May 5th, 1963

The Drachmans learned the hard way after Breda's feint – the false retreat from North City – that taking the city was going to be much more difficult than they expected. The Drachmans could surround the city on all sides save the South, where outside the walls the Amestrian defenses were now well-entrenched. However, entry was blocked… by alchemists. Breda had ordered several units of alchemists to remain within the city and guard all entrances and man the walls. It was amazing what a couple dozen alchemists could manage against the Drachman army when they weren't trying to destroy the city, merely occupy it.

"You really do know how to throw a party," Edward snickered to Breda over the maps in the command tent one afternoon. "The Drachmans have got to be sorry they messed with us."

"Don't get too cocky, Ed," Breda smirked humorlessly as Ed watched him pour over numbers and positions. "All this does is give us a chance to gather more troops in one spot. It's a stalling tactic."

Ed shrugged. "Well it's working. We're holding and they're losing more men than we are." By quite a bit at the moment. It still stung that they had already lost a handful of alchemists. Ed knew every one of them, even if only in passing. Each one felt like a failure on his part to train them well enough, even though he knew better. Still, every lost alchemist was one more Ed intended to take out of the hide of whatever Drachman he had to in order to assure this never happened again. First, though, they had to stop this invasion. Ed sighed, scrubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he looked at the options. "When do you plan to retake the city permanently?"

"I like how you don't use if," Breda smiled this time, tiredly. "Not too long. We can't give them the opportunity to get past our alchemical defenses and actually take the city. It's tough enough funneling out evacuees like this."
"How many people have left the city?" Ed asked. He knew it was a lot, and that they were scattering South and to the four winds as quickly as possible, going to live with family or friends as far from North City as they could get. Refugees fleeing the Drachmans from further North had been showing up for some time.

"Over a hundred thousand so far," Breda scowled. "Though there's thousands left who still refuse to go. Can't blame them, but it's on their heads if they get killed."

Ed nodded grimly. "How many have enlisted?"

Breda gave him a knowing look. "About fifteen-thousand men, and that's after turning away boys and men old enough to be my father if he'd lived this long." He turned away from the table and walked over to the coffee pot, pouring his third cup in the past two hours. "Drachma's trying to demoralize and conquer at the same time. They've burned empty fields and sacked buildings. They've taken captives. Reports say they've been executing people too. That kind of thing gets men riled up."

As Ed came around the table to get a better look at the estimates of Drachman forces still outside the city, there was a knock at the door.

"Get in here!" Breda bellowed. "And it better be important."

A Major entered, saluted, and held out a notice. "General Breda, Sir, a message sir."

"In regards to what exactly?" Breda snatched the envelope away, then pulled out the slip of paper inside.

"I don't know, Sir," the Major admitted. "I was just told to deliver it immediately."

Ed watched as Breda's eyes scanned the words, then went wide and his face pale. He had rarely seen Breda upset before. Irritated certainly, or terrified by a dog, but the look of horror and pain on his face was not one Ed had seen there before. Hand clenched around the note, Breda nodded sharply once. "You've done your job, Major. Dismissed."

The Major disappeared out the door. As soon as he was gone Ed dared to speak. "What's wrong?"

Breda was shaking slightly. He took down the luke-warm cup of coffee in a single gulp, then set the cup down. "I… Mitchell's dead."

Mitchell? It took Ed a moment to register it as a first name; Mitchell was Nancy's grown son, the one who lived up North. "Shit… what happened?"

"He… he was trying to leave the city," Breda replied hoarsely. "His wife and the kids're already on their way to Central." Mitchell's kids were older than Charisa and Niam; full grown and married themselves if Ed remembered right. He knew Breda and Nancy and the kids spent time with them at least once a year, but as Mitchell didn't particularly see Breda as a step-father given the age difference, it was easy to forget Nancy had been married and widowed before meeting Heymans. "He got caught in an unexpected volley; right in the head. Ah hell…. How am I ever going to tell Nancy?"

Ed came the rest of the way around the table, laying a hand on his friend's arm. "No one deserves to die, Breda, especially not civilians. I'm sorry about Mitchell."

Breda took a deep breath and pulled it together. "Thanks, Ed. Damned war. You know, I like to consider myself a forgiving man, but right now… I hate Drachma."

