AN: I know this story is supposed to be weekly, but I decided to post this chapter early. Happy reading.
Chapter Three:
The Definition of a Soldier
"Attention, new recruits," a stout, commanding officer shouted above the thrum of the many voices of military men, "Line up single file for registration and health examination!"
They had arrived in North City, the hustling and bustling town of eternal freezing precipitation, and Ed absolutely abhorred it. He never liked the cold before he gained his artificial limbs, and even after, when his artificial limbs went down to one, he despised this weather all the more. It made his joints ache, especially where his automail port attached to his nerves, and the worst part of it was he had to hide it or risk unwanted questions from freshly enlisted soldiers.
Ed sighed and let out a foggy breath when he finally stepped off of the train, battered leather suitcase in one white-gloved hand. Normally, the trip to the north of Amestris would only take about two days with a non-stop train ride from his hometown, but not this time. It had taken approximately three days as the conductor travelled along the east side of the country in order to pick up drafted men. They stopped from city to city, small town to even smaller town, until, to the Elric's dissatisfaction, the whole compartment where he sat filled up to the brim.
With his head bowed and slow flurries of snow beginning to accumulate on his uniform jacket, Edward made his way to the covered stalls where the tables of forms and secretaries sat, frantically scribbling names and dipping old fashioned pens into inkwells. Each enlisted man was given a uniform or was quickly being dragged into a nearby cobblestoned building in order to be fitted into one. Others were told that they would pick up their uniforms and supply packs in Fort Briggs or the camp that was close to it, while some were lining up in front of yet another building for medical checkups and eye testing.
It was a frenzied formal procedure, and Ed deduced that it was probably for the best. Usually when preparing volunteers or conscripts, the way was paved for them in a cleaner manner, but the war was coming, and he could only guess how fast it would come knocking on their doorstep. Factories producing weaponry were already booming all over the countryside, indicating that this coming conflict would be even larger than he had originally suspected. As he could blatantly see, things were making a turn for the worst.
Walking toward one of the examination stalls, Ed stopped to briefly glance at what seemed to be a propaganda poster glued onto one of the many concrete pillars of the complex near the train station. It was slightly weathered down, no doubt from the constant snowfall that the North Area seemed to boast, but the message was indeed palpable. On it was a painted boot of a military officer that was about to step on the Drachman flag; it consisted of a white backdrop with a deep red stripe going horizontally through the middle, the silhouette of a fierce flying horse on top of it and a scythe behind the creature. Underneath the heel of the boot were the bold purple letters that read, "Step on it." and directly below that were even blockier words that said, "Join the Auxiliary Military, saviors of our time! Men ages 18 to 30."
He huffed, not disgusted with the poster; the youngest State Alchemist was more than aware that there was no war without propaganda. Without it, no one would join in with the ranks. He hated to admit it, but, with the way the situation was going on now, officers besides the professional military would be needed, although he did wish that they didn't have to be as naïve as Pitt and his witless friends. They didn't have to join. They still had a choice no matter how slim the chances of that were becoming. Ed had a hunch that soon the draft would become mandatory and every man that signed up would be expected to arrive, backup or not.
Without noticing, Ed had merely stood before one of the many irritable secretaries that sat behind a desk in the makeshift, miniature offices. She was a stern looking woman with dark brown hair tied tightly into a bun and thin black gloves were worn beneath the long, winter version of the Amestris military uniform; white fur at the neck and all. He could tell from the gold stripes on her shoulders that she was a corporal. Her eyes were the natural piercing blue of their country's people, unlike his golden ones that reflected his own ancestry dating back to Xerxes.
"Excuse me sir," the officer said rather irately, "If you're going to enlist within the army, then I suggest that you get on with it, otherwise I'll gladly take on the next scrap of fresh meat behind you." The woman exhaled and kept her lips in a thin line, constantly staring down at her work through rectangular spectacles. "Hurry up and sign the paper with your information so that you can go on to the physicals. It's cold enough in this miserable hellhole."
Edward scratched the back of his head with a gloved hand and sighed, the woman's offensive tone obviously going straight over his head. "Nah, I'm here to transfer to Briggs. I guess I should sign up or something…"
"Do I look like a transfer memo to you? Whoever you are soldier, you're wasting my time. You evidently do not have any experience in the life of the military, do you?" The secretary grew angrier and angrier by the second, off-handedly reminding Ed of a fuming Winry. She didn't even bother to look up from her papers and continued to scribble notes from previous clients. "To think that you could just come striding up here, thinking you're so great and asking for a transfer! What a joke! Who are you anyway?"
When she looked up, had never seen anyone so surprised and horrified at the same time. "Th—Three stars and f—four stripes," the brunette breathed out with a twitching eyelid, "C—Colonel! I'm so sorry! Please forgive my impudence sir! I will no longer carry out anything so brash sir! I mean it sir! It was a grave mistake on my behalf sir!" She saluted and swiftly stood up as she said it, her voice coming out in such a hyperactive and nervous squeal that others seemed to stop what they were doing to sneak a peek.
Ed slapped his forehead and shook his head. If he could say so himself, the life of the military outside of the command center was certainly different and more uptight than he had expected it to be. Honestly, no one really took him up with that much respect in Central. Sure there would be an officer or two that would salute to him in the hallways, but they never really said "sir" so many times over.
