April 19th, 1963
Breda had known it would come eventually. He had told every one of his Generals – alchemist and otherwise- to expect it. There was no reasonable way they could have held their wall outside of North City interminably or even for more than a couple of months if they had been lucky. But that was why they had spent the time they had available building up a second defensive position – one sturdier and better prepared – on the other side of the city on the road heading South, sitting right across the road and the train tracks.
Not that they planned to give up their original position, but on the day the front barricades came crashing down, the Amestrians were ready. With the alchemists taking the brunt of the push by staying the line and retreating last, they hurried back inside the city – some breaking left or right around the outside walls – in what appeared to be a violent rout.
It was pretty convincing too – at least in the violent department. Ordered to look desperate, the State Alchemists did their best to throw as many large, flashy attacks at the enemy as they could, while those with more subtle talents took advantage of the distraction to wreak havoc with the attacking Drachman line.
Dangerous the plan might be, but it was also effective, and one that Breda felt offered the least loss of life. In that, at least, he hoped to be right. If nothing else, the chaos allowed them to pull their already injured and the medical staff out of the city itself and back behind the new barricade line. More refugees fled the city.
Now if only they all made it behind the walls. Breda hadn't liked hoofing the entire command center back out of the city either, but it was better than being dead! They managed to move early enough that most of those fleeing – or strategically retreating – were prepared before the Drachmans would see them do it and realize this was planned, but left with just enough time to look like the enemy was hot on their heels.
He'd only been shot at twice!
From the tents behind the new defensive walls, Breda panted and waited, hoping that the rest of the lines would pull around and reform as planned.
"Wow, Will," Sara panted as she dropped behind an overturned wheelbarrow that also hid her cousin who had just blasted five Drachmans with a burst of alchemical energy that was nothing more than a shove of force, but it sent them flying backwards like they were nothing. "We've been missing out not having you around. You sure Dad didn't give you a name with that rank?" She grinned through the dust, grime, and heat.
Will grinned back at her for a moment before sending another blast in their direction. "Hadn't…. given it much thought," he grunted as he ducked down again. The Alchemists' retreat was taking longer than he had expected as the ends of the Amestrian lines going around the outside of the city had gotten pretty broken up. "I kind of like being a free spirit."
"Yeah, baths at eight, story at eight-thirty, bed at nine for all concerned?" Sara laughed, winking at him. "Quite the free spirit. All right," she paused in the heckling as she heard a whistling sound that turned itself into an explosion of purple and red lights above their heads that began to rain down on the Drachmans – who had learned these fireworks bit back! "That's our cue. Spring for it!"
As the gunfire barrage broke briefly with the concerted attacks, the two Elric cousins ran for the next available cover, about thirty yards distant. Through the gunpowder haze and crowds of running, shooting men, Sara could see Kane standing further back beyond that. His attack was effective at a distance – useful that way.
Sara was almost to the point when she saw someone go down and barely had the awareness to jump as it happened right in front of her. Her foot still caught on the body, sending her into a tumble she managed to salvage into a roll. Skidding in the dirt, she slammed down hard in the earth none-the-less. When she looked up Will had hesitated. "Keep going!" She shouted at him. Stupid…. Did he want to get killed too?
Sara scrambled halfway to her feet before the person she'd just tripped over groaned. "Damn it….Twilight… that hurt."
"Maes?" Sara turned sharply. Her friend was lying in the dirt clutching his side. "Damn it, Mustang." She scrambled back to him, lying flat under incoming fire. "Are you hit?"
"It…didn't lodge," Maes gasped out. "Just a…. flesh wound I think. Hurts like hell but…"
"Stop talking," Sara growled, pulling his hands away from his side. It was bleeding pretty badly but it looked like he was right; too far off center of body mass to hit anything critical. "You just had to get a little drama in didn't you?"
"You know it," Maes grinned at her, though it looked like more of a grimace as she transmuted a shred of his shirt into a quick emergency bandage and dragged it around him and yanked it tight to stem the blood flow.
"Shit, Twilight!" Maes hissed and helped. "You're a lousy medic."