"I doubt you're the only one," Ed quipped. He was quickly losing respect for even Drachma's military at this rate. Their war tactics were brutal, but only so far in that they used a lot of force and didn't care about losing men. He was fairly certain that Alphonse bordered on honest hatred of more than just Tamirov now. Getting Al to hate anyone was pretty hard. "Hang in there. He's one more person we won't let have died without being avenged."

"You make it sound like revenge is justified," Breda looked at him, not horrified, but apparently startled.

Ed shrugged. "We're the ones being assaulted. Our innocent are dying for no good reason. Our soldiers are dying because someone else decided they wanted to muck around down here and they got alchemists involved. I take it personally, and sometimes justice and revenge are the same in the end. Take whichever motive you prefer."

"You have a point," Breda sighed. "Doesn't make it much easier does it? Sometimes I think we get less callous as we get older after a point instead of more so."

"Who's we?" Ed smirked, teasing a little despite the situation. He knew Breda wasn't over it but, like any old soldier, he was far too used to it; and now he regretted that necessity.

"You're not the sprout you were when you first showed up at East Headquarters," Breda snickered.

"Yeah, and I'm grateful for that," Ed laughed. "You're lucky I'm mellower too."

"That's like calling Roy mellow," Breda clapped Ed on the shoulder. "Get back to work. Tell Fines and Kane I'll want a word with all three of you in the morning about trying to relieve and replace some of the alchemists inside the city. We'll let Drachma beat their brains out against the walls a while longer before we make our reinforced move and make a more offensive action."

"Will do," Ed nodded and left. It was clear what Breda also really wanted was a few minutes alone to give a family member the bit of grief he deserved.

When Edward got back to his tent, he found that it was surprisingly crowded despite it being almost dinner time. "Did everyone get off duty at once?"

Ethan and Aldon were standing beside Ed's portable desk, while Will sat there, apparently working on a letter. Sara and Franz were perched on his and Winry's bed – a real mattress currently laid out over two cots – and Winry was settled in the one other little camp chair they had. All in all, even for an officer's tent it was packed!

"We have a little more free time when we don't have commands of our own and we haven't been shot at in three days," Sara snickered, leaning against her husband, whose arm was tight around her shoulders.

Winry stood and came over, hugging him. "I'm off duty this evening. No emergency auto-mail assignments to work on."

"So everyone descended on our place." Ed hugged her back.

"There's room on the bed," Sara laughed.

"I'm not exactly the voyeuristic type," Ed rolled his eyes at his daughter's suggestive tone. "Not that I'm not glad to see everybody, but is there a particular reason you're all here?"

"Sure," Ethan grinned. "Letters from home! Will got letters from Ren and Aunt Elicia."

Suddenly it all made perfect sense. Given most of his family was here, Edward had almost forgotten about letters on this campaign. Who would write him? "So what's the news?"

Will grinned. "Well most of it is details about Minxia, stories of anything interesting happening at the clinic, and updates on how the baby's doing." It was clear that particular information was part of what Will waited for most in each letter. Ed knew Ren was five and a half months along now. As if Will ever let anyone in the family forget!

"And how is the little handful?" Ed chuckled.

"Kicking," Will replied, taking the teasing in stride. Ed could tell his nephew regretted not being there even though it had been his choice to join the fight. He understood that feeling all too well. "She's convinced it's a boy; already can't hold still."

"I'm sure Cassie would agree with that assessment," Aldon chortled. "Not that we have any comparison."

"They both kick," Sara and Winry spoke in perfect unison, looked at each other, and started laughing.

Hearing laughter, given the grimness of the situation around them, was like the sun coming out after days of rain. Not that it had done that lately. North City seemed plagued with constantly overcast weather, spring rains or no.

Ed's arm snaked around Winry's waist. "Well I guess that settles that. What does Elicia say?"

Will set aside his reply and picked up the other letter again. "Mom talks about home, Alyse, and how weird things are with everyone gone mostly. Apparently things are pretty tense in Central."

That didn't surprise Ed either. Everyone was on edge with a war going on right here on their home soil. Family and friends were all likely to know someone who was either in the military, or a civilian in the path of the invasion. "Well, tell her we appreciate the news," he commented, then looked around. "So, who's up for dinner? If we don't hit the mess early, the good stuff will be gone."

"I hear you there!" Ethan grinned, moving towards the entrance.

Sara and Franz stood up. "You won't hear us complaining," Sara agreed. "I prefer hot slop to cold slop any day."