"It's ok corporal," the blond replied nonchalantly, "I'm just reporting in. Orders from Mustang." When he realized that she still hadn't slackened her pose he added, "I didn't join the military for the rank."
The flustered woman blinked twice before hesitantly sitting back down and peered up from behind her glasses. She took a deep breath and pursed her lips, trying to wait patiently for her superior to say something of relevance. Needless to say, this action made Ed extremely uncomfortable. It was hard enough that he already advanced two whole rankings in the past one and a half years. Plus, he was already a colonel, a position so high up in the military that it would take years of service to get so far up. He was becoming one of the higher-ups at very a tender age; technically, Ed wasn't even old enough to be in the army yet.
His golden eyes flickered to the documents neatly piled beneath her hands and then back to the woman. If he was supposedly a superior officer, he might as well make an attempt to act like one. "I need a vehicle to get up to Briggs. I could bring some conscripts with me." He exhaled loudly, "I'm supposed report to that bast—I mean Mustang."
He spotted her whispering to another secretary to hold her place as she stood up yet again. "This way sir," she said firmly and he followed her to a back storehouse where numerous bulky cars were kept and fit for a blizzard.
If Ed could count properly in the falling snow, he would say that there were about fifty cars in storage. There were other, larger vehicles other than the few smaller ones that he was being led to. He guessed that those were reserved for bringing more people up and that the one he was going to drive was for the higher ranks.
Cheapskates, he thought wearily. The military really did love their pointless ranking system.
"Colonel…um…" the woman seemed at loss for what to say next as they halted beside one of the side doors of a boxy automobile, a number 879 written boldly in white paint on the hood. Its tires were thick and hulking, perfect for treading through thick snowfall. The square windows were fogged up and it was a large, worn out, old fashioned military van with a chipped hunter green coating.
"Edward Elric," Ed finished for her.
"E—Elric? You mean…? Sir?"
He was getting tired of this. Yes he was Edward Elric. Yes he was only seventeen, and yes he was already a colonel at his age. He was aware that everyone considered him a prodigy along with Alphonse, but it would help if people didn't lose their sensibility every time they brought it up. He had work to do, that's why he was a colonel, damned paperwork and all that came with the title.
"That's right. Now can you give me the keys to this thing?" Ed said impatiently while pointing a thumb in the same direction as the vehicle. He crossed his arms and looked the rundown machine up and down before nodding to the woman. With that, she mumbled that she would be right back with the keys. While the corporal left hastily, he glared at the hazy windows and muttered something about "the bastard probably becoming too annoyed with waiting so damn long and resulting in more crappy short jokes being blurted my face". A few moments later, the woman was back standing with a pin straight saluting position and a question if she had permission to hand him the object.
"Thanks," the alchemist plainly stated as he grabbed the keys from her open fist. He stared around them and noticed that there weren't any others behind the lower ranking soldier. "You can bring some new recruits up here," he suggested, "Might make the old geezers less cranky about the job if I take a few along."
"Yes sir. I already gathered them up. They're coming up here with Private Vought."
And just as she said it, a group of perhaps eight fidgeting recruits came walking up the snow covered hill from one of the back doors of a health inspection building. A young man with spiky blond hair, a hard jaw with a small amount of unshaved stubble, a dark gaze and a bit of a tan was leading them. He was scrawny, but one could tell immediately from the aura that he gave off that he was fit for the unpredictable possibilities of the military.
"Colonel, sir!" Vought shouted confidently as he saluted, the fellows behind him following suit in slight disarray. "I have brought the recruits. We have just received word from General Armstrong that you are to bring as many as possible up to the Briggs Fortress, sir!"
"Got it," Ed replied and then subsequently nodded over to the man to load them into the van.
Once the task was finished, it wasn't hard to turn the keys to the automobile and rev up the engine. Although it was certainly awkward and uncalled for when a colonel has to accomplish the work of a definite low ranking subordinate, Ed frankly did not care in the slightest. If it was getting him up to that fort, then so be it. What did a couple of soldiers matter anyway? Besides if he heard right, Armstrong had ordered him to take them and he couldn't disobey orders from that woman. She was one of the few people the he and Al legitimately feared, the other being their alchemy teacher, Izumi Curtis. He shuddered at the thought. Major Armstrong's eldest sister was a monster to behold, a genuine article of true unfeminine command.
The ride was smooth for the most part. After all, Ed had learned how to drive not too long ago and he was fast at picking things up. Though he did not want to relieve the memory of Mustang making an attempt to teach him, which resulted into a heated argument on uselessness and words on the Elric's height that really pissed him off. ("You're too short to see over the wheel!") In the end, one of his superior officer's most trusted subordinate, who was recently walking back on two legs thanks to a Philosopher's Stone, Jean Havoc, had to intervene and complete the job of teaching the Fullmetal Alchemist how to drive.
They had left the woman corporal behind in the enlistment stalls and Private Vought watching them leave with a gesture of gratitude. The car rumbled past them and onto the narrow slopes that were paved to lead up the side of the Briggs Mountain Range. If his calculations were correct, they would arrive at the fort in less than thirty minutes. North City was very close to the military base, after all. The residents there made a living from supplying their men with weaponry and, from what he could tell, appallingly tasting rations. There was no way he was looking forward to that.
