The Game of Three Generals
by Lady Norbert
A/N: Thank you (as usual!) for all the wonderful commentary on the last chapter. Sadly, the worst is to come, and this isn't even it. A couple of you have caught wind of a particular chapter number; that will be, far and away, the hardest thing I've ever had to write. (I've already started it...it hurts.) Some of you have come dangerously close to guessing what I have planned.
This chapter...yeah. You're not going to like me. I'm prepared for that. Once again, I'm just asking you to hang in there and trust me. I'm not promising a happy ending for everyone, but I hope you'll be satisfied with the results nonetheless.
Chapter Thirteen: Game Move
Game Move: An interesting move in a disadvantageous position, on which one wagers the outcome of the game.
Havoc hates Briggs.
Okay, no. That's not entirely fair. Briggs is bitter and frigid and he definitely hates the weather; he'll admit that without reservation. But it's good to see Falman again, and the other "Briggs Bears" are friendly and welcoming, and even sympathetic about Mustang's plight. He and Fuery and Breda finally get to meet the mysterious Mrs. Falman - Alice is her name - and the two adorable munchkins that they've managed to produce together.
So he doesn't hate Briggs.
He just really wants to go home.
Every night, he, Breda, Fuery, Becky, and Falman cluster around a radio and listen to the broadcast of the day's news from Central. Highlights from the trial are presented. Sometimes they recognize the names of the witnesses that are called, and they enter a very spirited round of cursing them to the seventh level of hell. They don't curse Piper because, well, it sounds like the guy was just doing his job, but they know that some of the other prosecution witnesses are full of shit.
Occasionally there's a snatch of news about Ladyhawk. She's still in protective custody at the Fuhrer's mansion. Once in a very great while she gets to leave the house, usually to visit a doctor for a checkup, and the news correspondents make the most of any opportunity to see and question her. She brushes off most inquiries, politely but firmly, and they're left to amuse themselves with flowery description. "Beautifully sad." "Swollen and fragile." "The picture of dignified sorrow." Central Radio seems to regard her as a quasi-celebrity, which Havoc supposes she kind of is, but some of the things they say about her make her sound less like the pregnant wife of a wrongfully accused leader and more like a despondent film star.
On the plus side, she's alive and in apparent good health. They're united in relief about that much at least.
The day Ed Elric takes the stand to defend their commanding officer's integrity, they all cheer and drink a toast to the Fullmetal Alchemist.
The reporter sounds a bit self-satisfied the night he breaks the news about Mustang's own testimony. Havoc isn't sure why, unless it's because he gets to make this known before it hits the papers the following morning. Once he repeats the Chief's most poignant comment - "I don't love anything more than my wife" - it makes more sense. Becky gives a little hiccup of sob at that, and nobody is entirely looking at anybody else.
Damn them all. Damn every last one of the bastards who are responsible for what's happened to the Mustangs.
The worst part about the transfer to Briggs is that there's really not much to do. The invasion was half over before they ever even arrived. So it makes it almost stupid that they're there and not in Central, because at least in Central they could theoretically be doing something to help. What that would be, no one is entirely sure, but something.
"They're keeping us away on purpose." That's Breda's theory, at least, and Breda's their strategist so Havoc has a tendency to believe him when he comes up with stuff like that. The two men are doing what Falman used to have to do, scraping icicles off of the overhead pipes.
"At this point, I wouldn't be surprised."
"We should be there, not here. They need us."
"I know." The weeks and the trial have been dragging on and on, and they're all getting testy.
Breda starts to say something else, but they're interrupted by one of the Briggs men. "Hey, Breda!"
"Yeah?"
"You've got a telegram!"
He and Havoc exchange puzzled looks. "I do?"
"Telegraph office is one flight up. Take the western stairs, turn left, second door on the right. Probably urgent - telegrams usually are."
"Okay, thanks."
"You think the trial's over?" Havoc wonders.
"Let's hope." The redhead ambles off in the direction of the western staircase, and Havoc resumes scraping.
Why doesn't Armstrong just send us back? She can't possibly be in on this, can she? Grumman trusted her. Hell, Mustang trusts her. And she likes Ladyhawk - likes me too, according to Falman. No, she can't be involved...but then why keep us here? Is she trying to protect us? That doesn't seem right. Not when we should be there protecting them. He whacks irritably at the icicles, shattering them and sending the shards spinning through the air. It makes him feel a little better.
He finishes the current set of icicles and wonders what's keeping Breda. Of course, the other Captain doesn't move too fast, so maybe it's nothing more than that. As he starts to head for the next pipeload of frozen death traps, however, he hears running feet.
"Havoc!"
"Since when-" Havoc starts to ask his buddy since when he runs anywhere, but as he turns, he stops mid-sentence. Breda is flushed from the exertion of swift movement, but underneath the flush, he has turned white. He is shaking, and when he comes to a halt he doubles over, hands on his knees, panting.
"What the hell happened to you?"
"It's - Fullmetal."
"The telegram's from Fullmetal? What's it say?"
