March 22nd, 1963
Cutting it close didn't even begin to cover it. Roy Mustang stood on the hastily erected walls that ran outside the north walls of North City, made by a combination of engineers and alchemists alike. It would get shelled into nothing in hours, but it was the best that could be done on less than twenty-four hours notice; a combination of wood and dirt mostly, with machine gun nests as turrets in places.
Roy's unit of alchemists had been placed on the far left of the potential battlefield, and from the top of the wall he could see the Drachman campfires in the darkness. It might have been a beautiful sight; hundreds of campfires – thousands he suspected – rolling off into the distance like a thousand golden flickering stars. Instead, they made his blood run cold at the thought of the sheer number of soldiers sitting around those fires. "What do you think?"
"I think our defense is going to be a street-by-street city fight within a week if we aren't careful," Riza replied next to him, bundled up in a long black coat almost identical to the one Roy wore over his uniform which – he refused to admit he found it surprising – actually fit when he had pulled it out of the closet.
Roy nodded. "So we can't let them get that far. If they take the city we've lost our best anchor point for a blockade and an offensive push in the other direction." He felt comforted by the presence of Riza beside him holding a well-polished, loaded, alchemically enhanced and strengthened, rifle. It helped that his wife just looked damned sexy with weaponry! He was glad she had come with him.
"It seems we have no choice but to stop them… Sir."
Roy turned around and, in the dim light of the moon peeking through a cloud he saw a small smirk on Riza's lips. "What was that…Lieutenant?"
"Sorry, old habit." Riza moved closer and Roy put his arm around her shoulders, sharing body heat as well as a quiet moment. Below them behind the wall, soldiers slept wrapped up in sleeping bags, or back inside the walls.
"Well stop it," Roy replied affectionately. "It's attractive."
"That's a problem?" Riza asked with one slender eyebrow elegantly arched.
Roy smirked. "Of course it is. It's too cold up here to get frisky."
"Thank goodness," Riza snorted softly. "It's also rather public."
They stood for a while in companionable silence, waiting as the world held its breath. Below them, soldiers began to awaken, stirred by their commanding officers. Roy wasn't particularly worried about his alchemists. He could see them below, awake and ready almost before anyone else; Byrnes, Chambers, Flax and Tracker, all State Alchemists of some standing, and an assignment he found interesting but amusing, Russell Tringham; the once Edward Elric impersonator, and eldest son of Nash Tringham. Apparently both Kane and Edward had been sure they would get along well together. Snide banter aside, they did.
The retreating Amestrians had hurried right past the wall through the two openings – set to the sides of the main city gate, not directly in front – late into the evening the night before. The survivors – only seventy percent of those sent north first – were now safely behind the wall getting much needed rest and medical attention. Thirty percent losses and another twenty-percent injured. Roy really didn't like those numbers.
The cold nipped at the exposed skin on his face, and Roy wished he had a hot cup of coffee. Despite the coat, and Riza beside him, his joints ached. Exhaustion was held at bay however, by the thrilled anticipation he hadn't felt in years. Today, he would once more face battle; use his alchemy against an enemy. Was he a warmonger? No…well maybe a little. He didn't mind war for the right reasons, and there could be no more right reason to fight than to protect his homeland; the country he had played a large part in shaping and had devoted his life to.
When he glanced back down the ladder he had climbed earlier, he saw that his unit was at the ready near the edge of the wall. Come on out, Roy thought at the Drachman alchemists. Step out where we can see what you're really made of.
The battle began just after dawn. From his vantage point, Roy could see it all laid out almost in dioramic form. The Drachman attack began dead center with utterly classic tactics that Roy would have said went out of style three decades ago… except for one thing; a line of about thirty men that walked just behind the first rank of advancing soldiers. As they began to fire, the line moved past them and ran for the wall. In the morning mist it was difficult to see what they were doing, but then the explosions started.
The wall below their feet rocked slightly and quavered as dark smoke billowed up and mixed with the white mist. "There's our target."
Riza nodded. "Alchemy?"
Roy nodded. "Definitely." There was no doubt now that they were dealing with alchemical warfare on an entirely new scale. Never before had the enemy brought alchemists in numbers against Amestris. This was a whole new scenario. "But a bullet can kill an alchemist as well as alchemy can."