"I'm what you've got unless you want to die out here," Sara retorted as she dragged him up onto her shoulder and, crouching, she began to make her way to cover.
It seemed an interminably long hobble, staying low, half-dragging Maes with bullets whizzing by far-too-close overhead, or plinking clods of dirt up right around them. Sara had no real awareness of time as she finally managed to drag Maes behind a make-shift dirt barricade – the typical alchemical variety. She was pretty sure that, no matter what their specialty, almost every alchemist in Amestris could make a basic barricade.
"Sara, thank goodness," Will was huddled down there too. Then he saw Maes and grimaced. "That doesn't look good."
"I noticed," Sara replied. "It's not likely to kill him though…if we get out of here."
"Then I guess we don't have much option," Will barked a laugh. "Not like I planned on making my final farewells here anyway. Just a second and I'll handle this." He brought his hands together – encased in the same gloves most State Alchemists were used to – and shoved his hands against the ground. A great whoosh and the ground erupted into dust and debris. Whatever Will's study preferences when it came to Alchemy, Sara was grateful for the practical side! His specialty seemed to be the exertion of force, mostly by compressed energy or air; but force none-the-less, with surprisingly refined control.
"Nice moves."
"You didn't think I spent all that time staring into space contemplating philosophy and the nature of the soul did you?" Will smirked. "Let's get out of here."
Together, it was much easier to pull Maes between them. The Firebrand Alchemist seemed to have fallen silent for the moment; probably out of pain more than any lack of conversational urges. Sara had never known Maes to be quiet in any situation!
They caught up with Kane and their other team mate – Russell Tringham's oldest son, Derrick – just as they all hit the new barricades. Sara could even hear the confused shouts of the Drachmans behind them as they vanished from view and they realized that the Amestrians weren't running in full-out flight back down the road!
It was a relief to hear the Amestrian line – already reformed and strong – begin a full out barrage above their heads, and Sara saw Derrick send what looked like vine tendrils of stone shooting out into the midst of the Drachmans.
"Never thought that would be a beautiful sound," Maes finally gasped.
"Oh good, you're not dead," Sara quipped.
"Man everyone here has a morbid sense of humor," Will commented from the other side as they struggled towards the newly re-erected medical tents.
"Does this surprise you?" Sara asked, looking across Maes at her cousin.
"No," Will grinned. "It's kind of like being at one of our family parties."
"See, I told you you'd fit in."
"Are you two trying to kill him with the banter/" Kane asked with a sigh as he joined them. Now that the alchemists were behind the firing line, their mission for the day was complete. At least for their unit. The few who had retreated first on command – or were freshly arrived from South Headquarters just the day before – had the line for now as a nice surprise for the enemy.
"Of course not, Sir," Sara smiled. "Merely keep his spirits up."
"It's not working," Maes grumbled.
"Spirits, arms, whatever," Will replied with a grin. "Let's get him to the doctors."
"Yeah, if you're lucky maybe Ethan can give you a boost on healing up those holes," Sara commented to Maes as they started moving again. "If you wanted to pierce something, ears are cooler anyway."
"Funny," Maes retorted, but there wasn't a lot of strength to it.
Worried, Sara stopped chiding him. "We'll be back soon, Sky Fire."
"Good, report to me in the command center when you're done." Then Kane turned and took Derrick with him in that direction.
"Yes, Sir." Sara started moving again. Maes' quiet concerned her. Normally, even injured, he was a walking mouth. She just hoped the wound wasn't more severe than she thought.
"Thanks for fixing my foot, Mrs. Elric." Cal Fischer smiled at Winry as he stood up and flexed it, trying his weight. "It's never jammed like that before."
"It's not your usual foot," Winry reminded him with a smile. "The cold-weather auto-mail is easier to jam in the joints putting it through the kind of pounding you guys are. Designers can minimize the incidents, but there's nothing we can do to stop you from abusing it in combat."
Cal laughed, one hand behind his head. "You could make a rock feel guilty for bumping into the auto-mail, Ma'am," he said as he sat back down and pulled on his sock and boot.