The eight soldiers in the remaining passenger seats were unquestionably newly enlisted. They lacked the air of experience that the professionals seemed to generate, plus the fact that many of them were fidgeting. Edward couldn't blame them though. They were about to be sent out for target practice.
About fifteen minutes into the ride, he decided that he would break this uncomfortable silence but kept his focus on the improvised trail. "You guys look like you just saw the Fuhrer in a skirt," he chuckled when he saw their amusing reactions to this sentiment through the rearview mirror. "Wouldn't blame you. That useless alchemist doesn't look too good in anything he wears."
After a few seconds of utter quiet, Ed smirked, the smile reflecting off of the mirror so that the others riding behind him could see it clearly. "What," the teen persisted, "thought I was some edgy bastard colonel with a god complex and a blown up ego?"
"Well…" a blond recruit courageously stated, but Ed could tell he was nervous, so he continued for him as a motion of said "respect".
"S'okay," he said, "wouldn't blame you for that one either." Ed made a turn around a boulder and soon they were just past a small forest of evergreens. In the distance, the gigantic concrete wall of the infamous Briggs Fortress stood as a tiny speck in view. His gloves slid calmly on the round, leather object that was the driver's wheel. "Survival of the fittest. That's kind of important out here."
The same blond soldier, who seemed to be no older than Ed replied again. "I'm sorry, uh, sir. Why?"
"It's obvious. Don't get yourself killed." He winced at the memory of the threatening cobalt stare of the General. That woman was considered a so-called Ice Queen, but he thought of her more as an Ice Demon or a tigress ready to pounce on her prey."And, well, um…" He flinched a second time as the barbed wire surrounding the fortress came into sight.
"…You'll see when you meet their general."
They pulled up in front of the fortress in almost the same manner Ed had a little more than two years ago when he and Al were still on their journey to find a way to restore their bodies back to normal. Except this time, and he was more than pleased about it, they weren't attacked. And just like before, standing menacingly at the edge of her towering stronghold of seemingly daunting men and granite, was the head of them. She had a piercing gaze, as if she could see through every lie that reached her ears or every strategic preparation. She was unmovable, the rock, a white tiger.
Her light blond hair swayed in the wind and a good portion of it covered her right eye, scowling lips ready to yell orders or profanities if need be. Her skin was pale enough to fit in with her surroundings, but one look at the Ice Queen and you knew that she was not somebody that you could freely act upon wanton orders with. She meant business, and that's exactly what earned her place.
"Well if it isn't the Fullmetal Alchemist and brand new fresh meat for the grizzly bears," General Olivier Mira Armstrong said with a hard pitch. "You took long enough. That unintelligent dimwit, Mustang has been getting on my last nerve." For an officer that was promoted two ranks above the one she had two years previously, she had a right to be commanding, but Ed could not help but agree on her comment on their leader of the country. At least that was one thing he was not afraid to agree with out loud.
ooo
They had expanded the Briggs Fortress while he was gone from it. Probably for the war effort, he mused. But Ed supposed that it was right for the cause. With this many people coming into the place and adding more layers of camps and dorms, it had to be done otherwise there would be an inevitable risk of overcrowding. New rations would come in about every seven days, and they even commissioned four more military chefs for the expanded kitchen area. Briggs was already an impressive garrison, but there must have been over a thousand men sleeping in the barracks without the expansions, probably an exceptionally great sum now. Not to mention the small, blizzard-safe cabins that had been sprouting up like weeds in their backyard. Even more soldiers were kindly offered a place to stay in or near North City.
"Ugh. Fried eggs again," Edward groaned. The food here really was too terrifying to behold.
"I don't know, chief," a familiar voice proposed, "I think those are pancakes."
Ed swiveled around quickly on the metallic cafeteria bench, a hand gripping a charred piece of toast. "What? Breda? What are you doing here?" He shifted in his seat, suddenly aware that the Second Lieutenant was sitting directly across from him, hands folded over an organized tray of suspicious looking breakfast, if it could be considered breakfast.
"What do you think I'm doing here, chief? It is a nasty war coming along, isn't it?" The stocky man replied, dirty blond and light brown hair cut into a short but spiky style with the same stubble along his chin. "Wouldn't want to miss all the fun," the man added sarcastically.
"Aren't you funny?" The alchemist deadpanned.
Heymans Breda sighed into a cup of coffee, choking for a short stint as he tasted the notoriously horrible hot drink that the people of North City brought this far up the mountain range. "Hey, it's just a little humor, chief," he retaliated. "Anyway, I just came over here to tell you that Mustang wants you in the war room in ten minutes. He says it's something important."
The teen exhaled in annoyance and was almost tempted to slam his face into the plastic plate of eggs, or pancakes, as his companion felt the need to dub them. "Great," he said as he scowled in no particular direction at all. With a satisfied nod, Breda went on to continue eating his own fair share while Ed stuffed as much as humanly possible into his mouth. He devoured the deformed whatever-it-was in one bite and slurped down a glass of orange juice, wondering how people could bring citrus this far up north.
Soon after, Ed slammed his two hands onto the cafeteria table, which caused silverware to lurch into the air for a couple seconds before coming unceremoniously down with a tinker. He was noticeably not in a wonderful mood, and Breda was more than happy to steer clear from the alchemist as he shoved his tray onto the cleaning rack.