"The food's not that bad," Will countered as he tucked the letters into his pocket and joined them.

"You're kidding, right?" Sara asked dubiously. "This stuff makes the Mess at Headquarters taste almost like good home cooking."

"It's nice to know my cooking skills are appreciated," Winry chuckled.

"Always, Mom," Aldon assured her.

"Sara's just never had college food," Ethan replied. "She doesn't understand."

As the chatter continued, the small mob moved out the door and back into the chill evening.

"Hey, Dad," Aldon dropped back beside him. "Can we talk?"

"Sure." Ed let go of Winry with a promise I'll be back soon smile, and dropped behind the group a little with his son. "So, what's up?"

Aldon hesitated a moment, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to say what he clearly did want to. Finally he blurted it out. "How did you do this, Dad? Going off and knowing everyone at home misses you?"

Ed paused, familiar guilt washing over him briefly. "You do what you have to."

"It kills me every time I get a letter from home," Aldon admitted. "Cassie lets the boys write things on the end when she's finished." Ed had seen those parts of the letters Aldon had received from home; Aldon shared the scribbles and drawings proudly. Ian and little Edward weren't really writing yet, but they drew. "I've even taking to writing two letters home," Aldon admitted, looking guilty. "One for Cassie, and then one she can read to the boys."

"There're things kids don't need to know," Ed agreed sympathetically. No child needed to hear the realities of the battlefield; the death and dying and horror. Not at that age if they could avoid it. That, and there were private things no child should hear pass between their parents either! "Or wives for that matter."

"I don't give her the dirty details either," Aldon admitted. "I don't tell her about the soldiers I've met who've already died, or the people I've seen blow up while reinforcing defenses in the middle of a fire fight. I can't tell her how lonely I really feel, though I've told her I miss her. But I feel…wrong…for not telling her everything in my letters."

"Maybe because you can't do it face to face," Ed suggested. "It's always easier in person; in her arms. That's when the truth comes out. It's tough to be as hard as we have to be to survive in a war. You've got to be callous, harsh, sometimes even brutal, but you can't let it get to you until it's all over. Then… well then you can't hold it back anymore. We go back to the rest of the world, to the ones who don't know; the ones we've protected but don't always understand. But they want to, at least to support you. Just make sure you tell her when you get home okay?" Otherwise, he knew Aldon would regret it.

"I will," Aldon replied, and his tired face looked relieved, like at least one weight of many was lightened. "It's an experience, learning all this. I didn't know either; and sometimes I wish I still didn't even though I know coming was the right thing to do. But we're only a couple of months into this, and it'll probably be a lot longer. I'm not sure I can last that long."

"You can," Ed insisted. "Don't even think you can't. You're one of the most ingenious people I know, son or not. Besides, all you have to do to make it through is survive. That's what matters."

"Yeah. I promised them I'd come home alive," he smiled weakly. "Do you know how hard it was to convince Coran he had to stay home?" Aldon shook his head. "I told him if he pulled the same stunt as his Aunt Sara I'd come home and chain him to the house."

"Did he really threaten to try and come along?" Ed asked. He wouldn't have put it past Aldon's eldest. Coran was barely a month shy of thirteen now. Sara had been fourteen when she ran off to the Xing War. But then, she had also been a reasonably well trained alchemist already at that point.

"Until I pointed out he wasn't an alchemist, only qualifies as an apprentice level mechanic, and that I needed him to take care of his Mom and his brothers," Aldon nodded. "It scared the hell out of me to think of him out here, and I hadn't even seen a battle yet." Then he shook himself. "At least he saw sense. I'm not sure the younger boys really understand what's going on."

"And we'll just make sure they don't have to," Ed assured him, though it was with a sad realization that Aldon, like both of his other children, now understood the harsh realities of the world in a new way. Even though this was Ethan's first personal war experience, he'd been home after Aerugo and he'd had his own brush with death. Aldon had been domestically comfortable in Resembool for over a decade. Before that he'd had minor drama in his life at Briggs, but nothing like this. Aldon's eyes had changed like all the rest. "Any word on your friends," he asked then.

Aldon shook his head. "No, not a word about Ollie and Kit. Though you're more likely to hear about specific survivors before I do. I'm just an engineer."

