Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

Note: This chapter is a direct continuation from last chapter.

- x -

The needle had barely slipped from his skin before his back arched, jaw stretched wide in a desperate gasp, and Franklin Sorn wondered if he was really going to come around this time.

Adrenaline, he finally decided, watching Elric's body responding to the chemical, apparently without him. His eyes were as wide as his mouth, but they were just as fixed as before, and as soon as the hormone had had a chance to burn through its half-life the physical responses once again decreased in violence. His muscles relaxed, though his breathing remained elevated, and there was no indication that he was aware, either of his situation or his physical discomfort.

Ike's back was to him, but Franklin could hear the frown in his voice. "Any more will kill him," he warned, and Reinken cursed.

"If Luis wasn't the general's pet I would kill him where he stands," he growled halfheartedly. "He was given explicit instructions. This wasn't due to lack of skill."

Ike shrugged eloquently. "Regardless, I doubt he's going to be walking around anytime soon. You need to notify the general."

Another soft curse. "This dog irritates at every turn."

And then, as if a switch had been flipped, the fixed eyes blinked. It was halfhearted and incomplete, but it wasn't a reflex response. Sorn hoped rather selfishly that they'd missed it, but of course Ike was a doctor, and he'd been observing his patient as closely as Luis had last night.

"I don't think he appreciates the title 'dog,' commander."

Another blink, just as sluggish as the last, and then another deep breath, just like one would take upon waking. This was followed by a weak round of coughing, and then the eyes closed altogether.

Ike had a hand to Full Metal's neck, obviously concerned about his vitals, but after a moment he nodded to the commander. "If you wanted him dressed, I'd suggest getting it done before he has the presence of mind to fight."

It turned out to be sound advice. By the time their night guards' relief had Full Metal back in the clothes he'd arrived in he was already starting to regain consciousness. Nidler ducked into the tent with a loud crackle, a pent piece of steel in his hands, and as soon as they'd shoved the now-fighting Elric's arms through his sleeves, his wrists were encased in steel manacles that kept his hands from touching. His legs were allowed to remain bare, though apparently one of his boots was larger than the other to accommodate his 'automail' foot.

Armor. It was so flawlessly done that he'd honestly had no idea. Elric had taught, probably fought in it all this time, never giving it away. It was quite strange to see him without it, though the only evidence was that his right hand was flesh. If they put white gloves on him, the majority of the Cretian army would have no idea.

But they didn't. They hauled him to his feet, as woozy as he was, and they pretty much carried him out of the tent.

And then Franklin was alone with Nidler and Reinken.

They had a brief conversation, too quietly to overhear, and then turned and fixed him with considering looks. He returned their gaze, unafraid. They'd already said there was nothing he could do for Elric, and they weren't going to do anything to him. He'd have to wait until one of the guards slipped up. If Lanan hadn't been so on the ball, he could have gotten away last night during his 'rest' period, but no, they'd transmuted the same restraints they'd just put Full Metal in -

And then Nidler pulled out his array again, slapping the worn piece of leather sharply on one of the support poles of the tent. The leather snapped around the pole and glowed a bright blue, and the diameter of the tent pole narrowed significantly, leaving Nidler with a healthy chunk of metal.

Nidler approached him quickly, almost as an afterthought. He wasn't a threat. He was a child to them.

They were going to learn how wrong they were.

"There's an entire army out there, whelp. Don't even think about it," Nidler warned, slapping the leather onto the chunk of metal again. This time the alchemist formed the manacles around the cuffs on the chair, so that when they were released, Sorn still couldn't bring his arms together.

He was pulled to his feet, the manacles being resized - for his comfort, he realized - and then he was half-pulled, half-shooed out of the tent.

The fabric of the tent was a very thick canvas, and it had done a good job of mangling the outside noises into a blur. Now that he was free, each shout meant something, grub was ready or supplies needed to be counted, and each odd whuffing noise was a tent coming down. The equipment looked much the same as Amestris', and it wasn't until he'd been led from the officer's area that he got an idea of scope.