"Then maybe someday I'll get to do maintenance on a piece of auto-mail that doesn't come to me so dinged up," Winry chuckled. "Not that I can really scold you for getting it shot at; this is a war zone."
"That never stopped you from screaming at me," Edward's objection made her turn. Muddy and a little charred looking, he was making his way toward them through the wing of the medical tent walled off as the auto-mail workshop.
Winry resisted the urge to leap up from where she was seated and throw her arms around her husband; something she wanted very much to do every time she saw him lately. It was something she did do every night – no matter how late it was – when they finally met up again in the barracks. Though tonight they wouldn't have the luxury of the barracks rooms. She didn't even know where they would be sleeping. It seemed odd that someone else had seen to their bags on the retreat and would make sure sleeping quarters were arranged. She supposed it was one of the advantages to rank in the military. Having never been along for a full military campaign – or as anything other than a simple mechanic – it took some getting used to. "Well you seem to go out of your way to find trouble most days," she countered.
"There is that," Ed laughed and he bent down and kissed her cheek, heedless of the crowded room. "I see you made it out of the city all right."
Winry nodded. "We've been set up for hours. Busy too. Fortunately all of my patients have been in fairly good health," she smiled back at Cal. "You're done."
"Great. I'll get out of your way then," Cal smiled with a polite nod as he pulled on his coat. "Thanks again!" He waved as he turned and moved away.
Winry watched him go. He wove his way through the crowd easily, stopping to flirt with no less than three nurses in the hospital end before he reached the door, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and vanished out into the falling darkness. Then she turned back to Ed. "So are you off duty or are you just here to tell me you've once again managed to get your auto-mail destroyed?" She quipped, teasing.
Ed smiled sheepishly and held up his arm. There was a large dent in the forearm cover piece. "Nothing so dramatic," he assured her. "But it's messing with a couple of the synthetic muscles and slowing it down."
Winry sighed but kept smiling. "I expected something from you. Sit down and let me take a better look at it."
Ed compiled, draping his coat over the back of the chair and laying his arm on the workbench. Winry moved over and examined the plate. As she did so, she couldn't help but notice that – as seemed usual of late – Ed smelled of sweat, mud, and gunpowder. Outside, not too far in the distance, she could still hear gunfire, though it seemed to have lessened. "So, did the plan work?" She asked the question as a distraction for them both as she detached the cover and flipped it over.
"The new line is holding," Ed nodded, then flashed her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. Breda knew what he was doing. The Drachmans will have to pull back again soon and regroup. Then they'll spend some time trying to get full control of the city. We'll press them so they can't, and eventually the Drachmans will have to cede the city back. That's the theory anyway." He paused. "So, what's the damage?"
Winry was already pulling out a large hammer. "I'm going to need to bang the dent out, but I should be able to do that and buff it smooth again without any real structural damage. If you want it as bonded a piece as it was," she couldn't help smiling at him knowingly, "you can do that yourself."
Ed snickered. "Being an alchemist has some advantages. How long will it take?"
"Maybe an hour?" Winry estimated as she started banging away on the dent herself. No one else worked on Ed's auto-mail if she had any say in the issue. "The grinding and buffing takes the longest, but we'll see. Have you eaten?"
She knew the answer before he answered. "Not yet," he replied. "I've been checking in, making sure everyone's okay." Then Ed barked a short laugh. "I could use a bath too, couldn't I?"
"You could," Winry smiled, pausing in hammering. "I've got a temporary cover we can put on that. Not for combat, but it'll do for a while. You should go eat, Ed, and wash up and get into something dry. You don't want to catch cold do you?"
"The voice of nagging reason," Ed smiled as he stood up and joined her. "Though I guess I can't argue. You're my mechanic after all."
"Darn straight," Winry laughed, turning and giving him a hug, not caring if she got mud on her coveralls. She could hear his heartbeat inside his chest – whole, healthy, strong – and it still reassured her that everything would be all right. "Go rest. Oh, but before you do," she looked up. "You said you were checking on everyone. Is everyone…." Was their family all right?