The hallways to Briggs weren't all the exciting. He hated the cold anyway, and from his brief glimpses of the outside, someone wasn't doing a very good maintenance job with those ice problems littering the ceiling. He breathed out in relief with he finally reached the metallic entrance to the meeting room on the home base. His gloved fingers turned the handles of the double doors and the scene abruptly changed.
"Drachman forces have just declared war on us," a booming voice assumed at full volume. "It's only a matter of time before they start their attack. Our spies have reported that there have been sightings of Drachman soldiers at the bases of the Briggs Mountain Range. They already declared war, so the treaty of non-aggression has been instantaneously uprooted. "
The man speaking was middle-aged, holding the rank of a Major General judging by the middle three gold stripes and one star that graced the shoulders of his navy uniform.
Probably close to sixty, Ed guessed. He's an old geezer. He had a baggy face with boxy eyebrows above bright blue eyes which donned circular glasses and rectangular features. The man's hair was trimmed short and was graying in some spots, but his mustache was somehow still completely black. His skin was pale, just like most Amestrians, and he had large hands with square fingertips.
"Major General Vulcan," a man that Ed immediately recognized as Mustang spoke in reply to the previous statement, "Our sole duty is to be victorious in this battle. If you have a plan of attack, feel free to share. General Armstrong oversees the overall outcome of the army's movements and I tell her if I approve." The Fuhrer gazed openly in Vulcan's direction. "Your spies have seen something. Don't beat around the bush like you have for the past twelve minutes."
The Major General stuttered and then composed himself. "Y—Yes sir. I propose that we send in a regiment as a surprise attack. They already assaulted our people and many have gone missing from around the country. We wouldn't be the first to show aggression, merely retaliating."
"Good," Mustang responded plainly.
"The spies have reported that there's a Drachman regiment hiding behind one of the mountains closest to the Fortress, Mount Heinkel. They say that they were planning to assault us tomorrow night to try to take the garrison, but if we attack them in the morning and behind their backs, they won't know what hit them."
General Armstrong, whom Ed just noticed was in the room. It was filled with maps and the traditional Amestrian green flag and the silhouette of a white dragon plastered to the back wall, schematics and a detailed drawing of the mountains in a middle high table. She crossed her arms and added in the conversation. "This is all we know so far of their movements," she growled, "It's obvious that they're trying to hide the rest of their soldiers from us. But seeing as there is a risk of damage from them, it's best if we take action first."
Mustang nodded to Edward so that he would walk to one of the rough edges of the table, and Armstrong continued as she glared in the blonde's path. "Elric!"
"Yes m 'am!" He hastily replied.
"Mustang and I agreed that you would lead a brigade. You're fit enough for the role of this mission and you have the necessary knowledge of alchemy." Her famous thin sword was hanging on her waist, and she walked around him as if she was a prowling tiger, but Ed did not like the feeling one bit. "The reason is simple. We want to take a few State Alchemists to make sure the job is done right."
Ed was silent for the better part of the exchange and he knew better than to say 'no' to a person like her. The General was certainly the complete opposite of her emotional younger brother.
Armstrong persisted, "The alchemists going with you will be few, but enough and that will include my idiot for a younger sibling, Major Armstrong, and Mustang." She halted and peered with an intimidating glare to the top of Ed's head. "Though it would be helpful if you still had your alchemic ability, your intelligence on the skill is all we need and you will hopefully be able to distinguish arrays that my brother or the Flame cannot just in case the rumors of the disappearing alchemic research notes are true. We need diversity."
Her eyes scanned Edward's position once again before inserting one last outlook. "It's off usual tradition, but the Fuhrer will be participating in this war." She glared at the Flame Alchemist and he took that as a signal to say something of relevance.
"I left the retired and previous Fuhrer Grumman in charge of Central Command. Fire alchemy is more practical on the battlefield than behind a desk," he said as he shrugged.
"Fullmetal," Mustang went on to address one of his most valued subordinates, "The troops will be ready for the mission tomorrow morning and so will you, five AM sharp. Today is a layover for now until the big event. Make the most of it." He smirked and Ed thought he looked more like a cocky bastard than ever before. "Hawkeye is down in the weaponry storage and you can meet her there. Since you're a colonel now, I'd say you should choose your weapons, though it is an interesting concept to think a short fuse like you would have the privilege to."
Ed felt his eyelid twitch and knew he was in a tight spot. If he blew up now, he'd have a smug Mustang, a furious Armstrong, and an utterly confused Major General. Instead he spoke with a stark calm tenor. "Yes sir. I'll be sure to ask for waterproof gloves on your behalf while I'm there." At this, he saw the Flame's arrogant smirk falter. "You know, just to keep your ability useful."
Elric: fifty, Fuhrer Bastard: one, he thought confidently.
"You're dismissed, Ed." The raven haired superior officer said while locking in his resentment.
Ed led his feet outside the door and was about to leave entirely until he heard something that caught his attention. In a quick attempt to keep his eavesdropping a secret, he quietly slid behind a nearby corner all and was only two feet away from the door. What he heard made him think about the whispering in the bathroom back in Central, and he couldn't help but wonder if they could somehow be related.