In the distance, they heard return fire, and the obscuring mist only became thicker as white smoke joined it. Then there was a flash of fire that arched out across the ground, and screaming, and a jolt of lightning. From somewhere else the mist seemed to swirl until it looked almost solid, a cyclonic pillar – however small it was strong – marching towards the Drachman line. "Now those are ours," he chuckled, feeling a sense of pride. The enemy alchemists were pounding on the doors, but they were being met with some determined resistance!
The fighting went on for nearly half an hour before the Drachmans did what Roy had been waiting for. The units waiting behind in apparent readiness attempted to fold around the ends of the line, splitting and coming half and half – one towards the other end and one toward his. "Ready below!" Roy bellowed down to the others.
Down below, all of his alchemists signaled an affirmative. They were ready. Down the line, Roy saw other units, infantry and alchemist alike, getting into ready positions. The top of the wall was lined with men.
When the battle came to them, it came fast, hard, and furious. Ladders smacked against the wall, and torrents of soldiers, firing, pushed towards the entrances or around towards the outside. The Drachmans lay as much fire as they could to keep the Amestrians hidden in their foxholes and behind their dirt barricades.
"This isn't the safest place to be standing," Riza commented as she shot two men attempting to scale the wall with her usual accuracy. "May I suggest finding a better place from which to attack?"
"But the view is fabulous," Roy smirked, then sighed. "Very well." They made their way back down behind the wall, where stray bullets were unlikely to find them, and joined his men on the ground in time to take stock of the scenario. He liked what he saw. The few trees in the area seemed to have sprouted extra long roots that lashed at the Drachmans, distracting some and drawing fire from others who were panicked. Regular soldiers obviously.
"Nice," Roy smirked at the oil slick Chambers had pulled from the ground. Soldiers were slipping and sliding and firing as they backed up to find a way around the thick tarry mess, but Roy had a solution for that. "Looks like it's time to heat things up!"
With that, the oil slick burst into flames.
Tore's first combat experience was not what he had expected. Well, at first it was; sending alchemical responses back at the Drachman soldiers and alchemists from a safe distance and behind the walls. It worked until the DAs – as the Amestrian alchemists had taken to calling them in short form – slammed into the walls and started blowing holes in them! None had broken through yet, but they were only dirt barricades. They would fail eventually.
"What do you say we give them something else to think about?" Fischer smirked as he dropped down next to him, kneeling.
"What do you have in mind?" Tore asked.
"I thought we might liven things up," Cal Fischer's infectious grin was downright cocky; a little surprising in the middle of battle.
All Tore felt was anxiety and heightened awareness. He nodded. "I'm in. What's the plan?"
"I soak the outside of the barricade; you turn it into the world's first electric falls."
"I knew I liked the way you think," Tore smirked back.
"I've got you," Kieleigh grinned grimly as she joined them. "A few bombs on the other side and they'll back up even faster." Her specialty was making things explode; all sorts of things. Tore had seen her make broccoli into an explosive once.
Their team proved to work as well as they had been assigned to. While the Emerald Alchemist and Polansky covered them, Tore and Cal made their way to the top of the wall, ducking behind makeshift crenellations. The idea worked perfectly as Whitewater practically rung water out of the sky, causing a cloudburst on only one side of the wall. Tore was glad for the gloves he had finally gotten made; it simplified his life extremely. He slammed his palms against the wall, and an electrical current began to run across the water flowing down the other side; the dirt wall functioning as an excellent piece of insulation as Tore focused on keeping the current running only where they wanted it!
The screams on the other side told him it was working. "That'll keep them off the wall," he grinned, focusing, trying not to exhaust himself too quickly.
"And this'll keep them moving back" Kieleigh flashed a pretty smile, eyes grinning from behind a lock of her tightly curly brown hair as she hefted what looked like lumps of clay out of the ground over the wall. They ignited in mid air and rained down in pieces on the Drachmans as they exploded.
Tore couldn't help a short laugh. He heard people scrambling on the other side, and more traditional gunfire returned.
"Good work, keep it up!" Fines called at one point.
That was all well and good, for the first fifteen minutes. After an hour, Tore was feeling the strain of keeping up long-term transmutations. He and Cal took breaks, but only short ones. The Drachmans had something the Amestrians didn't – numbers – and they didn't seem to mind a larger number of losses.
"Damn they're patriotic as well as stupid," Cal grimaced as they heard another person scream as they slammed into the electrified wall.
Tore nodded, sweating heavily now. He was glad alchemists were allotted a ration-and-a-half compared to the usual soldiers. He was going to devour every bit of it when today was over!
