July 21st, 1963
It was the longest night Cal could remember in a long time. He was aware of little else for quite some time, but he knew when Lilah came in to check on him that Tore had gone back to the others. He didn't have to leave his mother's side tonight, though he knew he might have to tomorrow. So he stayed, playing the pitiful too-late role of dutiful son.
His mother woke once more an hour or so later, and they actually talked. Mostly about what life in Central would be like, though Cal winced as her mind often drifted to days he still cared to forget; but she still seemed to remember with some fondness. Then, as always, she asked him the question he had come to expect; were there any special girls in his life? Was he taken care of? Happy? Would there be grandchildren in the foreseeable future?
Cal couldn't bear to tell his mother the full truth, but lying seemed wrong. "Yeah," he smiled weakly. "There is a girl."
His mother's eyes lit up briefly. "Tell me about her."
Wishing he had a picture, Cal found himself telling his mother all about Alyse Elric. Not that they had ever dated before and the reason for the breakup – that he could never admit to his mother of all people! – But their friendship, and how sweet she was, how well mannered and talented and responsible; her job coordinating events for the military and weddings. It was just easier to talk about Alyse than to try and lie, or to talk about more painful subjects.
"She sounds like just what you need," his mother chuckled tiredly when he ran out of words. "You should keep that one, dear."
"If she'd have me," Cal sighed, smiling weakly for her sake.
"A word…of advice," his mother smiled back. "No woman… puts that much effort… into a man she doesn't want."
"I'm not so sure about that," Cal replied, trying to avoid the awkward feeling in his stomach at having this conversation with his mother. He loved her, but they had never talked so frankly about anything.
"I am," she replied more seriously. "Just make sure to use your head."
"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.
"Love comes from the heart, but…so does fear," she replied calmly. "Everyone… makes mistakes in love, but don't let… fear of heartache…. keep you from choosing to love."
"Rest, Mom," Cal patted her hand gently. "Save your strength." She was dying, but he wanted her for as long as he could have her.
For one of the few times in his life, she looked crossly at him. "Don't interrupt. I haven't… been able to do much… for you. This is important."
"Sorry." Cal quieted.
His mother smiled. "Finally you listen. So listen on something big. Love is a risk, but one worth taking."
"How can you say that?" Cal blurted. "After what Dad did to you? After what he did to me?"
"He had faults," she nodded without argument. "But he did love you. He just wasn't always good at knowing how to be a father. He…was an impatient man, and often insecure."
The last thing Cal wanted to do was talk about his father. "Insecure?" He snorted.
"He was shy once," his mother smiled softly. "And kind too, in his way. His life wasn't easy either. I'm just sorry you couldn't have… seen the man I married." Her eyes fluttered closed a moment.
"Yeah… me too." If his father had loved him, Cal still had trouble seeing it. They had clashed loudly and often. "I love you, Mom."
"I love you, too," she replied as she drifted back to sleep.
Sometime around one in the morning, Violet Fischer passed from the world in quiet dignity. Cal left her only when he was sure she had breathed her last breath – over an hour later. It was a long, sleepless night, though he dozed fitfully on the couch Lilah had provided. He was glad she offered no physical solace other than a drink. It would have seemed wrong to seek comfort in a random fling with an old acquaintance with his mother's recently deceased body lying in the same building.
It was barely dawn when there was a knocking on the door. Bleary-eyed, Cal got up and opened it himself.
It was Tore. "Hey, Whitewater," he offered a sympathetic smile. "Sorry to wake you early. Fullmetal wants us ready to go in the next hour. They're serving breakfast at the inn."
So much for any kind of rest. "I'll be there." Cal promised then closed the door.
"Leaving already?" Lilah was standing behind him when he turned around, looking rumpled herself, in nothing but one of her long flannel shirts and a pair of shorts that might as well have been underwear. It was a good look. On another day, he'd have been tempted.
Cal nodded. "Yeah. I bet we're either heading further in or starting back to report to the rest of the army." They might have found out something else he didn't know, or Fullmetal and Emerald might have come up with a plan during the night. "Thanks…for last night, and for taking care of my mom."
"You're welcome," Lilah smiled. "She was always nice to me and Cassidy, especially after my folks died, and then after Cassidy's… injury."