"It has been confirmed that Second Lieutenant Maria Ross has recently disappeared without a trace," the familiar boom of the Major General informed the two others in the room. "Our spies believe that her disappearance and the Brosh Case have some connection, though it is obvious enough that they did not leave on their own accord. Ross was transferred to Briggs as soon as Brosh went missing and she was last seen to be driving a military vehicle close to the border in order to get to her post."
There was a short silence and the sound of a grunt as if someone was thinking hard. Ed pressed his back harder against the metal walls as if trying to absorb the information.
"Her car was found soon after in one of the forests near here and there were signs of a struggle."
"Someone is messing with us," he heard Roy Mustang say in an irritated tone of voice. "Whoever it is knows something and is probably trying to take advantage of the fact that Amestris is in a conflict with Drachma. Either they're trying to diminish our resources by taking officers and citizens, or there's something else out there."
"For once we agree on something, Mustang," came the harsh voice of the woman general. "I think we should send messages to the officers in control of the Eastern, Western, and Southern sectors of the country. Major General Hakuro in New Optain can handle the action."
Ed heard the muffled shuffling of feet and a suggestion that they should probably notify the messengers now and he heard the footsteps grow steadily louder and closer to the exit. Not wanting to get caught, he started to back up into the staircase that led down to the floor with the storage rooms and carefully placed his feet on each step while watching the slope of the stairs at the same time. He was safe for now as the three higher-ups had walked in the other direction, but he kept his back to the stairs in order to keep a look out for them.
Then he suddenly heard a yelp and something firm bump against his back.
"What the—?" The eldest Elric started to say as he turned around to find a boy rubbing his own backside. He was wearing a long leather coat and dark pants. His hair was cropped short in a very slight shade darker blond than Ed's. But then he realized just exactly who the person was and Ed was so furious that his fists began to tremble.
"Al!" He whispered harshly when his younger brother turned around, identical golden eyes wide with shock. "What the hell are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to stay in Resembool?"
"Sorry brother!" Alphonse whispered back, trying to placate his older brother. "I didn't want you to go alone, so I came along in the back of the train!"
"You snuck in? You idiot! I told you this is a war! It's dangerous here!"
The younger brother looked the older one confidently in the eye. "Oh, and it's not dangerous for you?" At that, Ed groaned, but Al ignored it and the other Elric couldn't help but wonder if Al had inherited some of his stubbornness. "We said we'd stick together back when we were still searching for a way to get our bodies back to normal, and that includes now. I'm here whether you like it or not, brother."
Their ears picked up the sounds of boots clanking on the ground and Ed moaned.
"Ok, fine!" Ed spoke in a noisy undertone, "Just c'mon before we get caught. You're coming with me to the weapons storage and then we'll talk to the bastard about what we're going to do with you."
The oldest Elric grabbed a hold of his brother's wrist and the two alchemists were soon clamoring down the steps and past wide and soaring doors that looked like they could be the entrances to warehouses, each numbered in fading white paint. They finally stopped in front of a specific door that was numbered 004,where the familiar saluting soldier of First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye stood, her vivid blond hair clipped in a tight messy bun. She had cut her hair short again when Mustang became a general, but it grew out to shoulder length. Two holsters with handguns in them, one a model P226 (a more streamline and recent gun with a short handle, a bottom section painted black, and the top gleaming silver), and another 44 Magnum (a gun with a large-bore cartridge, a more curved stock with finger grips, and a longer, more narrow action bar) were wrapped around her waist.
"Edward, I'll assist you with your weapon choices." She chanced a questioning glance at Alphonse and merely stated a 'hello' before turning her back on them and producing a key that subsequently unlocked the tall doors.
Inside the room was hundreds of metal racks, each separated with shelves and every type of gun Ed could think of were lined up in rows at the back of certain vertical ones. The rifles were in one end of the room and leaned on the back spaces of the concrete walls and floors. Each model was kept with the same type and special modifications made to certain ones of the same model were stored nearby. Pistols were kept similarly, except they had their own slanting shelves that acted like makeshift holsters so that their muzzles were pointed downwards. Grenades were on another corner and hung on the sides of more shelves.
Hawkeye walked up to the handguns and took one of them down carefully, handing Ed a long leather holster with many pockets and clips afterwards.
"Each soldier is required to have a primary weapon, secondary weapon, and a special," she recited dutifully to Edward. "This one, a Webley Revolver, is your secondary. It's a top-break with automatic extraction and involves breaking it open to remove used cartridges from the cylinder. You should be able to use it. It's standard issue." Ed nodded as Al watched curiously, placing the gun into one of the holster pockets.
The woman walked over to the rifles section and the two brothers followed close behind. She clasped a long firearm with a narrow nozzle and a stock handle where the trigger was near the trigger guard area. "This is a Winchester 1895. It will be your best friend." She handed the weapon over, and Ed cautiously slung it onto his back with the strap that was attached.
Meaning that this is my primary, he translated in his mind.
"And here," the Hawk's Eye stated in a bored tone when they reached the section that contained special weapons, "are the grenades. You should have pockets in that holster for them. Only use them in an emergency." Both Elrics nodded even though she was only truly addressing one of them. "You had some training in Central in combat and firing. You should be fine. And remember Edward," she said as her hazel eyes seemed softer and more motherly, "These aren't just tools to take lives; they're tools to save them."
ooo
The morning had come too fast for his liking, and after spending five "lazy" days in the Fortress, it came as more than just a wakeup call. As luck would have it, Mustang found out about Alphonse from Hawkeye and Ed didn't have to have the dreaded conversation with the man. He had avoided it all together. The First Lieutenant delivered the message the previous afternoon that Al would have to share a bunk with him, meaning that Ed and Al would fight over the top bunk that night.
