Thanks sewing life! I have discovered that Havoc can be fun to write. Not to worry Roy-Fan-33, I'll be posting about three times a week hope that helps. Thank you Lady of the Storm and Reius Devirix! You're replies are much appreciated.

The Ragged Edge

The Past

The heat of the day that had made life difficult during the Ishbal campaign bled away as fast as the setting sun leaving the long nights dark and bitterly cold. Campfires dotted the paths between tan tents and soldiers, weary from the constant fighting gathered around, seeking warmth.

The stench of burned coffee and poor rations mingled with the smoky air as figures huddled close, clanking tin cups together in quiet toasts, cheering that they had survived yet another day of battle. The warm liquid, black as the night sky was oft supplemented by something stronger clandestinely passed about in metal flasks.

Hawkeye sighed as she shifted on the ground; the sandy soil was still warm from the day. Her muscles hurt, her bones hurt, hell, even her brain hurt. She wanted to curl up in her bunk and sleep until next week but something told her that she would not. Like so many nights, her sleep would be disturbed, jumping at every sound that came along. It had been months since she truly slept well, and yet, a small part of her knew she slept better than others.

Some nights, when all was still, she could hear terrified cries—her hand automatically going for the gun under her pillow—once her senses fully came alive, she would hear the voices for what they truly were.

Pleas to end the nightmares.

Staring down into her cup of thick, black liquid that was passed off as coffee, she sighed. The stuff was bitter and filled with grit, but it was warm and like most nights, that was what mattered. She missed hot cocoa and wished for a nice big cup of it made from warm milk. Real milk and not that thin, blue tinged stuff the mess hall cooks called milk.

Lt. Walberton, a fellow sharpshooter nudged her, offering her a flask of rum he always kept close at hand. "It'll warm you up."

With a smile, Hawkeye graciously took the offering, holding her cup out as he poured some of the liquid into her coffee. "Thanks."

Flopping down next to her was Havoc, whom she had the fortune of sharing a tent with. There were a lot worse people she could have been stuck with, she figured and if the worst she had to put up with was his smoking and snoring then she counted herself lucky. They made few special accommodations for her or the other female soldiers, the few that there were in the camp. Originally, she had been offered a bunk with the nurses on the far side of the camp, the accommodations might have been better but she wanted to stay with her group, men whom she had trained with and worked alongside with every day for more than a year.

Women do not belong in war, was a popular sentiment around the camp but among men like Havoc and Walberton all they cared about is if she could cover their backs in battle. Her steady hand made her a useful ally as she could pick off enemy combatants from long distances with the same calm as her male counterparts.

"Another cold and crappy night," grumbled the usually good-natured Havoc as he pulled a blanket over his head and shoulders.

"You'll get sand all over your bedding," Hawkeye said, sipping her drink.

"Were don't I have sand," he said and then paused to light his cigarette. It glowed from under the hood of his blanket and smoke rolled out like warm breath in the cool air. "I want to go home."

"Don't we all," Walberton said as he took a swig from the flask then secreted it back under his coat. Alcohol was technically forbidden but most turned the other way, leaving the soldiers what little comfort they could find in that forsaken place.

An uneasy laughter drifted between the three soldiers.

"I think I've forgotten what the color green looks like," Havoc mused from the shadows of his blanket. "I've seen tan, brown, red, tan, yellow, tan and more tan."

"Don't forget blue," Hawkeye added, looking at the blue uniforms reflecting in the firelight of other campfires. All around them were dozens more fires, occupied by soldiers likely carrying on the same conversations they were.

"I hate sand." The blanketed form seemed to collapse inward. "What I wouldn't give to see a field of grass and a river. Do you know how long it has been since I've had a good long shower?"

Walberton pinched his nose and spoke in a high, nasally tone, "Yeah, too long."

Hawkeye laughed, the first time she had in days. "I would love to enjoy a bubble bath."

"I'd love to see you enjoy a bubble bath," Havoc smirked.

Possessed of a good mood, she reached out and lightly punched the blanket where she thought his shoulder was. "Careful."

He raised his cloth-draped hands in surrender. "Just teasing. I don't want to get killed by friendly fire."

"And then…and then…BOOM!"

The three turned to look at a sizeable gathering of young soldiers not too far away. Standing in their midst, lit by the orange glow of their campfire stood Zolf J. Kimbley, the Crimson Alchemist. He was delighting the baby-faced boy's in their crisp blue uniforms with tales of war from his glorious point of view. His pale skin and white undershirt glowed as he illustrated his stories with wild movements.

"Now there is someone who enjoys war," Hawkeye said softly before taking another sip of her drink.

Turning back to their campfire, Walberton said grimly, "I have no love for any of the alchemists. There's just something wrong about it." His gaze was distant, haunted. From his jacket he pulled out the flask again and took a hard swig. "I can kind of understand the dislike the Ishbal have. It is weird."

"Boom!" Kimbley barked, his voice echoing through the night.

"At least you know that he's crazy," Havoc said as he nodded back toward the show.