"I hate to ask a favor," Cal added, honestly feeling guilty. "But could you…you know, make sure she's buried someplace nice? At least, where no one will bother her?" He wished he could stay to see to a proper funeral. Just one more things the Drachmans would answer for later.
"I will," Lilah promised. "I'm glad you showed up when you did."
"Yeah, me too." He took his leave then, pulling on his boots. The others could live with the rumpled clothing. None of them were foolish enough to be running around in uniform out here.
The other alchemists were already gathered in the dining room at the inn, as Tore had told him, munching their way through a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, eggs, bacon, toast, and plenty of strong coffee.
Cal took a piece of toast, some bacon, and coffee, and sat down at the end of the table.
Lyssandra Fines gave him a concerned look. "Are you hung-over, Whitewater?"
"With all due respect, not enough," Cal replied without a smirk. Two beers – all Lilah had to offer – were hardly enough to get him drunk. He still felt like shit this morning. Cal gave no further explanation. He really didn't want to talk about it right now. "So, what's the situation?"
"We're heading back south," Fullmetal informed him. From the lack of attention the others gave, Cal assumed this was already common knowledge. "From all reports there's a bridge up here a few miles ahead that's the only way across one of the rivers for nearly fifty miles unless you want to wade rapids and climb fifteen foot rock walls. It's the perfect place to push them back and cut them off if we can manage it. I called North City command late last night and talked to General Breda. That's the goal and our orders are to head back to Tivoli and prepare for a hard-push to get the Drachmans to retreat faster before they can get reinforcements enough to push back."
A sound enough plan; Cal nodded and sipped his coffee. It was black, thick, and powerful. Even so, he only felt slightly more alert this morning. His mother; his only remaining family of any kind – though also his only tie to Koldspur in any way – was gone. "Sounds good," he replied. "Let's get started."
July 27th, 1963
The feeling of safety and invulnerability within the city walls of North City ended with a shattering abruptness as a flying projectile slammed into the top level of the building which Breda had staked out as his command center near the walls, shaking it from the top level down and sending bricks raining down to the ground just outside the front door.
In the bottom-floor command room, Breda cursed as everything shook and the lights flickered. "What the hell was that?"
Franz Heimler grimaced. "It sounded like canon, Sir."
"That's what I thought." Breda growled as the building shook again. Lucky shots? "How the hell is it getting inside the walls?" He turned and headed for the door. "I want to know what's going on here!" He bellowed, irritated.
He was half-way down the hall when a frantic aide came running up, skidded to a halt, and saluted sharply when he almost ran right into him. "General Breda! The Sky Fire Alchemist requests your presence, Sir! The Drachmans have tanks, Sir."
"Of course they have tanks," Breda sighed. "They always have tanks, Lieutenant."
"These are the… the Briggs tanks, Sir." The young man tried manfully not to stammer.
Briggs…. Shit. Breda shoved past the Lieutenant without waiting. He heard footsteps behind him as people scrambled to keep up. Despite himself, he could move quickly when he had to.
Breda emerged into the odd sunny day just in time to dodge falling rubble. "This is unacceptable," he grumbled as he hurried towards the walls. He saw Marcus Kane on top of the wall and hefted up the stairs to join him, painting slightly at the top. "What the hell is going on here, Kane?"
Sky Fire sighed and gestured over the walls, offering Breda a set of binoculars. "The Drachmans have apparently figured out where the range is for those babies."
Looking through the binoculars, Breda could see just what had been reported, and what he really didn't want to. Briggs had been a center for military weapons development for decades; experimental stuff, cold-weather, all sorts of things. That was part of where their engineering reputation came from. The tanks lined up within the
Drachman line were definitely Amestrian in manufacture, and not old; they were Briggs' newest designs. Their range was a good bit longer than their predecessors.
"Nice expletives, Sir," Kane commented when Breda was done cursing at the tanks in the distance. "What do you want us to do about them?"
"Take them out," Breda sighed. They could have used those things. "If you can manage to reclaim them, fantastic. If not, destroy them. Better they're gone than in enemy hands. Keep an eye out for any other new technology Briggs might have been developing that could show up down here. I'll ask HQ for a report of just what we might be facing." I'm not slipping, damn it. I did think about this. That's why we've got the alchemists out here. "Take a couple of units, come up with a plan of attack, and get it done."