The rolling hills on all sides of him were dotted with the same activity. Tents coming down, campfires being kicked out, supplies loaded onto vehicles and always the shouts, yells, calls, laughter. These were not tense men. These were jubilant men.

They hadn't even fought yet, and they were already celebrating?

He sharpened his eyes, and though he knew Reinken had noticed his curiosity, the commander didn't interfere. They had multiple war machines, long-range artillery as well as their more classic armors, but he didn't see any one large weapon. They were relying completely on the element of surprise.

If Mustang really had been stupid enough to withdraw his prairie fire drill troops, West might not actually have enough men to defend. Again, defenders should have nearly a ten to one advantage, all the books said, so at the very least it would be a very costly battle for the Cretians.

If he had to, he'd transmute some of the Amestrian forces. It really didn't matter.

It's not killing them. They would be fine.

At length Sorn began to realize that Reinken was actually taking him in a circular route around the main hill.

"Is there a reason for this tour?" he inquired in what he hoped was a polite voice. All they were doing was giving him the layout of the camp, and a good idea of their numbers and weapons. Which were, admittedly, formidable, and more than he'd probably be able to transmute. Then again, Liore had been an entire city, it wasn't necessarily the size as it was the energy invested. If you used part of the previously transmute d people to pay for the rest of the reaction, a truly enormous number of humans could be transmuted.

The problem would be accurately drawing an array large enough. Now that he realized he could transmute without an array . . . but that was extremely risky. Better to transmute the array and use it traditionally. He wasn't really sure of his skill using only his own mind to calculate on the fly.

It hadn't been as easy as Edward Elric made it look.

"The general believes it will be beneficial for you," the commander finally replied, a father testing his son. "How could you have hoped to stop so many men?"

He wondered if he should tell the truth. The commander would never believe him - but Nidler was with them, and he was more likely to realize it was possible.

"All we had to do was delay you," he answered glibly. "If you were planning to execute Elric, I'd advise against it. Currently you're a political threat. If you kill Full Metal, Mustang will consider you a personal enemy."

A short laugh. "Your Prime Minister does not concern me." They walked in silence a moment, and Franklin began to notice a gradual movement of the mass of soldiers toward the east, in the direction they too were sauntering. "Your information put this into motion, little councilor. I thought you would want to see your dream fulfilled."

He did, enough that it made his wrists ache with the need to get out of those manacles. They were there, in a tight group, just begging him to do it. Everything he ever wanted was right in front of him and a stupid piece of steel was all that was keeping it from him.

Damn Full Metal!

Reinken misinterpreted his angry look. "You must have known this could not be stopped so easily. Tell me. Tell me why you put up such a poor defense. Did you not realize the consequences?"

There were no consequences. It would never happen.

His silence was interpreted as shame, or possibly thoughtfulness, because the commander didn't press him further, and soon they topped a hill, and he saw he was being led to a white, open tent, under which a camp chair sat. It was to the side of a line of men nearly half a mile wide, curving around a gentle, unmarked circle. No one passed the camp chair's line of latitude, and no one was gathered to fill in the other half of the circle. All the gathered men were to the west, looking east.

Looking toward West City, though it was not in sight.

It was to the tent that he was eventually led, and weight was put onto his shoulders, increasing until he capitulated and knelt. It brought a roar from the gathered soldiers, but he ignored them. If they thought it was Amestris kneeling to them they were idiots, and he was not concerned with the opinions of idiots.

Ingredients. His ingredients. Reinken was right. He'd done this, and here it was, exactly like he'd calculated.

All this work, gone to waste because of one man.

One man who was, oddly, nowhere in sight.

He was only made to kneel there for a few minutes, and he finally shifted to a more comfortable position when a light hand was placed on the crown of his head.

"Are you well, my little councilor?"

The grass was so well packed around the tent that he hadn't even heard anyone approach. He couldn't hide his jump, and he didn't look up at her. Who did she think she was? His mother?

