The Game of Three Generals

by Lady Norbert

A/N: I suspect I know what some of you are thinking after that last chapter. "What the heck, Lady? Nothing happened!"

That's what you think. Much like Acheron, I'm laying groundwork behind the scenes. Expect something to happen very, very soon...and prepare to not like me very much when it does. (Every time I get another review telling me how much someone loves this story, I cringe, because I know what's coming. I've told the whole plot to one of you, and she cried.)

Chapter Six: Ranging Rook

Ranging Rook: A type of opening in shogi in which the player swings the rook over to his left side of the board, and castles the King into the right.

"Things are still quiet," Breda mutters, "and I don't like it."

The contingent from Ishval returned to the east a few days after the ball, and in the two weeks that have passed since then, he and Mustang have become slightly obsessive. Every day they comb through every newspaper; Amestris has five daily papers, one for each region, and they spend hours reading them cover to cover, jotting down headlines and details that seem likely to have relevance.

So far, there hasn't been much. Every edition had a story about the successful ball and a list of those receiving promotions. (Havoc was chagrined to be told that the Southern paper identified him as John Havok.) The Eastern paper, that region being the Mustangs' current seat of operation, took a bit more interest than the other regions did in the designation of Mustang as what's finally been termed Fuhrer Auxiliary. It was a matter of curiosity to everyone, however, as no acting Fuhrer has ever identified his own successor so far in advance.

"What do we have today, Breda?" Mustang is signing documents. "Is there anything worth noting?"

"A new restaurant is opening in South City. Drachman cuisine - supposedly a sign of improved relations between the countries."

"In South City? That's a far cry from the mountains."

"Well, maybe they got cold." Breda cracks a smile.

"What else?"

"Ed Elric's book is receiving favorable reviews and he's expected to write a second volume."

"He still owes me a signed copy. Maybe I should write a book one of these days," the General muses.

"In all your copious spare time? Forget it, sir. Besides, nobody would believe your life story."

"There's that. Anything remotely more relevant?"

"Some criticisms of your new appointment, if that's of any interest to you."

"I'm shocked," the General says dryly. "Let me guess - Grumman is being accused of nepotism."

"That, and you're being accused of marrying for political gain."

Mustang's eyebrow twitches. "Really."

"Yeah, this one looks like a keeper, actually." Breda clears his throat and reads aloud. "Listen. 'Mustang's own achievements have been sufficient to elevate him to the rank of Major General, but while he maintains a respectable public image, it's not to be forgotten that he was once the most notorious womanizer in Central City. It's very telling that he gave up pursuing the affections of multiple women only because he had the opportunity to marry into the First Family.' Obviously this wasn't written by anybody who ever spent five minutes in the same room with you, Chief."

"An op-ed piece, or a letter to the editor?"

"Op-ed. Pure sensationalism, I'd guess."

"Has Riza seen it?"

"I really don't know."

"Has Riza seen what?" asks a new voice, and they look up to see that the door has opened at this inopportune moment. Ladyhawk herself is standing there, Rebecca just behind her, and she eyes them both quizzically.

"Aw, it's just yellow journalism, boss lady," Breda says. "Somebody at the Western paper is trash-talking the General here."

"Is it at least funny trash talk?"

"I'm not particularly amused by it," her husband replies, "but it could be worse, I suppose."

Her brow furrows and she walks over to take the paper from Breda's hand. "Oh...hmm." She massages her stomach lightly, almost absent-mindedly, while she reads; Breda thinks she might be showing ever so slightly, although he knows nothing about such things and he could well be imagining it. "I see."

"What do you make of it?" Mustang is watching her, a touch wary.

"It appears to be a case of incorrect information, sir," she replies, and his expression relaxes into a grin.

"Just like all those people who think I'm useless when it's raining?" he challenges.

"Hmm. Exactly."

Breda exchanges a look with Rebecca, who shrugs. They've evidently missed something. But Ladyhawk is unruffled by the article, and Mustang's own mood has clearly improved because of that, so he supposes it doesn't matter. All that matters is that she doesn't believe the rantings. Of course, Breda never thought she would - the queen knows her king too well for that - but he's glad she isn't upset.

Later in the week, Douglas helps them with the article scouring. Breda likes Douglas; he's smart but quiet, loyal but inobtrusive. One thing that the heavier man appreciates is the fact that Douglas never assumes he's going to be a part of whatever's going on, even though Mustang has formally added him to Ladyhawk's Fuhrer-appointed security detail too. He always waits to be included, invited, and he usually is. Riza's in the office too, writing out memoranda in her tiny, elegant script.

"What about this one?" Douglas asks. "Some more promotions being announced."

"Let's see it." Mustang takes the page and flicks his dark gaze over the print. "Piper... Colonel, what did you tell me about a Piper?"

"Andrew Piper? General Hakuro spoke highly of him. Did he make Brigadier?"

"Yes, as of Monday."

"Hakuro thought he might be an asset to the work here in Ishval. I suggested Eastern Command instead; I know you and Grandfather are a bit touchy about who gets assigned here, all things considered." She gives them all a wry little smile.

