It's a fact of life that the battlefield is a harsh place for young people to spend their first years of adulthood. It's also a fact that young people are the most qualified to be there. We're in our prime of life: young, strong, and flexible. We're also idealistic enough to fight for concepts such as "our country" and "freedom" and "democracy" when in our heart of hearts we know it's all been concocted by our politicians, who are really trying to meet their own ends.

Of course, the intents and machinations of politicians mean little when you're in the middle of a war zone.

For three days, the area I was stationed in had been quiet. We thought we'd had it completely cleared, but without warning an armed guerrilla group ambushed us from the south, which I'd been perfectly aware was our weak point, and had been paying special attention to when it was my watch. Eventually the fighting got too close and the Ishbalan guerrillas got reinforcements, plus they started taking guns from our men who had gone down, which wasn't good news for us. After the initial half hour or so of gunfire my skills as a sniper from high up were no longer useful because of the proximity of the Ishbalan guerrillas, and I ended up on the ground, using the cover of the inner wall of a bombed-out building to shoot from.

Roy appeared next to me behind the wall, collapsed against it really, sweat running tracks in the dirt on his face. I wondered why he wasn't out in the front, then realized he wasn't simply taking a break—his left glove had been torn and as far as I was aware his right glove wasn't on him because he hadn't gotten it when the Ishbalans had ambushed us.

"Hi!" he shouted to be heard over the sound of fire and others shouting.

"Hi!" I shouted back, leaning over the wall, shooting thrice, then ducking back.

"Doing anything this weekend?" he joked to boost my morale. Since I was one of the very few women on the field, I ended up getting 'asked out' often. It always felt different to me when Roy did it, though—and when I was a child this would have been one of my latent realizations, but to be frank I think I had realized it by now. Not that it mattered—the field is just not the cleverest place to fall in love. That would be what came later.

"Preferably not getting sent home in a coffin!" I yelled. "Your glove's torn!"

"I noticed!"

I shot a round of bullets, getting only one guy for certain, and dropped behind the wall again. "This isn't such a good time to go without weapons!"

"I know!" When I looked over, he had drawn his backup revolver and was firing over the wall as well, then he sank down to the safety of the half-destroyed wall and reached into another one of his pockets, producing an oil pen.

"Got a light?" he asked me as he was drawing a new transmutation circle directly onto his skin.

I didn't smoke but I still had one, and I pulled it out now and tossed the lighter over to him. He caught it dexterously with his ring and pinky fingers while holding the oil pen with his index, middle, and thumb. "Thanks, Riza!" he shouted at me as he put away the gun and the pen, "I'll call you later!"

I laughed hollowly and covered him as he ran back out into what I knew could easily be my death... or his.

I'd like to know how I did on this war scene. I feel confident about it but you never know! The final oneshot of this fic is done and will be put up whenever I fee like I've gotten an adequate response on this one. There might be more additions in the distant future if I get inspired again.