"Yes, Sir," Kane replied as Breda turned to go. "Where should I find you when we're ready?"
"Moving the Command Center further back from the walls," Breda grumbled. "I don't like having my office come down around my ears while I'm trying to work."
"Wise decision," Kane chuckled.
Breda smirked in reply. "Yeah, I'm known to make those occasionally."
July 28th, 1963
It didn't take long to work out a plan to take out the Drachman-appropriated tanks. The best option was to try and take them at night, while they only had guards, instead of during the day while they were operational. The plan was to break in, take control of the tanks, and bring in a few tank-drivers to steer them back over to the Amestrian side of the line. If they could do it without alerting half of the Drachman army, so much the better.
Maes Mustang was looking forward to the mission. It was Kane's unit and one of the others going in, and while Maes had been back on duty for over a month, their unit hadn't seen any front-line action in that time. Mostly they had worked from the back. He was itching to do something more proactive and in-their-face to the Drachmans. This would be a major blow if they could reclaim the technology the Drachmans had gleaned from Fort Briggs.
They slipped out of the city in the dead of night. For once the sky was cloudless, giving them stars to see by and a slip of a moon.
"It almost makes me feel exposed," Sara whispered as they slunk through the darkness. "Clouds would be better tonight."
"Makes it easy to see the tanks," Maes argued. They were visible in the distance; metal gleaming dully.
They fell quiet as they moved and began to spread out. Only practice bore them silently enough to get them past the lines and towards the parked tanks. All along the line Maes knew the other alchemists were doing the same in pairs. Will Elric and Derrick Tringham were a team, and Kane had teamed off with a spare from the other unit. Each team had a trained tank-driver with them; five teams for five tanks.
Sara and Maes had the tank on the far left of the line, to the West. Their driver, a Sergeant Milner, followed with surprising stealth. Maes sometimes forgot that regular soldiers were often just as well trained for missions like this, only without the alchemy. The driver did have a pistol on him however.
The plan was simple. Sneak in, remove any guards, get the gunner into the tank, and keep the tank covered long enough for it to get moving, then get out of there. Once the tank got moving no one was likely to be able to stop it.
Not that Maes expected it to be that simple. The moment they engaged anyone it would be more complicated, and it would be only a matter of time before they were found out. If the other attacks went off before theirs, than people would be looking for them. Timing was important.
When they arrived, it was about what they had expected. There were two guards on the tank, one on each side, though one was leaning against it looking bored, and the other seemed to be focused on the sky as he smoked a cigarette. This might not be too difficult after all.
Maes looked to Sara, who gave a nod. They would proceed as planned. They split then, moving around to either side - leaving the tank driver ready to run for the tank as soon as both guards were occupied. Maes moved to the east until he was forty-five degrees from his previous location, and Sara should be just opposite him, out of sight behind the side of the tank. It was tricky. There were soldiers camped less than fifty yards away, and the occasional pebble shifted beneath his feet as he stayed low, trying not to rustle any of the low brush.
Maes had the first move. He looked at his target – the stargazing smoker – and grinned. He knew just what to do with this one. He snapped his fingers and shoved lightly, and a moment later a spark shot across the space and hit the man's cigarette, sending it up like a small pop-bomb for holidays.
With a startled shout, the man leapt backwards, slamming into the side of the tank as he flung his cigarette from his face! His eyebrows were rather badly singed.
On the other side the other Drachman called out in concern, then was cut off as a strong wind whipped up and he slammed into the other side of the tank.
Just then something behind him – in the distance – exploded, and the light of flames flickered against the metal tank in front of him.
Time to move! Maes leapt to his feet and sprinted forward; snapping again and sending a gout of flame towards the guard, who shouted and fired wildly. He missed Maes by several feet, and then grimaced as Maes slammed into him, bringing his elbow into the guy's midsection and spinning him until he smashed his face into the tank.
He heard a scuffle on the other side and a male grunt, and a female growl, then another gunshot.