When the wall blew up underneath him, he wondered as he fell if he would ever get the chance. For a moment, the world moved in slow motion as a rumbling roar ripped through the air and the wall simply exploded, sending him and Cal and Kieleigh and everyone else on it flying! Flailing, Tore gasped as all the air rushed from his lungs on impact. Another roar made him wonder if he was about to be smothered, when the skies opened up with an icy torrential downpour – a spring storm. Suddenly soaked, Tore's hearing returned a moment later; the sound of screaming men clashing, gunfire and hand to hand. The first sign that the fighting had swarmed around him was two men fighting directly over top of him! They shoved and stabbed and staggered on. Shit! Stumbling to his feet, Tore found himself in a pressing mass of people. On all sides, slipping, sliding and dying. He was nearly knocked off his feet by a falling soldier. He couldn't even tell which side – the man was covered in mud and dark, thick blood. Tore staggered backwards, avoiding the body at the last moment. The shocked face that stared blindly up, horrified and unseeing, burned into his mind.
Tore had never seen a dead man up close. His stomach flopped and he turned away –
- In time to face the oncoming Drachman, rushing at him with bayonet fixed! Wow these guys are old fashioned. Tore moved with the reflexes he'd been taught, coming up under and hauling the man off his feet, tossing him using his own momentum. Then Tore spun and looked, hoping to find the rest of his unit. Where was Fischer, Fines? Where was Kieleigh?! Polansky?
A spout of water to his left told him where Fischer was – in his element apparently! Tore tried to shove through the fighting in that direction, sending bolts of electrical power into any Drachman who got in his way. Really the worst they would be, he suspected, was knocked unconscious for a few minutes or hours. He didn't have time to stop and check how many were dead.
He hadn't seen the men who died in Tamirov's lab either. Tore tried not to think of how many men he had already killed today.
"Look out!"
The shout gave Tore only enough time to look up before he saw what looked like a canon ball on fire arch into the air, exploding above their heads, shards flying. It was only instinct that sent him diving for the ground, face first into the muck.
Something slammed into him, and for a moment Tore couldn't breathe; pressed down into the quickly forming mud. Struggling, he pulled his face free of the sucking glop and gulped down air! What had landed on top of him? As the battle continued, he rolled over and tried to shove it off him –
- To find himself staring once more into the wide-eyed stare of a dead man; this one a young soldier, probably little older than himself with blond hair, green eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and blood seeping out of his mouth. Eyes vacant.
There was a corpse on top of him. Ohhh….man! Tore tried to shove him off, but they were pinned by the remains of what looked like a truck door! He shoved, struggled. "Get this thing off me!" Panic welled inside him. This was it. This was gross. He was trapped! Trapped under a dead guy!
Palms slammed together and he shoved, using all the electrical current he could draw to pulse and push the body – now jerking spastically in a sickening mimicry of life – off of him! Sliding backwards frantically, then slipping and sliding to his feet, Tore swallowed, bile in this throat, then bent over and wretched violently. He was dead. Really dead. He looked like…. A kid. Just another kid. Damn it. Damn it. Pull yourself together, Closson! This is not the time to fall apart!
With a shout he uprooted himself from the spot, throwing himself into the fray. He wouldn't think. He wouldn't try. He would fight. He would fight, and he would use alchemy, and he would survive!
The first day's fight ended in a stalemate. The Drachmans retreated after dark, and the world began to quiet. Edward stared out into the dark blanket and the diffuse pinpricks of light that once more defined the Drachman army. The ground beyond the gates was still littered with the dead, though search teams were combing them for the wounded living.
Welcome back to the battlefront. He really should not have expected anything less. This wasn't going to be a quick war, like Xing. Not that he had fought most of that one; though he'd had it ugly enough in his own way. This would be more like Aerugo; long, drawn out, and violent. Ed wasn't sure if it was worse on home turf or not yet. He knew he'd rather have been fighting on soil that wasn't within the bounds of Amestris.
"That was ugly."
Ed turned and saw Alphonse walking toward him, mud-spattered and tired looking, but otherwise apparently unharmed. "Yeah," he nodded as he clapped his hands together and slapped them against the wall next to him. In moments it was once more straight, tall, and whole.
"Won't it just come down again tomorrow?" Al asked as he joined him.
"It'll take longer," Ed grinned. "I added a surprise."
"What's that?" Al asked.
"A foot thick iron wall in the middle of it."
Al whistled. "Yeah, that'll do it." He looked around for a moment then sighed. "It's as bad as I remember."
