heaving as the Colonel contemplated the leftover end of his cracker.
"You know, Fullmetal. The Drachman's believe that when one dies, the soul takes on the form of birds. It's traditional to offer meals to those found on the battlefield," Roy smile slightly as the creatures contemplated him from their low branches. Casually, he tossed his remaining crackers, and watched with satisfaction as they flitted down and pecked at the wafers. He stands, running gloved fingers through his dark hair and down the front of his unbuttoned uniform. "Come, Major. There's a lot of work to be done."