Ed chuckled, his arms around her. "Sara and Will are fine. I found Aldon celebrating their successful engineering feat with the new barricade with the rest of his unit. They're off duty tonight and I told Aldon he'd better come find you before the end of tomorrow so you wouldn't worry," he held her closer. "I even saw Tore outside on my way in." Winry saw Ed's face muscles twitch briefly. She knew that sign. She also knew why he was twitching.
"Ed… he's an adult. You can't tell him what to do outside of his duties."
"Yeah, I know," Ed sighed. "I haven't said a word and I'm not going to. Not as long as he doesn't do anything that jeopardizes his position as a State Alchemist. And he hasn't done that." He shrugged. "I… well, I guess I can't blame him can I? It's tough out there."
"Death is difficult to deal with," Winry agreed. "Death, violence… you had a tough time once too."
"I still do," Ed replied with a weak smile. "If I didn't have you I'd never have made it this far. I just can't help worrying about him too."
"You wouldn't be you if you could," Winry reached up, patting his cheek. The skin under her hand was rough with stubble. "Go bathe…and shave," she added with a knowing smile. "I'll see you tonight once I'm done fixing this arm plate." She stepped back then and reached for a temporary plate to protect the inner workings of Ed's arm.
"Do you need me to bring you anything to eat?" Ed asked.
Winry paused, touched by his concern, and the fact that Ed had remembered to offer at all. For years it wouldn't have crossed his mind. "I'll make sure to get something. Don't worry." After all, worrying was her department!
"Are we done yet?" Maes asked, trying not to sound impatient as he grimaced at the doctor who was cleaning his wounds. He had a neat little hole where the bullet had gone in, and out, of the side muscle layer about half way up his right side. At least he wasn't bleeding anymore. Ethan Elric had come by briefly, long enough to stop it with a little alchemical help. The other doctor estimated that Maes had just been gifted with about two full days of healing. And two full days of exhaustion. Maes wanted to eat, sleep, and gripe. Barely a month into the campaign and he was injured! Shot too; not even an alchemical injury, but a lucky bullet as he blasted back the enemy with a flaming attack that wasn't as big as he wanted thanks to all the moisture in the air.
"Just about," the doctor assured him and gave one last firm tug before securing the bandages. Maes refused to cry out despite the pain. "There we go, Firebrand. All patched up."
"Good to hear," Marcus Kane commented as he walked over. The man had impeccable timing as usual. "How's it feel, Mustang?"
"I've felt better," he commented with as casual a shrug as he could manage. "Also been worse."
"What's the final damage?" Kane looked at the doctor.
The man nodded, pushing glasses up his long thin nose. "It caught flesh and smacked a rib on the way through. There should be no permanent damage from either, though I recommend at least a couple of weeks' rest given the opportunity."
"At least?" Kane looked contemplative.
"Oh no, I'm fine," Maes objected. The last thing he wanted was to be pulled off the line. His heart was pounding. This war was his chance to fix things. He couldn't be out of it already! He'd never live it down.
"You've lost a lot of blood," the doctor objected matter-of-factly. "If you were sitting in the trenches firing a gun I might feel differently, but with the strain alchemists put themselves under being as great as it is, and the amount of energy involved, I'm afraid I'm not giving you a choice."
That was it. Kane would never approve a quick return to duty under that statement. He was right. Kane nodded. "A couple of weeks off won't kill us," he chuckled dryly. "Maes, you're hereby on medical leave for the next two weeks. If it'll make you feel better I charge you with the task of defending the medical tents if it becomes necessary."
Which Kane knew Maes would do whether he was ordered to or not; or rather, even if he was ordered to stand down. Maes nodded. Further argument would only get him in hot water with his commanding officer. He'd learned years ago not to outright argue with the Sky Fire Alchemist. "Yes, Sir. Am I relegated to the medical tent, Sir?" The ability to at least walk around, or sleep in the tent he was supposed to share with Will Elric and Derrick Tringham on this little campaign, would be appreciated.