"You too huh?" Unlike some of the men here, for whom this was their first real combat situation, Ed didn't feel the horror he used to at the sight of true battle. He felt regret for those who died, revulsion distantly at the idea of the need for war and death, and pity for those who died at the hands of alchemists. That didn't mean he would go easy on the enemy. He had learned better a long time ago the differences between mercy, justice, and sound military tactics. They didn't always overlap. "I'm going to sleep like a rock tonight."
"Then get up and do this again tomorrow." Al did not look particularly disturbed by the thought, just regretful. "Such a waste of life."
"Blame the Drachmans," Ed snorted as he moved to the next wall and did the same thing. Tired, but he was the best alchemist for this job.
Al nodded matter-of-factly. "I do."
Well of course he did. Ed felt momentarily guilty for saying it. Al had a personal score to settle with Drachma – at least with its alchemists. Ed only hoped it didn't get in the way of his brother's common sense. Ed was saved from having to make another comment by the arrival of Roy Mustang, Alex Armstrong, and Marcus Kane. Other than a bandage on Kane's cheek, the three Generals also looked unharmed. "How'd we do, Kane?" Ed asked.
"In the battle, about as well as could be expected given our lack of preparation," Kane replied with a wry smirk. "As for the alchemists, I'd say we turned out a good show despite the enemy. Their tactics are crude, but effective. They don't seem to have the variety we do. Or at least, this group didn't."
Armstrong nodded. "It seems likely that they have also separated their alchemists into units, though possibly by individual type and strength."
"They're weapons, designed and trained for a purpose," Ed agreed, his arms crossing as he thought, though it was partially to keep warm. He had his coat on, but he could still feel muscle aches where his ports connected. "They're focused on one task. So they could well have other groups; some that are all trained to create explosives, or set things on fire."
"If they have flame alchemists I'll eat my watch," Roy snorted.
Ed couldn't help but snicker. "I'll find the salt. I mean just set things on fire; incendiaries, not real flame alchemy." He had learned the very distinct differences over the years. Some things were easy to set fire to if an alchemist had the materials.
"We did pretty well against them today," Al pointed out.
"We did, but we still barely bounced them," Kane replied, his brow furrowing slightly. "I think our variety and training will be a good thing. We're up on them in both areas, but they're still destructive."
"What were our losses?" Al asked more quietly.
"Still counting for the whole mess," Kane replied, "But only two alchemist casualties, about ten injured, though mostly superficial wounds."
"Counting yourself there, Sky Fire?" Ed chuckled, gesturing to the patch on Kane's cheek.
"This little scratch?" Kane scoffed. "No, it won't be going on the incident reports. I think we'll have enough bumps and bruises in a few days that our idea of what constitutes injury is going to toughen up against as fast as we do."
He had a point. "You're right," Ed agreed. "Let's just hope we learn and adapt faster than they do." As long as they could keep a step ahead of the Drachmans, they could turn this. Drachma had superior numbers, but Amestris, despite years of peace, had more experience as a warring nation. That lineage had not been forgotten and their military still reflected it. "Let's see how much more damage we can do to them tomorrow."
In the darkness, soldiers and alchemists sorted themselves out by the light of torches and flood lights. The wounded were being hauled off, the living accounted for, the dead identified and their bodies taken away.
Cal lit a cigarette and took a long, slow drag as he surveyed the scene. He had come through the fight a lot better than he honestly expected. He hadn't been under heavy fire in combat since the battle in Aerugo where he had lost his leg to that landmine. While he would not have admitted it to anyone, he had been anxious about how he would react when put back into that situation.
The truth: better than he had expected. He was tired, and his nerves were a bit frazzled, but he had come through unscathed, and the Drachmans hadn't advanced. It was the first time the Drachmans had been blocked or held off at all since their invasion.
He watched Lyssandra Fines as she directed some of the soldiers working on clean up detail. She looked tired, but also unharmed unless you counted being covered in mud. But then, they were all covered in the cold, wet muck. Cal couldn't wait for a shower.
Lyssandra came over to him then. "Well we all seem to have come through." Her nose wrinkled and a brief look of disgust crossed her face as the wind wafted smoke in her direction. Not that the smell of dead bodies, sweat, blood, and char was any better in Cal's opinion.
Cal nodded and grinned. "We definitely gave them something to think about. The kids were spectacular," he commented, referring to Kieleigh and Tore.
Lyssandra nodded. "Where's Shock? I haven't seen him in a bit."
