tam - Thanks! Roy-Fan-33 - Am I going to have to start posting warnings before every chapter? LOL Reius Devirix - Thank you very much. vefa - Hope this is soon enough of an update. b7-kerravon - You'll find out soon. Miss Mustang - Thank you! SnufflesWillRise - Yikes, I better get a post up then. We wouldn't want you to suffer too much. That said, I guess I better apologize in advance for today's chapter. Ducks and runs. ;)

The War Prayer

Over the silhouette of houses, intense orange and yellow flames licked up toward the night sky in defiance of the darkness that reigned. Any other time, the scene might have been awe inspiring, but for Maes Hughes, at that moment, it was terrifying.

As a child, growing up surrounded by rolling plains and stalks of wheat for as far as the eye could see, he had seen his share of burning fields. The droughts, a spark from the train tracks that snaked through the amber oceans, even a carelessly dropped cigarette was all it took. It was beautiful, the distant glow on the horizon. Mesmerizing.

Often, he had known wonderment watching as the distant flames ate across the land and at times even known fear as he watch farms and homes that had been a familiar part of his youthful landscape be consumed.

He had never feared it, never hated it. Fire was as much a part of nature as was rain, which could flood towns and cities and wash away freshly sewn crops as easily as it could provide sustenance.

As a young man, thrust into the heart of the desert during the last years of the Ishbal uprising, he felt as if he were on an alien planet. Dry, arid and nothing but sand surrounded him. It was a far cry from the place he had called home. The one thing that remained constant was the fire. From the safety of his office at base camp, where the never ending flow of paperwork crossed his desk, mission manifests needing to be delivered, he was surrounded by campfires. Day or night, they burned. The day to heat food and water as needed and at night to keep everyone from freezing in the miserable cold that claimed the desert.

A false horizon to the north always glowed during the dark hours. During the day there was nothing but billowing clouds of black smoke, but at night, he could almost imagine the fields outside his hometown burning.

Except this was Ishbal.

It was always burning.

After all these years, it probably still did.
He knew the source of many of those flames, back then and with fear creeping into his heart, he knew the source of them now. He knew who set the world on fire.

"Faster!" Hughes demanded of the driver but knew the man was going as fast as he could. There was nothing short of instantly being there that would be fast enough.

Every fiber in his being told him needed to be at the scene right now.

The car slowed to round a corner and all Hughes wanted to do was scream at the man. First calls about a group of tattooed Ishbalan come in which did little for his well-being; less so the moment when he saw the smoke and flames within moments of leaving Eastern HQ.

A startled gasp escaped the driver as he slammed on the breaks. The car screeched violently across the pavement. Hughes gripped the leather seats to keep from being tossed into the drivers' lap. The squeal of tires from behind grated on his strained nerves as the other troop vehicles slammed to a stop.

Ahead, a car—military issue—was tipped over and engulfed in flames. Shards poked up out of the vehicle and all about the ground, but he knew at least one occupant had survived the attack. The deduction was easy given the burning lumps scattered about the street.

Even though he knew what they were, he did not let the thought linger as he shoved the passenger door open and leapt out. Behind him, he heard the driver call out, but was running the instant he hit the ground. Protocol and safety be damned, his friend was in trouble.

Only the slightest hint of regret struck him the instant he caught a whiff of burned flesh. Drawing a hand over his nose to shield it from the stench, he delved deeper into the scene more like a war zone. The cold claws of panic gripped him as he paused, finding glass crunching underfoot.

The thunder of footsteps as soldiers rushed onto the scene drew his attention. From behind, a major quickly barked orders to secure the area.

Noticing movement on the far curb, Hughes broke into a sprint with little care for any dangers that might lie in wait. His course was jagged as he tried to avoid the denser piles of shattered glass while racing passed a few more bodies, these with bullets to the head.

Lt. Hawkeye was sitting on the edge of the curb. She looked as if she had seen better days. Her long blond hair fell in unruly cascades over her shoulders as she leaned forward ever so slightly. He resisted the urge to hug her as he sank to his knees in front of the young woman.