Which was why she always made sure to keep her distance from the Crimson Alchemist. Something about him made her nervous, but truth be told, she was of similar mind to Walberton. One human being should not possess all that power. At least, within the military all the power is dispersed, dependant on dozens of people to bring destruction raining down on the enemy.

Though she, like the other two was experienced with serving as support for the various alchemists, picking off those who escaped the alchemic attacks, or protecting them from potential snipers. Just the week before, one of the alchemists had been severely wounded by an Ishbalan sharpshooter. The soldiers that had failed to protect him had suffered severe reprimand. Two of them had already been killed after being redeployed in patrols along the more unstable southern districts.

"BOOM!"

A rush of cheers followed Kimbley's tales.

"They're so green they don't know to be afraid of him," Hawkeye said.

"They probably won't live long enough to learn," came Havoc's muffled reply.

Hawkeye watched Kimbley throw his arms up happily as he embarked on another explosive story. She could see the crazy look in his eye. She had seen that in the eyes of many, not just the alchemists. It was the look of those who went mad in war, and who were consumed by bloodlust and felt nothing as they killed and committed atrocities left and right. For some, when the high wore off, the demons came and for others, it seemed their souls so empty that they never felt pain in their actions. Kimbley, she was positive was one such person.

He was a monster.

"Hey Mustang!" Kimbley called out toward a passing officer. "I was just telling these boys some interesting tales." Something predatory lit his eyes. "You want to join in?"

"No," came the simple reply from the expressionless man.

"Aw, come on, Flame! They want to hear how you set the world on fire."

The distant expression melted as fire leapt in Mustang's eyes like devils as he approached the group. The campfire surged, the flames like a column reaching into the night sky. Startled soldiers scrambled to back away as if afraid they too would burn as flames wildly licked out toward them. Like a snake, the flames slithered through the air, dancing at an unseen command, reaching out to the frightened men, beckoning them toward its fiery heart.

"Show off," Kimbley snarled.

Mustang just laughed as he turned to walk away. "I have no interest in spinning yarns. They will see what I do soon enough."

"He's the one who truly frightens me," Hawkeye said.

"Why?" Walberton asked.

Next to her, Havoc twisted slightly, peaking out from under the blanket. "Hmm, that one."

"He shows no emotion. No care. You can't tell if he enjoys what he does, hates it, or nothing at all."

"Looked like he enjoyed scaring the pants off the new recruits," Walberton said. "Of course, I was hearing from Norbury and Hale that he's quite merciless, doesn't leave much for clean up. All they have to do is keep him from getting shot."

Nodding, Hawkeye turned her attention back to her own campfire. She too had heard similar stories about how ruthless the Flame Alchemist was. Every patrol that went out with him came back black from ash and rattled by the cries of those who had survived long enough to burn to death in the flames. They all said he would stand there emotionlessly, calmly snapping his fingers and eradicating every living thing within a chosen area.

A shiver raced down Hawkeye's spine and she told herself it was because of the cold night air. At the edge of her hearing, she caught Kimbley telling another story but she blocked out the noise, instead, listening to the approach of footsteps.

Havoc twisted back to the fire. "So I was talking to Grimsby this morning," he started. There was no Grimsby, there never had been. It was code for change the subject quick.

"Oh, and what did he have to say?" Walberton asked with mock curiosity as the Flame Alchemist passed by.

Glancing up, Hawkeye briefly caught the Major's gaze before she shifted her look over to Havoc. Another chill raced through her as the memory of what she saw lingered. The smirk and enjoyment she had seen just minutes earlier was gone, replaced by a dead look that she could not read.

"Hey, Roy!" a voice called and the Major turned as a Lieutenant ran up to him. "I've been looking all over the place for you," the man huffed as he bent over, hands resting on his knees struggling for breath. "There's a job."

"So Grimsby was in the mess tent and…"

Hawkeye pushed Havoc's voice out of her mind as she sipped her coffee and strained to hear what the two officers were talking about.

"There's always a job," Mustang growled.

The Lieutenant straightened and adjusted his glasses. "I just deliver the messages, I don't make them up. I thought I would give you a head's up. Something big." He leaned toward the Major, his voice dropping and making it very difficult for Hawkeye to make out. Then he flashed a smile and whipped out a photograph. "Isn't my Gracia beautiful?"

"Hughes," Mustang said as he raised a gloved hand, ready to snap.

Pulling the photo away from the alchemist, Hughes shot back, "No torching the photo!"

"No, just the man holding it," came a sharp reply, punctuated by that same cocky smile Hawkeye had seen when the Major played with the campfire.

So the Flame Alchemist has a fierce temper, she thought. Her gaze focused on Havoc, but she could still see the figures at the edge of her vision.

"You're no fun," Hughes replied as he withdrew a step.

Raising her gaze slightly, she watched as the two men laughed and took on a less antagonist manner as they walked off.

Havoc dropped his fake conversation and softly asked, "So what was that about?"

"The Lieutenant saw a mission profile," Hawkeye said, trying to put the bits of information she had gleaned from the whispered conversation into a coherent thought. "A mission not like the elimination districts. Special teams. Something about an apprehension."

"Boom!" Kimbley barked as he continued on unabated with his stories.