She came around, leaving her hand to ruffle his hair before taking a seat, her ceremonial sword placed on the small table to her right. There was a sudden roaring chorus of three grunts, coming from over ten thousand throats, and as one the sea of gathered men dropped to one knee. If only ten or so had done it, it would have been laughable.

In this number, it was so deafening he could feel the vibrations through his chest, and he had to admit slight awe.

That number of people would never kneel for him. Or for Mustang.

Not that he cared, he decided carefully, when a few officers called commands to their men. If it worked, he'd already decided what he'd do. He'd stay home with mom and be a locksmith like his father. He couldn't think of a vocation better suited to his alchemy. He would never join the army, and he'd never see anything like this.

Several flag bearers stood at the head of each section, the Cretian coat of arms flying in the cool breeze, and the atmosphere was almost one of a fair. Looking over the uniforms, the artillery interspersed in the crowds so the pilots could see the proceedings -

But then he remembered the proceedings. And it didn't take the Cretians long to start demanding a show.

Franklin refused to crane his head around, wondering if he could complete the circle by using something other than his hands. They'd let him kneel, so if he shifted into an Indian style he could get one hand on the opposite foot - but how would that change the math? Was that even possible?

Could he use just his feet? After all, they were lined up, too tightly packed to go anywhere, and even if he could only transmute half of them it would probably cause the other half to flee, if even temporarily-

There was a roar unlike anything he'd ever heard, swelling like the wind over the grass, and about forty feet to his left, two men half dragged, half-carried Full Metal into the center of the half-circle.

They were going to execute him there? There wasn't even anything to bind him to-

No need, he realized immediately. There was no way he could run, so as long as he couldn't transmute the worst he could do would be get shot in the back fleeing. They were counting on Elric to be too proud for that.

And they were probably right.

He could barely stand, and he still didn't seem to have much idea of what was going on. He was shoved hard as they reached the place they wanted him, and he predictably went down. Another cry swept across the men, like so many identical stalks, and Franklin watched curiously as a line of ten men filed from behind the general's tent, each with their rifles on their shoulders.

The firing squad.

They marched in perfect time to their positions, their rifles at parade rest, as Full Metal struggled to his feet. His hands had been bound behind him, making it hard to get up without bowing to the opposing army, and there were so many jeers they blurred together into a single undulating malice. Though Elric was close enough to call to, if he wanted to, Franklin held his tongue.

He deserved it. If he hadn't interfered, it wouldn't have happened. And even though he had, it still wasn't going to happen. The only pity was that Full Metal would never remember this.

Sorn still had all the time it took the army to march on West. He could probably get enough if a few thousand fled. He was basing his numbers on Liore, which was over six thousand, not to mention however many lives had been preserved in Scar's arm-

So he might have to transmute West's survivors too. It would be harder, since Mustang would have fair warning, but if he absolutely had to, he could probably collect one of the border towns to round out the Stone.

None of this had to happen, and none of it was going to. It would work.

But it would only work as long as he stayed out of Mustang's hands. The Cretians still had no idea, not if they were lining up like this.

On a whim, he shifted again, so that he was sitting on the grass rather than his legs. Enora gave him a long look, even as the marshal shouted out something to the firing squad.

"Normally I would not ask a whelp to watch, but given the poison this man has given you, I thought it would be a valuable lesson."

The crowd was deafening, but the squad marshal had apparently been practicing his whole life for this moment. He waved for silence, calling above the din, and gradually the front lines gave it to him. A few of the commanders assisted, and soon it was quiet enough that the marshal could be clearly heard.

"Amestris attacked us in the night, without warning, thirty-two years ago!"

Predictably, the army roared, and it took half a minute to restore order. Franklin busied himself with watching Elric, who had finally regained his feet. He appeared to be eyeing the firing squad, and squinting as if the bright morning light was bothering him. It likely was, all the stimulants he'd been given had probably permanently locked his pupils wide open.

"Today, we shall pay them in kind! But we are not so cowardly! We will give them what they have asked for!"