"Until the doctor gives you freedom to do otherwise," Kane replied. "I'll abide by his judgment."
"Tomorrow, if you cooperate," the doctor smirked.
Damned doctors. Doctors and commanding officers, they were both pains in the ass.
April 24th, 1963
The Eastern Front, as it quickly became, was – he supposed – probably even wetter and more miserable than North City. Lodged up in the twists and turns of evergreen and rocky mountain paths, it was prone to mudslides and there hadn't been sun for days. The clouds seemed to like lying low in the mountains and just sitting.
Alphonse was definitely beginning to detest rain and mud. He already hated Drachma. He remembered now the stories from alchemists who had been sent up this way to deal with the winter and spring storms; storms that had orphaned children like Charisa and Niam; killed dozens of people.
Well he just hoped that if anyone got stuck in mudslides up here, it was the Drachmans.
Their arrival on the front three days before had been none too soon. The Eastern Command forces had arrived first and were being practically walked over before the reinforcements arrived. Then it was not quite an even battle, but with the added oomph of the State Alchemists coming in more force, it was a much closer fight. The Drachmans had been smart though; the alchemists they had sent East seemed to be familiar with dealing with rock, dirt, or water. Which, given the season and the weather, posed problems since it gave them plenty of material to work with.
Their primary point of contention became a narrow pass in the hills where the train tracks ran through a series of deep ravines. It was an excellent choke point, and it kept the Drachmans from being able to move forward en masse and uninhibited. Three days of combat had yielded them… well, nothing on either side per se. Al was just grateful that the Drachmans had made no further progress and did not have a steam engine. If they'd had trains, they might have plowed the Amestrians right off the tracks they were blocking.
On the fourth evening shooting ceased temporarily thanks to a dumping storm that had come out of the west and parked practically over them, water falling in sheets so thick neither side could see let alone shoot.
"I never thought I'd be so grateful for rain," Roy grumbled as they sat, huddled inside an abandoned two-room cabin less than a quarter mile from the line. It was serving as a command post, though Al had noticed that most of the command staff spent as much time in there – as opposed to their tents – as possible.
"When this is over, I believe a long vacation in the desert is in order," Armstrong chuckled.
"Seems a bit dry," General Brewster commented.
"Or just a nice coast somewhere, like Creta," Al suggested with a grin as he dropped down in a chair at the table that held the detailed map they had gotten of the local area from the denizens of the town of Redquarry, located ten miles down the train tracks. It was laid next to the military maps, but there were a lot of useful details; where the old mines were, current mines, and various geographical features.
"But then there's an ocean," Roy pointed out.
"But you don't have to go in it," Al replied with a knowing grin. "Besides, there's beaches."
Roy caught on. "Beaches, where our wives will be socially expected to parade around in skimpy swimwear." A contemplative expression that was half smug grin crossed his face.
"Some of us are not so easily pressured," Riza startled them all as she stepped inside, rifle still in hand. She pulled off a helmet and her blonde hair came down with it. "Tell me there's coffee."
"We have instant coffee packets, cups, rainwater, and the Flame Alchemist," Al quipped.
Riza chuckled. "That will do."
"Hey, who made me the coffee maker?" Roy objected.
"You want cold water instead?" Brewster snickered. Outside the pounding sound of chilly rain seemed to emphasize just how much of that they already had.
Roy shook his head. "I'd like to find a strategy that has us sitting here waiting for them to dump another mudslide on us for as little time as possible."
That was one of the strategies the Drachman alchemists had already tried twice. Neither time had successfully lost the Amestrians any men or women, but they had been taxing on the State Alchemists to stop forces of nature that required little impetus from the Drachmans after they started.
"Hear hear," came a chorus of voices.
Al looked down at the map again, as they had every night since arriving. General Maria Ross Bloch from Eastern Headquarters had been here from the beginning and knew the area better than they did anyway. It was her responsibility normally. It was the same region Edward and Alphonse had run around in under Roy's command for years as kids too. Though they had rarely come this far north.
