The Game of Three Generals
by Lady Norbert
A/N: I'm thankful that nobody seems to hate me. I'll be blunt, friends...things are going to get worse before they get better. Much, much worse. But they really will get better! I think. Maybe. I've said too much already...
In all seriousness, thank you for the feedback. I literally trembled when I posted chapter seven, so I'm glad to know that while it was upsetting and shocking, it at least was good! We'll have a bit of a reprieve in this chapter, with some of that adorable Team Mustang family-ness that I know many of you love so much.
Chapter Eight: Four Heavenly Kings
Four Heavenly Kings: The four dots on the Shogi board.
It takes entirely too long to travel from Ishval to Central, in Havoc's opinion.
The call from Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong has them all understandably freaked out, not least because it was partially rendered unintelligible by the big man's sobs. They understood enough of it, though - there was an attack on Central Command, the Fuhrer is missing in action, and they need to get there as soon as possible. Mustang's orders.
They would have gone anyway, so the order wasn't really necessary.
He, Breda, Fuery, Becky, and Douglas decide to make their way northwest as soon as they're able to get on the train. Lieutenant Colonel Miles isn't keen on sending Douglas with them, but Havoc reminds him that they are the First Granddaughter's security detail, and if they made sense out of half of what Armstrong was telling them, that's got to take priority right now. So Miles relents, and they're on their way. It's a late-night train; they can expect to arrive sometime around dawn.
It's a tense ride. Though they're closeted in one of the military compartments, they speak in low voices and try not to be overheard. How far the news of the attack has spread, they don't know, but they don't want to incite any sort of panic.
"Do you think he's...dead?" Becky asks.
"Doesn't sound like there's much hope of otherwise," Breda replies darkly. "Armstrong did say the office exploded, right?"
"Right," Fuery confirms, gloomy. "That, unfortunately, was one of the things he said that I could understand. I think that was as far as he got before he started sobbing."
"This is just surreal." Douglas looks sort of bewildered, and Havoc realizes that, excepting only the abduction of Ladyhawk, this is probably the first real crisis he's endured in his career - he was most likely still in the academy when the Promised Day happened.
"I wish I could say you get used to it, but you really never do," he tells the younger soldier.
"I think I'm glad of that. Getting used to something like this would mean it happens an awful lot."
They reach Central and make for the command building. Armstrong is waiting for them on the steps, which saves them the trouble of trying to find him in the haze of morning. "Captains," he intones gently, "thank you for coming. I've been watching since before daybreak, hoping you would be able to join us here."
"Thank you for calling us," Havoc replies. "Is there any news?" Unspoken; is there any hope?
Armstrong bows his head. "The Fuhrer's office was completely decimated by the blast...most everything inside was incinerated beyond recovery or even recognition." Unspoken; including him.
Becky gasps, and covers her mouth with her hand. Fuery swallows audibly.
"Where are-"
"The Fuhrer Auxiliary and the First Granddaughter are both in the Crisis Room, where I hope they managed to take some rest at last," Armstrong says. "It was a naturally sleepless night for them both. I'll take you there directly, of course."
Brosh and Ross are guarding the door of the Crisis Room, which makes Havoc feel better at once; he's not inclined to trust anyone outside of 'the allies' just at the moment. They trade brief, troubled greetings. Inside they find Ladyhawk, staring into the depths of her tea with an expression so wretched, it breaks Havoc's heart. She looks up when they enter, and her aspect changes.
"Oh, you came..."
"Of course we did," says Breda, gruffly. "We are the queen's men. Where else would we be?"
To their profound horror, Colonel Riza Hawkeye Mustang's face crumples and she starts to cry. Not a single one of them has ever seen her do this in all the years they've known her, and no one entirely knows what to do or how to respond. "I'm sorry," she mutters, wiping at her cheeks. "It's hormones on top of everything else... but I'm just so glad to see you all... Roy will be too, he'll be back in a minute."
"Ladyhawk, after the night you've just had, nobody's going to blame you for crying," Fuery says gently.
"I know, but I hate it..."