"And this time I'm just an alchemist… technically," Ed pointed out. Retired General or not, he was only in charge of his own alchemist unit. That didn't mean Breda and Kane didn't let him keep his nose in everything else though. "I haven't heard much of anything about the Briggs intelligence. I'll ask though."

"Thanks," Aldon smiled weakly. "Sorry to dump on you with all this."

"Don't apologize," Ed shook his head. "If you need to talk to someone, do it. Otherwise it builds up and eventually you crack, or explode… or both. Then it hurts everyone, including you."

Aldon looked sheepish. "I guess I'm talking to an expert, huh? I feel like I'm listening to my own advice."

"Then all you have to do is remember it," Ed grinned. Aldon had always been his stable, sensible child, with even less of a temper than Winry. He used his mind to approach problems, but logic and reasoning went hand in hand with a good heart. Aldon was usually the one to suggest the best solution first if it came down to it. Ed tossed his arms around his son in a brief hug. "I'm glad you're here, even if I wish none of us were. Still it feels right, somehow, that we do this as a family."

"Saving Amestris," Aldon chuckled, "It's what the Elrics are all about."

May 10th, 1963

Tore was beginning to wonder if the ringing sound of gunfire would ever fade from his ears. His unit had been one of the ones recently sent back into the city to spell some of the other alchemists keeping the Drachmans out. While he knew they weren't currently shooting at the Amestrian army settled down behind the city daily, they didn't seem to be able to resist taking shots at the alchemists inside the city and continuing to try and breach the walls by any means possible. "You'd think they would figure out stone walls don't yield to bullets."

"You want to go down there and tell them to stop wasting lead?" Cal asked with a snort from where he sat hunkered down beside him on top of the city wall's North gate. "It's better than when they throw crude alchemy around and try and take down sections of the wall." That seemed to happen at least once a day; but Tore and most of the other Amestrian alchemists knew how to put a wall back together by now, no matter what their specialty. Fullmetal's training had included a lot of useful tricks apparently. They were things he had taught Tore at one point as well.

"No, I'm not feeling that generous," Tore retorted. "I don't want to give them any good ideas. I don't suppose they're likely to run out of ammunition?"

"I bet they have alchemists transmuting more, if they're good enough," Cal answered. He didn't seem to have a particularly high opinion of the DAs. Not that any of the Amestrians did. The more they fought against them, the less threatening they seemed except for the problem of sheer numbers. Their alchemy might be limited, but that didn't make it dangerous and a pain to deal with.

Tore went back to sketching the transmutation circle against the wall they were sitting on. "Nah. They probably have enough coming down from Drachma to last them a dozen wars. They must breed like mice."

"Not much to do in those frigid winters but screw," Cal chuckled, working on his own circle. The constant rain and wet mist made it necessary to redraw circles far more regularly than Tore liked, but it was still preferable for changing different types of alchemy. The gloves were useful only for an alchemist's personal specialty. The same circle would not work for everything after all.

"When you put it that way, it doesn't sound that bad," Tore laughed. Bored, he pressed his hands to the wall, transmuting two stone figures that were little more than human shaped lumps that stood up taller than the wall, and were really made of little more than plaster and dirt pulled up through the wall itself. Moments later gunfire showered the figures, and they disintegrated back into the pile of dust Tore had used to make figures four times already today. It gave them something to shoot at and him something to do.

"Drink vodka, sleep with women," Cal pondered that. "Yeah, you've got a point. But really, I hate snow and slush, and the girls would almost never be able to walk around in tank-tops or swim suits." He shook his head. "It doesn't seem worth it."

"That's true," Tore sighed. "It's pretty dismal up there. You think we'll get a chance at any of the big alchemists? These guys really don't seem like all that, you know? Not compared to us, or to Tamirov."

Cal shook his head. "I keep forgetting you've met the bastard. Is he worth all the hype?"

Tore shrugged, wincing as a particularly loud canon shot sent a ball over the wall about forty feet to his right. Below them, Kieleigh handled it, sending the thing shooting back over the wall with one of her own alchemical explosions, practically catching the thing in mid-air! "Compared to us? Honestly, I don't think so. I mean, he's mostly a research alchemist. He's the one who turned my uncle into a chimera." He could speak about it more dispassionately now. It had been roughly five years since he found out. "He's twisted and power mad though; like the alchemists Fullmetal and the others talk about fighting and having to deal with a lot more before the Flame overthrew Fuhrer Bradley. If he's got the new government behind him than he's probably got worse stuff planned than these guys."