"This is the best place to hold them," General Bloch told them seriously. "Further north up these tracks is fairly treacherous ground. For them to come past this point they have to come down through the ravines on the tracks. There is also a series of bridges north of us that we might be able to make use of if we can destroy them."
"We might be able to do that with alchemist strike teams," Roy nodded in agreement.
"Engineers too," Brewster pointed out with a small smile. "We don't have to use the alchemists for everything. Not that I don't appreciate the willingness, Mustang. But we might need you guys in reserve sometimes for bigger missions than blowing bridges."
Roy looked mildly miffed for a moment but – to Al's amazement – relented with a nod. "You have a point." Then his smile returned. "It's nice to know you consider us more than high quality tools."
"Please," Bloch laughed, "after this long, Mustang? We wouldn't dare underestimate the damage you can do."
The levity was all they had to break up the tension and stress. Al definitely appreciated it, as well as the rather odd circumstance of being surrounded by old and familiar faces. There wasn't a person standing in the room that he hadn't known for a large portion of his life. It was comforting in a way.
"As long as you remember that," Roy replied, mollified. "All right, so we start making strikes against the bridges to cut them off from reinforcements and resupply and shore up here. At least it's mostly rocks and we haven't been flooded out."
"The way you talk, people will think you don't like water," Riza commented with a perfectly straight face.
Further snickers accompanied the rest of the discussion as the plan was quickly agreed upon to dig in where they were and make the needed forays with a mix of regular soldiers and alchemists, usually alternating to keep things a surprise. When they were done, the meeting broke up and everyone moved reluctantly back out into the cold and wet.
"So how's Denny?" Al asked Maria – Ross – Bloch as they walked back to their tents through the rain. He had his rain coat hood pulled up as tight around his face as possible.
Maria smiled. "Doing well, though he almost re-upped when he heard Drachma had invaded." She shook her head with a wry smile. "He's much better off at home." Denny Bloch, her former colleague turned eventual husband had retired from the military and played at-home Dad while their kids were small, allowing Maria to pursue her military career. Al had always liked them both, but he had to admit that Maria was the better officer.
"Is he still in radio?" It amused Al that Denny had taken up work as a radio disk jockey once the kids were in school and had kept up with it after that. "We don't get that signal all the way in Central."
"Still doing it and loving it," Maria assured him. "He's actually gotten pretty good at it. He does talk segments and comedy along with music now."
"I can just imagine," Al chuckled.
"You and Elicia should visit sometime," Maria offered, pausing outside her tent, which they came to first. "Bring the whole family. When William and Ethan were in college at least we saw them every once in a while."
"How often did the boys stop in to raid your kitchen?" Al asked.
"Not often enough," Maria replied honestly. "See if they'd all come too. You boys used to work out of Eastern Headquarters. Make a reunion out of it and bring the whole family."
"Maybe we will," Al grinned as he kept moving. Maria vanished into the night behind him as she ducked into her tent. Soon everything around him was swallowed up by the rain and a growing mist. Al ducked into his little tent; grateful to have one to himself, though it was right beside the other officers' tents. At least it was only mildly damp.
Well there was a way to take care of that. Al clapped his hands together and held them to the tent, using alchemy to wring any water that had managed to permeate the canvas out of it, then moved his hand to the ground and dried it out as well. "There, one dry room," he smiled to himself. He was sure Elicia would have laughed at him, using alchemy for such a small comfort. Well, so what if the wet bothered him more than it used to? Al preferred not catching cold on top of being out in combat.
He quickly changed for bed and tucked himself into his cot. From the tent to his left he could hear Roy and Riza bedding down as well, talking quietly. It made Al miss Elicia even more. Not that he would ever have wanted her out here. Still, he envied Edward having Winry with him at North City for the closeness. Al was torn between wanting to see his wife and grateful that he wouldn't until this was over. There was much to do; and at least one thing he wasn't sure he could do with Elicia watching.
It was that thought that followed Al into slumber, like it did most nights. There was no way Amestris would stop until Drachma was pushed back. There was no room for failure. Like in everything else he had ever done, Al refused to admit the possibility of defeat.