Elric slowly straightened, prying each vertebrae up with visible difficulty. The muscle cramps from the electrocution. His entire body was probably one pulled muscle, and when his mouth opened slightly to allow for panting, Franklin realized it probably hurt a great deal.

"They hide behind their fearful Parliament, behind their alchemist leader! They say they will not fight until Amestrian blood is spilled on Amestrian land!"

Full Metal's head came up, then, as if he'd just heard what the man was yelling. As if he'd just realized where he was, and what he was facing. Alone, hands bound, he was staring at the face of an army.

And, of course, the only thing it did was close his mouth in a determined, grim line. Stubborn to the last. Probably still thought he was right. It would almost be worth saving Elric now just to prove him wrong, since he'd never get another chance.

Enora was busy looking regal, and Franklin touched his right hand to his left foot, intent on transmuting one blade of grass. With his hands hidden in his lap, and the bright sunlight, no one was likely to spot or hear the transmutation. It would be tiny, and it would tell him whether it was possible to transmute hand to foot-

But his fingertips brushed a blade of what he knew was grass, and there was no tingle of alchemical energy. There was nothing at all.

"Today Amestris will fight, and she will lose! Let the first bullet of this war spill the blood of a State Alchemist on his own soil!"

Slightly alarmed, he tried it again, making sure he was getting good contact. Was the fact that a shoe was in the way the matter? If Elric had done it with automail, that couldn't be it. He pictured the array clearly in his mind, exactly as he had when he'd realized they were about to be crushed with rock, and he tried again.

And nothing happened.

He thought back to the fort, even as the soldiers roared once more. Maybe he hadn't pictured the array. He'd had to when he'd been using it from the pouch, but when they'd been falling, all he'd thought was that he wanted to disassemble it molecule by molecule, he'd seen the bonds breaking in his mind's eye and he wasn't even sure why he'd bothered to bring his hands together except maybe because he'd just felt it was necessary-

"Ready!"

His eyes remained closed, trying to recapture the feeling, and he brushed the grass, one more time. There was the briefest tingle, and he opened his eyes, glancing down to see a perfect strip of paper-

But instead he saw something small and black, with six legs and two antenna, wondering what he was doing with his fingers in the colony's blade of grass.

And then there was warmth under his chin, and it was pulled up until he saw the field again. His eyes were drawn to Full Metal, body now visibly tense and balanced, eyes open and alert. He looked as if he meant to dodge the bullets.

"Watch, my little councilor," the general ordered him, not unkindly.

. . . why hadn't the transmutation worked? What wasn't he doing right? If he couldn't get transmuting without arrays down, and in a hurry, this opportunity he'd worked so hard for was going to go up in smoke-

"Steady!"

As one, the line of ten men raised their rifles to snap them against their right shoulders, taking aim. The movement was barely finished before a shot rang out.

Elric's head jerked back, a shadow of something flying through the air in tandem with his too-long bangs, and then he toppled. His tense body rag-dolled halfway through the fall, knees giving way so that muscle and bone landed heavily and without resistance. His face had turned in the general's direction, and his eyes were closed.

He didn't move again.

The crowd wasn't sure how to respond, and what should have been a triumphant roar was only so in the back, where the soldiers had been unable to hear the marshal's shouts. The hand that had been beneath his chin was snatched away, and the general stood in one graceful movement. She didn't say a word; the other men on the firing squad had already given away their trigger-happy comrade by breaking rank, some even lowering their rifles a tad, to stare in surprise.

The marshal stormed up the line, screaming for parade rest, and as one the startled men responded. He trotted like a furious terrier to the very end of the line, furthest from the general, and began bellowing in his face of the guilty soldier. The man took it in stride, remaining in parade rest without flinching or looking anywhere but straight ahead.

"To me!" the general called, and the soldier saluted sharply, put his rifle to his shoulder, and marched in double-time to their tent, still being screamed at by the marshal the entire way.