"Chimeras you think?" Cal speculated as the current volley came to an end. It would be about half an hour before the next round began if the last several days' pattern was any indication. The Drachmans were proving, so far, to be horribly predictable. It wasn't Tore's place to worry about that though. He was sure General Breda was just waiting for a sudden shift.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Tore nodded. "Though he'd have to have started from scratch after we torched his last lab. It's too bad they got some idiot in government willing to fund that stuff. No wonder people used to hate Amestris."

"Would you believe I've never seen a chimera?" Cal commented as he pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket.

"You're lucky," Tore replied, staring out over the city in front of them. Not that he could see much. Several of the buildings nearby were tall enough to block the view in some directions. "Hey, can I bum one?"

"Don't you have your own?" Cal snorted as he lit the cigarette, then shrugged and offered the pack.

"In my rucksack, in the barracks," Tore shrugged, taking one from the offered package and using an alchemical spark to light it instead. His gloves weren't quite Flame's, but they served to get an electrical spark when needed. They used a lot of static. He grinned and stuck the cigarette in his mouth. "Besides, why worry when I can always count on you?"

Cal exhaled, and shook his head. "Don't mistake me for a nice guy."

"Then don't pull a crap line like that," Tore snickered. "You know no one really believes it."

"Oh really?" Cal arched one eyebrow.

"You're too well liked, for some reason," Tore pointed out. "Maybe you don't have a lot of close friends, but women obviously like you, and most guys don't want to kill you even so."

"You have a point," Cal leaned back against the wall. "You know I'm supposed to be the experienced soldier here and you the wet-behind-the-ears rookie."

"What, I can be aware enough to stay alive, but not to notice things about people I spent all my time dodging bullets with," Tore teased? He didn't mind Cal's taunts the way he did a lot of others. They were alike in some ways.

Cal smirked. "So clearly I've taught you too well."

"Think that way if you like." Tore didn't really care, and he knew Cal was still kidding around. It was odd how dull sitting on a wall dodging enemy fire could be after a few days. At least he had someone to spend the time with who didn't drive him nuts.

"What are you two doing up there?" The Emerald Alchemist's voice carried up to the wall.

Tore snapped his fingers and sent a small lightning bolt shooting out of the sky into the enemy on the other side of the wall. "Working!" He edged away from the wall and peered down the other side to where his commanding officer was looking up at them, arms crossed under her chest.

"Nice posture, Emerald!" Cal quipped. He had moved too it seemed.

Fines did not uncross her arms. "More alchemy less chatter, Whitewater."

"All right," Cal leaned back, sticking the cigarette in his mouth and turning back to the wall at hand. The enemy would not be quiet for long.

"Yes Ma'am," Tore replied before joining him. He definitely preferred distance sniping to killing up close and personal. He had fewer nightmares that way. "So, see any DAs? We should pick them off first."

Cal shrugged and poked his head barely up over the edge of the wall. "Not yet. At least they're foolish enough to run around with those bright red hats." So far, all of the Drachman Alchemists had been in bright red hats, as opposed to the black of the rest of the Drachman army.

Tore was grateful that State Alchemists wore regular military uniforms. They, at least, weren't obvious targets until they starting flinging around the forces of nature! "Yeah, they make real pretty targets. Let's teach them what a mistake that fashion statement is."

Author's Note: Hello all! I hope you enjoyed the holidays. :)

A little forewarning. I am going back to Graduate School starting next week to finish my Masters in Creative Writing. It's been over four years and I'm very excited. :) I am also applying for jobs, and have interviews for two; one half-time, one full-time. What all this means, is that my life is about to get much busier.

For the immediate future, this makes little difference in my story. I have a nice buffer of chapters for posting right now. However, this also means that my writing and editing time is about to get cut drastically. So I am contemplating going back to one a week posting at some point in order to avoid every reaching a point where I cannot post consistently on the stories every week.

However, before I do that, I would appreciate commentary (from anyone who wants to) via Private Message as to if people will mind once-a-week posting. I started posting only once a week back over a year and a half ago, and then jumped to three times a week with Story 24: Alchemists and Generals. I had lots of free time then! I very much appreciate every one of you who reads my stories, and I want to take your preferences and feelings into consideration before making a decision on changing my posting schedule.

For anyone else whose winter is as unusually bitter and cold as mine... stay warm!