"Helping with clean up over at the end of the line," Cal gestured behind him. "You want him?"
She nodded. "I'd like to do a quick debriefing and then we're turning in. This is all under control without us and it's time for a bath and a meal."
"Care for some company?" Cal flashed a rakish grin, knowing full well she'd say no.
"You offering to buy my husband a train ticket?" Lyssandra replied, true to form as she smirked back and turned. "Meet me in the barracks in fifteen minutes, Whitewater."
"We'll be there." Cal stuck the cigarette in his mouth and went to find Tore. It took him a few minutes of searching the crowds until he found the boy. It was sound that drew him to him first actually; investigating the sound of retching.
Tore was on the ground, the contents of his stomach lost in the mud, his arms wrapped around himself as he shook. With his hair wet and limp, Cal thought he looked surprisingly pathetic. Still, he felt sympathy.
Welcome to war, kid. Cal crouched down next to him. "Hey, Shock, Emerald wants us for a meeting. You all right?"
Tore was shaking pretty badly he realized, and up close even in the odd light he looked pale, his eyes staring at the mud in front of him. He swallowed and tried to nod, but ended up shaking his head. "They were…. Dead…. So many dead. Eyes…staring. On top of me… then more. Bodies they… smell like…. Then they're so cold. Blood….so much blood….their blood…. On me." The words came out in little more than a whisper.
Oh great. He was cracking up. Not that Cal was surprised. His own first emergency situation as an alchemist he'd been a real mess dealing with the dead. He'd learned to be tough since then. "Hey, snap out of it," he placed a hand on Tore's shoulders. "Look at me, Shock." He made the last line sharp, an order. Out of reflexive practice, Tore's head snapped up. Good, at least his training was that far engrained in him. Cal offered him a grim smile. "You did just what you were supposed to; good work. We're still here. Now we've got a debriefing and then it's time for a bath and food. Sounds good right?" He tried to make it as conversational and normal as possible.
Tore nodded, still obviously in a state of shock that had nothing to do with his alchemist name. At least he hadn't fallen apart until after the battle. "Y-yeah I…. damn it, I can't move."
Age be hanged; Cal reached into the pocket of his coat and fished out a small metal flask that he opened and offered. "Take a swig of this." The kid claimed he already knew how to handle his liquor; right now Cal just hoped it hadn't been bluster.
Tore looked at it, momentarily not registering; then his eyes lit up with comprehension and his hand reached out and he took it. He tipped it up, taking a long drink of the whisky inside. When he offered it back to Cal, it was definitely lighter. Tore looked back down at the ground a minute, apparently trying to gather himself. The shaking slowed at least. "Thanks," Tore finally replied. "I needed that."
"I figured," Cal smirked. "Need a hand?"
Tore shook his head and as Cal stood back he struggled to his feet, straightened his coat, and shook his head, sending water flying off his hair. He still looked pale but at least there was sensibility in his eyes again. Good. Cal hadn't figured Tore for the type to completely break after one engagement. He hadn't even been hurt as far as Cal could see. "You said Emerald wants us?"
Cal nodded. "Yeah, debriefing, then we're off duty till morning."
Tore seemed to be gathering himself still. Then he gave Cal a contemplative sideways look. "Can I have a drag?"
Cal almost choked. "I didn't think you smoked," he gasped slightly as he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and caught his breath.
Tore looked disgruntled, then slightly embarrassed. "Don't make a big deal out of it, geez. Hasn't every kid tried at least one? I don't actually. I just…" his expression turned worried again. "I can't afford to fall apart right now." Then he smirked. "If you're going to lecture me about it I'll call you a hypocrite."
Cal shrugged, still a little startled. It was just a reminder though, that Tore had only lived with the Elrics; he wasn't another one of Fullmetal's kids. "No, I just wasn't expecting the question." He handed over his lit cigarette. "Hope you know what you're doing."
He watched Tore start slow, just a couple of puffs and a short drag. Then the kid closed his eyes and exhaled again. Then he opened them and handed it back. "Thanks."
"No problem," Cal shrugged. "You ready to face the world again?"
Tore nodded. "Sure thing. Let's go."
Cal turned and headed back to the barracks, Tore falling into step beside him. As they walked, he could almost watch the boy transform; drawing himself up, looking more relaxed, a little more confident. It was an act, of course, but only Cal – who had seen him at his weak moment – would really know how much of one. He'd done it himself enough. Maybe that was why he liked spending time with him; why he wanted to see Tore make it.
Damn, I'm going soft.