The army was in a bit of an uproar by the time the soldier drew close enough to speak with the general, and Sorn was not surprised to see several of her commanders place their hands on their firearms. The brownish-blonde soldier saluted sharply, pale blue eyes staring straight ahead without fear. His hand wasn't even shaking as he held it to his brow.

The general took a step forward, clasping her hands behind her back. "Was there a particular reason you disobeyed orders?" The soldier didn't drop his salute until she waved him down casually. She didn't appear or sound angry, though Franklin knew that didn't necessarily mean anything. The entire army was watching, though few could hear. She was free to say almost anything she wanted.

The private fell into parade rest, now raising his eyes to hers. "Yes, general sir!" His tone was earnest, with more than a hint of apology.

She tilted her head to the side slightly. "Oh?"

"My younger sister was knocked up by a State Alchemist, general sir! She didn't get his name, so I figure I'm obligated to shoot all of 'em." He cleared his throat, as if remembering who he was speaking to. "I acted out of turn, general sir! I have no excuse! Please overlook my error and allow me to continue fighting, general sir!"

Sorn blinked at the man, taken aback by his response. The general, however, quietly started to laugh. It was a pleasant sound, and the sight of her smiling relaxed her commanders.

"I see. A fine shot, private. However, see to it that your family honor aligns with your country's in the future. As you were," she added with the tiniest trace of amusement.

The private saluted again, looking no more or less relieved than he had a second ago, and he turned on his heels. The marshal screamed in his ear all the way back to the end of the line, but it couldn't be heard over the tumultuous roar of the army.

Even if what had happened was not according to the book, clearly their general felt it was appropriate. Either way, the war had begun.

The same two men that had dragged Full Metal before the firing squad waited for the squad to march off the field before they pulled a horse-drawn cart, of all things, to the body. The horse was older, graying around the muzzle, and didn't seem fazed by the sea of screaming humans. It did flick its ears back at the smell of the blood, visibly soaking the ground where Elric had fallen.

Franklin watched as one of the men grasped Full Metal by his braid, hefting his upper body off the ground for display. The right side of his head was a bloody mess, thick ropes of fluids trailing to the grass as if the land itself was loathe to surrender him. Blood, grass, bone and worse was readily visible beneath the matted hair, and the sight of the gore brought another healthy roar from the army.

They dangled the body in view of the men until the commanders started giving orders to move out. Sorn ignored them. He was transfixed by the sight of Elric's body as it was eventually tossed back to the grass and the dirt. His bound arms and ankles were grabbed, and then he was swung onto the back of the wagon like a sack of flour. The 'automail' was already in there, glistening beside him, and the second soldier jumped into the back with the body, shifting it around as if looking for something.

He came up with the State-issued pocketwatch, which he tied around Full Metal's neck, leaving it dangling over the back of the cart and readily visible. The first soldier slapped the rump of the nag, who shook its head in irritation before starting off at a good steady walk - in the direction of West City.

They'd probably stolen it from a stable there. Like any other domesticated animal, if left to its own devices it would return to where the oats were. The horse would deliver Elric's body - and the Cretian declaration of war - probably only an hour before the army herself showed up on their doorstep.

Franklin watched the cart move off until he realized that someone was standing just beside him, and he looked up to see the general watching him with soft eyes.

"Now you understand consequence, my little councilor. He made a choice, and he accepted the consequences." She took a slow breath, then nodded to him once, firmly. "Take him back to the officer's tent. He will remain here until West is secured, then he will be brought to me."

She turned without another word, and Nidler stepped forward to comply with her orders Franklin didn't fight him - no point. If he couldn't transmute by touching his feet-

If he could concentrate, it would be different. He could try it in the tent, pretend that he was upset so they'd leave him alone. Play on their culture. Then he'd transmute the men that she left here, and then he'd take a bite of their forces from the west, from their flank. They wouldn't know what had hit them.

He would.

It was gonna work.

- x -

Author's Notes: . . . :sound of crickets chirping: . . . :sound of velociraptor belching: . ..