Footsteps behind him had him spinning, ready to flame again when he realized it was the driver, looking grim as he scrambled up towards the top of the tank. "Let's get this baby out of here," he popped the hatch and vanished inside.
Maes' Drachman was unconscious and bleeding from his nose; black runners in the darkness. He dropped him to the side and hurried around the tank. "Sara, are you all right?" He skidded to a halt when he saw her standing up, the Drachman on the ground, dead. Sara held his rifle. She was bleeding slightly from a cut to the face.
"Bastard smacked me with it," she grimaced.
"Bet he's sorry," Maes smirked as the tank roared to life. Down the line, he heard others doing the same. "Looks like we're in the clear."
"Don't say that bef-ah!" Sara grimaced and stumbled at the same time Maes heard a gunshot ring out. He stepped forward and caught her as he saw someone running from the camp. Several someones. Another bullet whizzed by.
"Sara! Are you all right?" Maes held her up by the shoulders.
"I'm…fine," she hissed, her right hand going to her left shoulder. "Just winged me. Stings like hell. Let's go!" She moved past him and scrambled onto the outside of the tank, crouching where she could get a hold.
Maes leapt on as it started moving. Or at least, that was his intention until his boot slipped and he stumbled backwards. "Damn it!" He scrambled up, but the tank was moving away. He went to run after it but bullets winging through the air around him were a more immediate problem. Maes spun and sent a huge spout of flame sizzling across the line of quickly approaching Drachmans. The ground between them went up in a four foot wall of fire that had most of them skidding to a halt. Two tripped and fell in. Maes grimaced, and turned away before he had to watch them burn to death. There was shouting now. Further down the line he could see two of the tanks, both moving.
Spinning, he went to catch up with his, and cursed aloud when he realized it hadn't advanced far. There were soldiers coming at it from the line? Damn it! Apparently they had crept right past sleeping soldiers, bunked down out on the line. Stupid guards. They'd have been easier to spot if they hadn't fallen asleep on the job. Well, it would cost them!
Maes charged, sending fire shooting out again as three of them swarmed the tank. It was metal, it could handle anything he threw at it undamaged. It – Sara! Maes jerked back, re-angling his attack at the very last second, and slipped on a damp rocky patch. He felt his ankle give as he went down, heard fire roaring, shouting. Shit shit shit shit….. Plenty of much more colorful expletives poured through his head as he rolled, forcing himself to stagger to his feet, stand on his throbbing ankle. The shooting was starting again. People were awake and coming.
Maes staggered forward, noting that the tank was moving again, and Sara still seemed to be clinging to the side. Maes hobbled into a jog and kept moving. There were several burning Drachmans writhing on the ground or already dead. He moved past them without looking. I hope Sara's all right, he thought as he hurried as best he could. If I hurt her Franz won't have to kill me. I'll never forgive myself.
"It's a pretty bad sprain," Ethan commented as he started binding Maes' ankle. He yawned, but forced himself to ignore the late hour. He had been about to get off shift when the chaos started, and stayed to help tend any injured alchemists; and because he knew he wouldn't sleep until he knew if Sara and Will made it through okay; and everyone else of course. "I want you off it for a day, then on crutches for another couple of weeks."
"You've got to be kidding me," Maes growled, though it was half-hearted. He kept glancing over at the next bed, where Sara sat stripped to her under-shirt, her left shoulder bandaged for the graze-wound Ethan had already treated. Her right shoulder looked like it had second-degree sun burns. Ethan had cleaned it with disinfectant.
"Not in the slightest," Ethan replied unapologetically. "Just be glad you weren't shot again."
"Yeah… I know," Maes sighed, holding still as Ethan wrapped his ankle tightly. "Thanks."
"No problem." Ethan wasn't bothered by unhappy patients. No one was happy when they hurt.
"Watch your aim next time," Sara groused.
"I tripped," Maes replied, though he sounded guiltily apologetic. "I said I'm sorry."
"I know," Sara replied. "I'm glad you hit them and not me. Believe me."