Of course they did fight over it as Ed had predicted, and like all the times they fought over candy, toys, and seconds at dinner when they were younger, Al had won that skirmish this time with his infamous strategy of "trip brother and scramble up to the top bed before he does". Sometimes it was hard to believe that either of them were their age, with Al only being a year younger than Edward.
Besides that, it had taken Ed all his might to keep his younger brother out of his mission. Al wanted to come so badly, but he was not an enlisted soldier and Ed did not want him to become one. With a lot of effort, the Elric was able to lock his brother within their room and fluidly order a low ranking officer to keep an eye on that door. As an extra precaution, Ed drew an array with a piece of chalk on the door to their room that would stop Al from advancing any further just in case he tried to use alchemy. Even though Ed did not possess the ability to perform the science anymore, he could use his knowledge of it against his brother.
But now was not the time to think about those things. Soldiers and new recruits were up and dressed in their navy military uniforms, the number of stars or stripes on their shoulder pads reflecting their ranks. Black helmets were given out alongside black overcoats with pallid fur to keep them warm. Extra white or black gloves were handed to those who needed them, and others were quietly getting ready to discharge to their designated post behind Mount Heinkel.
"Sir!" The usually timid Sergeant Major Kain Furey saluted when he reached the Fullmetal Alchemist. He had been promoted one rank from his previous title of Master Sergeant as Mustang was adamant on the idea that he would be Edward's Senior Non-Commissioned Officer. His job was to assist the Colonel with leading a brigade, or in this case because they were mainly an armed cavalry force on a semi-independent operation, it was called a regiment. "Preparations are complete! The Fuhrer is almost ready to deploy!"
"Right," Ed said while checking that he had bullets loaded in his Webley Revolver and extra ammunition tucked in the leather holster that he tied on his waist. He shoved on a helmet and nodded thanks to the young officer with spiky dark hair, black opal eyes, and round glasses. "Thanks Furey," he added when he marched off to the deployment area to meet up with his troops.
Furey followed behind him, carrying a rifle on his back and complicated radio headphones, but then turned another corner. Mustang also ordered the man to be in charge of the radio system just in case they needed some form of communication.
They had finally arrived in the underground passage that would lead straight up to the valley that separated Amestris from Drachma. Included in that valley was the mountain they were looking for, and on the other side, a huge portion of the enemy's army. Ed went up to the front where the Flame and the Strong Arm Alchemists stood waiting. Unusually, Armstrong had asever expression.
Mustang gave Ed a meaningful look and Ed raised an eyebrow. "What?" the blond muttered callously to the man.
"Well, say something Colonel."
"Me? But you're the Fuhrer!"
When he didn't get anything that would suggest a reply, Ed blew out an annoyed breath. "Bastard," he murmured quietly and looked up at the unsuspecting soldiers that were lined up just a few feet away. "You're now dogs of the military. Congratulations," the alchemist began crudely. "All I have to say for the debriefing would be too much crap, so I'll make it easy for you to understand."
"There's a regiment of Drachman soldiers behind that mountain and our job is to blow those assholes up without them noticing us. So I guess you can say that it's a surprise party we're going to leave them," Ed narrowed his eyes and saw the nervous faces of the recruits. "You'll follow us to the side of the mountain and you'll shut up the whole time. When Mustang signals, snipers fire, when it's Armstrong, the rest of you open fire, and when it's me you'll keep beating them until we win. Got that?"
"Yes, sir!" They shouted.
"Great. Now don't lose." After that, Ed thought it was safe to say that he hated public speeches. He made a mental note to kick Mustang one hundred times over next time he got the chance.
The gigantic garage-like door cranked open. The wheels and screws that turned to keep it open creaked slightly as they silently marched outside. The snow was falling faster than when Ed had arrived in North City days ago and he scowled, securing his helmet as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Ed's locks of gold colored hair were tied into a ponytail as opposed to his usual braid. Though soldiers were typically shaved to a nearly bald head during wartime because they were too far from shampoo for hygiene and it was a convenience for wearing helmets or a simple matter to have a more professional hairstyle, the tradition was uplifted as the battles themselves would occur in an extreme area of snowstorms and freezing temperatures. Hair was needed on the head to keep in a good amount of body heat. So, naturally, Ed took the advantage to keep his hair's long length. In fact, he preferred it this way.
He wasn't sure if the sudden goose bumps he felt running up and down his arms were due to the cold or if he felt something more. Anxiety? Excitement? Somehow it was like a mixture of both. Ed ultimately felt like he was marching to his doom.
They climbed the side of the mountain, which wasn't as difficult as it sounded like it was going to be. Briggs Fortress happened to be built more than halfway up it and there were slopes and steps especially made for the purpose of a lookout. And then there he saw them, an army in a dark uniform with protruding fur and machine guns in their hands. They seemed unaware as it was too early in the morning and if their spies were correct, they weren't even going to attack until the cloak of evening.