Mustang walks over to the large bulletin board where they've been pinning clippings that might have relevance. "I just don't understand it," he grumbles. "It's been almost three months since the desert extraction. There hasn't been a peep out of him! Where is he, what's he planning?"

"You'll figure it out, si-" Ladyhawk's expression changes swiftly, and she looks pained. "Excuse me, gentlemen." With as much dignity as she can muster, she hurries out of the room. Mustang turns, catches sight of her retreating form, and sighs.

"Is she sick again?" Breda guesses.

"Yeah. She's sick a lot."

"Kind of weird, considering she's always been in such good health before."

"Eh, it's not too unusual, from everything I've read. It'll ease off in a few weeks, probably. I just hate that she's so uncomfortable."

"When will she have to go off active duty?" inquires Douglas.

"I don't know yet, but I am really not looking forward to that." Mustang grimaces. "She is not going to be a happy soldier if I have to tell her that she needs to stay home all day. At least by that point, I'm hoping we'll be back in Central."

The rest of the week slips by with still no real news. Some things keep them all tolerably entertained; the birth of the Xingese heir is old news, but the impending arrival of the royal party that will accompany Alphonse Elric and Princess May Chang is widely reported. They are now married, in the Xingese tradition, and Resembool is all aflutter (according to the Southern paper) to receive its native son and his royal bride, and a large contingent of soldiers (says the Eastern paper) will escort them across the desert. The Emperor and Empress long to join them, but so soon after the birth, it seems improbable. The Central paper notes that little Prince Fu was named in honor of his great-grandfather, who met his death in the events surrounding the Promised Day and the effort to save Amestris, although of course the exact details are left vague.

As has been the norm since before the ball, Grumman and Mustang converse daily. Part of the call is always devoted to the Fuhrer grilling his Auxiliary about his granddaughter's well-being; Mustang doesn't have a lot to report about the First Great-Grandchild, in truth, except that by all accounts everything is normal and mother and child are both healthy. He glosses over Ladyhawk's frequent nausea.

"He's as confused as we are," Mustang says after ending one such discussion with his grandfather-in-law. "He was so sure that the ball would draw Acheron out."

"Well, he must be reading the papers," Breda points out, "assuming he's alive and in the country. So he almost certainly knows by now that you and Ladyhawk are still alive."

"Yeah, I'm kind of sorry I missed seeing the look on his face." The General chuckles.

"Does the Fuhrer have any new ideas?" Douglas asks.

"One. I'm not sure I like it too much. Where are Havoc and Fuery and Catalina?"

"Captain Catalina escorted Colonel Mustang to the mess for a cup of tea to ease her stomach. I believe Havoc is at the shooting range, and the Colonel asked Fuery to take Black Hayate outside."

"Do me a favor, Douglas, and round them all up? I may as well explain this to everyone at once."

"Sir." He salutes, and leaves at once. Breda watches Mustang, waiting for an explanation.

"You're wondering why I don't like the Fuhrer's plan."

"Thought crossed my mind."

"Because it's very risky, and neither he nor I care to take this particular risk if we can help it. But he thinks it might be our last, best chance to draw out the enemy." Mustang sighs. "He's going to publicly announce the impending addition to the family. We've been keeping it under wraps until now, but..."

"I see."

"Is there anything in the papers today, while we're waiting?"

"Actually...yes." Breda hands him the Southern paper. "Railway accident near Liore. Could just be that and nothing more, but you never know. Few casualties, luckily, but many wounded."

Mustang reviews the article, and is still engrossed when Fuery arrives, shortly followed by Havoc. "You're right. Could be relevant or not." He hands the paper back to Breda. "Add it to the others, just in case."

"Aye, Chief."

Douglas finally returns with the women. "All right. I've talked with the Fuhrer, and... I have to admit I'm not crazy about the plan he's decided on. But we're running out of ideas to draw out the enemy." He shoots an apologetic look at his wife. "Tomorrow, Central Radio will broadcast the news as usual, and the news will include the formal announcement that the First Granddaughter is expecting. I imagine the papers will pick it up shortly afterward."

Ladyhawk, as he predicted, does not look especially happy. "Well, we knew it had to come out eventually," she says, trying to be practical.

"As a result, I'm increasing your security detail, Colonel. I don't want you going anywhere unescorted, not even here inside the command building. At least one of us is to be with you at all times." He sees her opening her mouth to argue, and cuts her off. "I'm not taking chances."

They glare at each other for a moment. Breda, for his part, is entirely on the General's side. He watched the man almost come totally unglued from fever and grief when she was kidnapped; he never wants to go through anything like that again, never wants his superior officer to endure anything like that again. He does sympathize with Ladyhawk, because he knows she doesn't like spending her entire life under surveillance, but he remembers too well how they all felt when their queen was missing, and that was before the advent of their prince or princess. He'd much rather inconvenience her than...well, than the alternative.

After a few tense minutes, she relents. "I guess if nothing else, it should help keep you from getting sick again if you know I'm well protected," she grumbles. "All right. I understand the reasons, sir, I'm just not a great admirer of the situation."

"I know, and I'm sorry. But if the choice comes down to you being happy or you being alive, I would really prefer it if you were alive and annoyed."

"Well, you're in luck." She gives him a wry smile. "That's an adequate description of my current condition."