"Lieutenant?" A quick look over revealed relatively few wounds. Her arm was bleeding from a deep cut and swelling misshaped the side of her face. Pressing a finger to her chin, he gently tipped her face up slightly so the light from the burning car would give him a clearer view. The skin around her eye was dark from bruising and nearly swollen closed. "What happened?"

"The Colonel," she whispered. Raising her head sharply, the sudden movement made her unsteady even though she was sitting on the ground. Her dazed look sharpened as one amber eye met his concerned stare. She tried to get up but he pushed her back to the ground.

"Settle down, Lieutenant." Quickly glancing about, Hughes spied a nearby soldier. "Get an ambulance!" he called out. "No, get two!"

Turning back to Hawkeye, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders. She was trembling. "Where is Roy?"

She furrowed her brow and squeezed her eyes together. She shook her head and almost fell over.

Two soldiers approached and Hughes quickly motioned them close. "Take good care of her," he said sternly with no small hint of warning.

"Yes, sir!" came quick replies.

"Lieutenant Colonel!" a voice called out from the shadows down the street bordering the park.

Turning sharply, he caught sight of several soldiers retreating from some unseen threat. He ran along side a stream of jagged shards that snaked down the street and came to an abrupt stop at a crater. He almost fell in the hole, not seeing it for all the deep shadows that spanned across the pavement. Unsure of what lie ahead, he moved to be ready and reached to the back of his belt where he kept several small throwing knives stashed.

The men were just standing there among a glittering sea with their weapons were held in trembling grips but pointed toward the ground. It was probably the smartest thing they could have done, he thought. Seeing what had their attention, he easily recognized the shadowed form of his longtime friend.

Returning the blade to its place, he carefully approached the scene. His voice was even as he spoke to the men. "Just back away and make sure there are two ambulances on the way."

Relieved acquiesces filled the air as the three young soldiers obeyed.

"They fled," Roy said, his back to Hughes. "Like cowards, they ran away. You scared them off."

"They can't run forever," Hughes said stepping toward the man.

"I could have taken her," Roy growled. "There were only a few rebels left."

"I don't think the Garden District could have handled the ongoing fighting. As it is, they'll have to close this area off for repairs. You know Commandant Grumman is going to love hearing the complaints from the mayor."

Roy laughed and then made an almost inaudible grunt as he bent forward slightly, gripping his left side. "I'll make it up to the old man." He shifted slightly, his step somewhat unsteady. "I wounded her."

"Good." Hughes took a step closer.

"It won't kill her."

Hughes grimaced when Roy turned. From his arm to his side, his blue uniform was sliced open and in places was a glossy black in the distant firelight. "Gods, Roy." Moving quickly, he grabbed his friend by the right arm, catching him as he stumbled. "Maybe you should sit down."

Fire reflected in Roy's eyes. "Hawkeye—"

"Is pretty battered and worried about you. So don't make her come over here and give you a piece of her mind. She's in no condition to be walking around." He tried to smile, but it just was not in him. Within the confines of his chest, his heart was thundering and he could feel the icy grip of fear as he tightened his fingers around Roy's uniform sleeve.

He was afraid to let go.

Roy's voice broke as he spoke. "They came so fast." He wavered but this time Hughes could not catch him. Both men tumbled to the ground, Roy landing with a thud on his side. He struggled for a moment but his strength seemed to fade as he sank back to the street, resting on his back. For a moment, he just laid there, breathing heavily. "I think I broke some ribs."

"Is that all?" Hughes lightly asked.

"You should check on Hawkeye. She was hit—"

"She's being looked after." Leaning forward, Hughes examined two wide gashes above Roy's left elbow, and then he offered a cursory inspection of his friend's side. There was so much blood.

"Good," came the soft whisper.

"Roy?" Hughes asked, growing concerned. Seeing Roy's eyes drift closed, he lightly slapped the still man across the face. "Come on, Roy. Stay with me," he demanded. Twisting to look back over his shoulder, he barked, "Where's that ambulance?"