But somehow, something seemed off. Even though some brave Drachmans were leaning in a deep sleep on sentry duty on the sides of animal skin tents, their firearms propped against their shoulders, there seemed to be less people than Ed had expected. If he remembered correctly, a Drachman regiment would have about a little less than one thousand in their ranks. So then why did it look like there were only a couple hundred of them?
He whispered his misgivings to Mustang, who was right beside him in a crouched position and even he seemed to agree. But they were there already, and they were expected to do something about it. It was either call off the mission and not accomplish anything, or take the risk. On signal, which was the Flame Alchemist snapping a gloved left hand and causing a long range of fire to spout out towards the enemy, the snipers, including Riza Hawkeye, took aim.
Her steady M1 Garand rifle model with an extra attached scope in hand, Hawkeye shot the first round and managed to silently injure numerous Drahman soldiers. The others followed suit.
So far, so good, Ed thought.
On Armstrong's signal, which consisted of a punch and exploding alchemical reactions, everyone else to start open fire. Machine guns sprayed all along the edge of the mountain; surprised Drachmans bellowed frantic orders and red splattered the perfect white of the snow. Ed wanted to close his eyes, but knew that he couldn't. as he was about to give out his signal, something else occurred entirely.
Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of white light and Edward could no longer see anything for an instant. He could have sworn that he saw pieces of flying debris in the air, and felt a metal shard scrape the side of his cheek. He felt blood on the inside of his mouth as his teeth had clamped down violently on the trigger pull to his grenade and the side of his lip at the same time. Hastily, he threw the grenade over the side of the mountain before it exploded on the same side he was on and backfired.
He heard another distant explosion and more yelling and whimpers of pain. It was then that he realized that he was lying on his back, something wet and sticky trickling from his forehead to chin and staining the blanket of pale white. Ed blinked and found that he was spread-eagled deep in the snow, his handgun a meter to the right from where it was supposed to be in his holster and his helmet thrown off beside his head.
"What the heck?" The blond found that his voice was groggy and tried to sit up, but tiny specks of light danced in his vision.
There was another smaller explosion to the front of him and he saw people, snow, and weapons leap into the air as blood unmistakably erupted from an unknown source and landed with nasty splotches against the ground. Ed's eyes widened and his breathing became more rapid. This wasn't unlike anything he had ever seen before, but yet, this was some other kind of hell.
"M—Mustang!" He shouted as loud as he could when his body would finally allow him to sit up.
Ed glanced around and what he saw would be etched into his memory forever. Corpses littered the base of the mountain. The dark crimson of blood ran through cracks in the ground, a stream of the living drought of death. It was obvious to anyone who had won this battle, and it was this battle that Amestris had lost to Drachma. The mission was a failure.
"Hawkeye!" Ed called in an even higher pitch than before. "Major Armstrong!"
Someone's arm was lying next to him and Ed turned to see who it belonged to. He instantly regretted it. The unknown soldier looked like a young recruit. His auburn eyes were wide and glassy, but what really made him gasp in horror was the fact that a stray piece of sharp debris, a part of a blown off boulder, was protruding from his chest and his left arm was missing completely.
Ed backed off quickly, but rammed into another lifeless body, and then to his right, another, to his left, three piled on top of each other. The snow wasn't white anymore. It was red and black with soot from the bomb that someone instigated. He shakily stood up and briefly noticed that only about a hundred of the men were doing so, equally as horrified. Others were lying on the ground with major or minor injuries. A gun went off and a Drachman soldier that was hiding behind a couple of rocks went down with a grunt, blood gracefully spewing from the area of his heart.
The Elric whipped around to see that Hawkeye had fired the shot skillfully and miraculously with just one right arm. The other one, he noticed, was hanging limply at her side.
He heard shuffling behind him and a cry of "Retreat!" from a tenor that belonged to none other than Roy Mustang. The soldiers nodded to one another, carrying injured comrades or simply dashing away into the Fortress of Briggs. A whole mass of them started to more frantically back into the safety of their stronghold, all orders but that one aside.
Ed limped over to his superior and saw that the older man was clutching his snapping arm near the elbow. Other than a cut above his eye, he seemed fine. Mustang observed that Ed's automail leg had some debris and a bullet lodged in it and that he had a minor head injury. The found Armstrong with no major injuries, near Hawkeye who immediately stated, "It's just a dislocated shoulder, sir."
"Let's get out of here," ordered the Flame. Injured stragglers were fleeing from their direction, but just as the four began to sprint bullets showered the soles of their feet while barely missing any of them. They were out of ammunition, and Ed didn't have time to stop and shoot, so they hid behind the closest thing that they could find, was a conveniently located boulder.
"What the hell is going on, Mustang!" Ed shouted above the fire. "What happened? Why are there so many…?" But he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Invisible air wedged in his throat. He started to hyperventilate. Beneath the boulder that they had just hidden themselves behind was a man, a man Ed recognized as Private Vought. His face was a sickly pasty hue and something red was seeping from beneath the large rock and his lips. He was shaking uncontrollably.
"G—Go!" Vought screamed weakly. Half of his body was being crushed and all that you could see was from his waist up, arms extended as if he was reaching for the impossible.
A temporary ceasefire was being held by the opponent, and they could only assume that it was because they were trying to reload their weapons. Mustang glanced at the Private and bowed his head, quickly turning his back on him with a distraught Armstrong and Hawkeye. But Edward stood still, his tattered clothing fluttering in the wind and the three gold stars on each of his shoulders glimmering in the fading sunlight as a snowstorm was no doubt on its way. Horror filling his gut, he clapped his hands together and pressed them against the rock, wishing against anything else that the Truth might have told him that he could perform alchemy again, if only for this one moment.