Breda shakes his head, and to Havoc's profound horror, there are what look suspiciously like tears in his eyes. He doesn't speak, just hands over the sheet of paper. Havoc grabs it, and feels the color draining out of his own face as he reads the single word it contains.
CHECKMATE.
It's quite a few minutes before either of them can speak.
"He's been found guilty?" Havoc can't process it. "Of a crime he didn't commit?"
"Something's dodgy." Breda mops his face with a handkerchief. "We've got to tell the others, fast."
"Becky's off-duty, should be in her bunk right now. Let's start there," Havoc says. Becky has the notable distinction of being the only female in Briggs besides Armstrong herself, a fact which makes him very relieved that she wears her engagement ring prominently.
They're halfway to Becky's bunk when they hear their names. They turn to see an agitated Fuery come rushing toward them, not bothering to try and hide the wetness on his cheeks.
"How did you find out so fast?" Havoc asks, his voice a bit dulled with pain.
"On the radio. Special news broadcast." Fuery wipes at his face. "How did you find out?"
"Telegram from Ed Elric." Breda shows him.
"Then you don't know!"
"What?" And suddenly, Havoc is so damned terrified that he can't even breathe.
Fuery's expression can only be described as devastated. "The sentence..."
"What sentence, Kain?"
"He's - he's -" The young officer gulps. "It's - death...by firing squad!"
Breda actually grabs the wall in order to stay upright, staring at Fuery. "Tell me you're lying."
"I wish I were. Guys, what are we gonna do?"
Havoc thinks, as quickly as he's able. "Go grab Falman," he says, "and meet us at Becky's bunk. We've got to form a plan of action. Fast."
Becky, like Fuery, weeps openly when they tell her. Falman is grave, and silent.
"Is there anything we can do?" Fuery wants to know.
"We've got two options at this point," says Breda. "Either we go to General Armstrong, and tell her what's happened, and ask her to let us go...or we desert like we did for the Promised Day." He gestures to himself and Fuery. "Falman? What are the odds of the General allowing us to go?"
Falman does some mental calculations. "I would say approximately 60% in our favor."
"I wasn't asking for an actual figure. Should we try it, do you think?"
"I find that notion preferable to desertion. She's an honorable woman."
"All right. Let's go."
"No," she says.
They stare at her. "What?"
"Are you deaf, Captain Catalina? I said no." The queen of Briggs has one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, arms folded, barely looking at them.
"May one ask why, General?" ventures Falman.
"Because, Major Falman, I don't have the authority to countermand directives from High Command. Your friends were transferred here by circumstances beyond my control."
"With all due respect, General, we need to be in Central!" Havoc is having trouble controlling his volume. "General Mustang's going to be killed - who knows what that's going to do to the Colonel - the least we can do is be there!"
"And I've told you, I can't give you permission to go!" Her words are steely...and heavy. There's a meaning there that he's not catching.
Breda, however, seems to be getting an idea. "Then I'm afraid, ma'am, you've left us no choice but to desert our posts."
"Desert your posts?" she repeated, lip curling with disdain. "Tch. You actually admit that to me?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Placing your friends above your duty to this country? Who the hell do you think you are?"
And now Havoc understands, and it seems that the others do as well. They click their heels together, standing ramrod straight, and together they - he, Breda, Fuery, and Becky - speak as if with one voice. "We are the queen's men!"
"Tch," she says again, but this time Havoc catches the sparkle in her bright blue eye. "Get out of my sight. In fact, get out of my fortress."
They salute her and turn to go. "Falman? You coming?" Fuery asks.
The older soldier hesitates, and glances at his commanding officer. "You I have the authority to dismiss," she snaps. "Go on, throw your lot in with them. Permission to go to Central granted."
"Thank you, General."
"Just go." She smirks. "You have a train to catch."
"We need to let Fullmetal know we're on our way," says Havoc, "so we can arrange to meet him. Do you think we can risk calling the Fuhrer's mansion?"
"If they've got a halfway decent communications tech working for them, they're almost certainly tapping Ladyhawk's phones," Fuery replies. "Telegram's probably our best bet, but it has to be coded."
"I've got it," says Breda. He leads the way back to the telegraph office, arranging for the message to be transmitted to Central and delivered to Colonel Mustang's private residence.
"What should it say?" asks the operator.
"Two words will suffice: advancing pawns."
"Right, that's settled," says Havoc. "Let's go pack - fast. Falman, you should go let your wife know what's going on. She doesn't need all the details, just enough that she doesn't worry too much. We'll meet you at your place as soon as we're ready to go."
"Very good. I'll see you all soon, then."
"Are we rushing this?" Becky wants to know. "I mean...sometimes people get sentenced to death and they just sit around for a long time waiting, don't they?"
"Sometimes," says Breda quietly. "But this is a capital crime - and a crime against the state. I have a very bad feeling that they're going to expedite the proceedings as much as they possibly can. Time is definitely not on our side."
"Storming Central is going to look like a picnic next to this, isn't it?" she asks.
"Probably."