The door opens again, and Armstrong precedes Mustang into the room. They all snap to attention and salute, and he waves them off half-irritably, half-appreciatively. "Thank you for coming, men," he says. "I wish it were under better circumstances. Riza, eat your breakfast."
She looks back at the food on the table. "I'm not hungry."
"Eat it anyway. Please," he adds, less commanding officer and more concerned husband. Turning back to the rest of the group, he smiles thinly; he looks exhausted. "I wish I had good news to offer, but right now the investigation is still ongoing."
"Your orders, sir?" asks Armstrong.
Mustang blinks. "My orders?"
"You are the Fuhrer Auxiliary," the muscled man reminds him. "In light of the current situation, and until we receive confirmation otherwise... you are now the leader of this country."
Havoc feels kind of sorry for the Chief, who looks stricken. "Gah." He rubs his forehead. "This isn't how I wanted it to go... all right, fine. Rebecca, you stay with Riza at all times. The rest of you, see if you can contribute to the investigation. Generals Hakuro and Piper are spearheading it, so offer your assistance to them; I don't know if they'll let you, seeing as Hakuro plays things pretty close to the vest more often than not, but it can't hurt to offer. Armstrong, do your men at the door need to be relieved?"
"No, sir."
"Very well. Everyone come and have something to eat first, you had a long journey."
No one has much of an appetite, but they do their best to obey the order, if only because maybe they can get Ladyhawk to eat more by sharing the meal with her. It does seem to help a little. "Who is this General Piper, anyway? I know you recognized his name when it was in the paper," says Breda.
"He's some fledgling of Hakuro's; when they were dancing at the ball, he recommended the guy to Riza for the eastern detail. But instead, from what I'm told, he's been acting as Grumman's secretary."
"Secretary?"
"Well, adjutant. The regular aide has been out on bereavement leave; his father died earlier this month and he had to travel to South City for the burial and to see to his estate. Grumman told him to take as long as he needed, and then accepted Piper as a temporary replacement on Hakuro's recommendation."
"And how do we know we can trust him?" asks Fuery bluntly.
"We don't. But in the short term, we have to hope we can."
"Can we trust Hakuro?" asks Breda.
"Probably," Mustang admits. "He's never been friendly to me, but he's always been relatively honest. His support of Bradley was sincere; he wasn't involved in the Promised Day plot, he was just being loyal to the Fuhrer because he was the Fuhrer. Since Grumman took the seat, he's been the same way toward him."
Ladyhawk hiccups a bit, and Havoc realizes she's struggling not to cry again. The First Family has been broken, and the First Granddaughter - or is she the First Lady now? - is feeling the loss. The General reaches over and grasps her hand on the tabletop; neither speaks, but then again, they've never needed to speak to understand each other. They're grieving together.
"Excuse me," she says quietly, pulling her hand away and rising from the table. She shuffles to the far side of the room, shutting herself in the little attached bathroom. The retching is audible, though muffled. Silence reigns over the breakfast table for a few minutes.
"How's she doing?" Havoc finally asks Mustang, quietly.
"About as well as can be expected, all things considered." His own face is slightly pale. "I wish there was something I could do for her, but it might as well be raining for all I'm able to help."
"There's not really anything anybody can do, Chief. You can't blame yourself."
"You're here with her and she knows you love her," adds Becky. "That's all anybody can ask."
"It doesn't seem like enough."
"Well, maybe we can make up the difference," Fuery offers.
"Yeah. We're not Grumman, but heck - we're still, y'know, kind of family," Breda points out around a mouthful of toast.
The door opens. "More than kind of, Breda," says Ladyhawk in a hoarse voice. "You are family. You always have been." She still looks dangerously close to tears, and as she takes a step forward, she stumbles just the slightest bit. Mustang's out of his chair before anyone can blink and across the room, arms sliding around his wife to steady her. She looks up at him, silently grateful, then back at the rest of them. "Having you here means more than I can tell you."
"Like Breda said, we're the queen's men - and the king's too," says Fuery, and Havoc nods. "There's nowhere else we could be right now."