"Please, Colonel Elric, you have to go…" The soldier murmured and stared at Edward. "Damn it! Live!"
Ed trembled under the pressure. The arms that he kept outstretched onto the boulder were still there and his fingernails underneath his gloves scratched into the hardened sediment. Bullets glanced off of the structure and all around him, but he still did not move. Something hollow was ringing in his ears, his breathing growing shaky. He couldn't leave this man behind. He had to save him. He had to.
"Take Hawkeye!" He heard Mustang order the Strong Arm.
Then Ed listened to running crunches in the thick snow, ammo still racing to catch whomever they could. "Leave him, Ed! You'll die if you stay any longer! C'mon!" He had never heard Mustang shout so damn loud. "They'll wipe out a whole platoon! Let's get out of here!"
"No! We can't leave him behind!" Ed bellowed back in fury when he found that the raven haired adult placed a desperate grip on his shoulder.
"He's done for, Fullmetal! We have to leave! If you die, who the hell are we going to get to replace you?" He cried above the din. "Think about your brother! Think about the Rockbells!"
Ed's eyes started to burn. His insides started to tingle with intense apprehension. Mustang was right, as much as he disliked admitting, but he had made a promise to them. He said to Winry that he would come back alive. He said to Al that they would stick together, but the choice was there, right in front of him, mocking him. Edward urgently tried to lift the boulder, tried to tug fretfully on the vanishing man's arm. He couldn't do anything at all. He was powerless.
"Damn it, Edward! I'll carry you if I have to!"
A pitiful scream resounded in the background and Ed had a pounding desire in his chest to go after it, but then a sickening squelch followed the original sound, and whoever was calling for their father was eerily quiet. In the back of his memory he could hear the sad words of the chimera of Nina Tucker calling out for her parents and her friends.
"Big brother?"
He gritted his teeth, taking one last glance at Vought who again urged him to go on, and his whimpers becoming more and more pathetic as time ticked. An explosion erupted in their ears, ripping through the air; more machine guns and rifles blew their cover, hitting dead men and unleashing an unbelievable amount of severed flash and gore. Ed wanted to turn around, to turn back the clock, to save those who were unattainable.
Mustang started to drag Edward away by his arm, ammunition grazing the side of his knee as he yelped out in agony, but he left it alone and kept his subordinate close to him. Ed began to run away on his own, barely entering the entrance to their safe place. Or was it really safe? The question was answered as a grenade abruptly hit the ground a yard behind them, their feet just making it to the inside of barracks. The blast knocked them over and Mustang covered Edward's head with the inside of his elbow as they ducked for cover.
But no matter what happened, no matter how much the teenager silently appreciated his superior's gesture, nothing could erase what he had just seen, and now he had more of an understanding of war. He now truly knew what it was. He had more admiration for those who served in Ishval and his wide golden eyes glimpsed up to the scrunched up face of the Flame Alchemist as he took to protecting them both from a great deal more of harm.
"That's what it means to be a soldier, Fullmetal," Mustang muttered as they stood up and the gate closed behind them, terrified orders and incomplete sentences ringing throughout the hallways. "You have seen hell before, but I really am sorry that you had to see this hell."
There was silence again, but the screams and wails kept coming back to bounce off their eardrums. The two of them started to limp over to the enraged form of General Armstrong, the woman seemed partly worried for her troops' wellbeing as well as conspicuously fuming over their discord and loss.
"We're going to the infirmary," Mustang said sternly to Ed and they were off, watching others with bloody stains on their uniforms being carried on stretchers. The youngest colonel wondered if they had the same appearance with the scarlet of blood splattered across their clothing, and he soon figured out that they were. Just like the blemished purified white of the snow outside, the gloves he wore that were once white had been swathed with a crest of blood. He was tainted with death and wounds and battle, but it was too rapidly so.
He did not want to know this hell.
"So this is what it means to be a soldier, huh?" Ed whispered quietly to himself.
It meant leaving comrades behind if the situation was called for it. It meant the absolute security of a successful mission. The definition of a soldier in the books may be "a person who serves in the army with military experience or a person that serves for any cause", but nothing could compare to the reality of it all. The definition of that word could come in many forms or phrases that spewed from mouths in disorganized sentences. But the truth was, it was not just of a man or a woman that fought on the behalf of his or her nation. It was a way of life, and if you could not handle looking a dead man directly in the eyes, you were not fit for it in any way. He did commend those people that were able to perform these responsibilities before his time. They were so brave and he could only hope he would be too.
The former alchemist in Ed chuckled darkly. He had seen death before. He was forced to kill and protect himself, hurt others in order to survive. In the end it all came back to the same thing and that was the principle of Equivalent Exchange. In order to save a life, you had to destroy one or damage it in some way. But Ed could not help but wonder if a life for a life would ever be equivalent because he never thought that it would be.
Ultimately as a soldier, it was about preventing as many deaths as possible and watching out for your fellows, but all the same, the mission seemed to be just as important. But as an alchemist, he thought of war as something else entirely: construction, deconstruction, and reconstruction.