"Thank goodness for that," Kane commented. He had been scowling since he came in, and Ethan suspected it had to do with the number of injuries involved in the mission, and the total outcome. Kane himself was uninjured, as was his partner. Will and Derrick had come out with only minor bruises. Both teams had recovered their tanks. But the two on the end of the line, one tank had actually been blown up by the Drachmans – with the Amestrian driver inside – and both alchemists killed. The other had been rendered immobile and the alchemists and driver had barely escaped with their lives and were in critical condition. Three tanks at the loss of two men, and two more critically injured. Ethan and another doctor had seen to them first. Which was part of why Ethan felt like he was drooping now; it had taken a large alchemical boost to stabilize one of the injured and keep him from joining the rolls of the dead.
"I can't believe we missed those other Drachmans," Maes commented glumly.
"It almost got you both killed," Kane replied. Ethan didn't say anything about how harsh the Brigadier General was treating the others. It wasn't his place, and he wasn't a member of the military. "There was a firefight going once you guys got off that field, and I don't mean just with guns. You almost lit half the battlefield on fire, Mustang!"
Maes cringed visible. "I'm sorry, Sir."
"Sorry doesn't cut it," Kane barked. "We knew this wasn't going to stay a quiet mission, but slinging fire around like that and then not keeping control of it? Our own soldiers are out there in those fields too. That's the sloppiest work I've ever seen out of you. We can't afford slip ups like this."
"Yes, Sir."
Kane did not look particularly mollified, but he nodded sharply. "Rest up. We'll see what I do with you when you're healed. I've half a mind to ship you back to Central with the other wounded."
Ethan looked up in time to see a brief flash of panic on Maes' face before it turned to anger. "No, Sir! It won't happen again."
"No, it won't." Kane turned, tight-lipped, and strode out of the room.
"Don't worry," Will commented, coming over and resting a hand on Maes' shoulder when Kane had gone. "He's just worried about everyone."
"I know," Maes replied curtly, looking down at Ethan as he finished with his ankle.
Ethan looked at his cousin, who was tired but otherwise fine. "Will, you and Derrick can go. You're fine."
"Thanks doc," Will snickered. "I'm gonna go crash hard. Don't try to wake me in the morning."
"What about me?" Sara asked as Will also left, leaving the three of them alone in the room.
"I'd like you to stay," Ethan admitted apologetically. "I don't want that burn to get infected, but it should stay open to the air a while longer. Where's Franz?" He realized that his brother-in-law was nowhere to be found.
"Still with Breda," Sara sighed. "They're dealing with command in getting that mess outside the gates dealt with. Damn it, I can't believe we messed up that badly."
"It wasn't your fault," Maes interrupted. "You did everything right. It was mine."
Sara smiled. "Gallant, Firebrand, but uncalled for. We both missed the others we passed. You just set everything on fire."
"I almost torched you." Maes replied as he braced himself and started to stand. "We both nearly died before we got out of there. Hey, can I have those crutches?" He looked at Ethan expectantly.
Of course Maes wasn't going to be the easy patient. "You should stay here tonight," Ethan replied. "Or have you already forgotten what I said about staying off that foot for a day?"
"Can't I choose where I do it?" Maes grumbled.
"No, I think not." Ethan waited with a knowing look until Maes sat down again, giving up. "That's better. Get some rest." Then he turned back to Sara. "You want your own room? The one next to this one's available."
"Yes please!" Sara stood up and followed him as they left what was temporarily Maes' room. "Keep an eye on him okay?"
"Well yeah, that's kind of my job," Ethan smiled, though he noticed that Sara looked concerned. "Don't worry. I'm not going to let him go do anything stupid."
Sara looked momentarily embarrassed, then relieved. "I'm just worried about him. He was so eager to get back into it after his first injury. Now, he's almost desperate for action."
"I saw that," Ethan admitted. He'd known Maes Mustang his whole life; though he was Sara's friend and several years older than him. He seemed to have a desperate need to prove himself; to demonstrate his abilities and be useful. Not bad things, until he took into account the desperation. "No, I won't let him go for a couple of days. Maybe he'll calm down by then. But I can't hold him indefinitely."
"I know," Sara nodded, following him into the next room and sitting down, placing the rest of her uniform on the chair beside the small bed. "I'm just worried that he's got some idea of proving himself a hero, you know, to make up for things everyone else has already forgiven him for." She sighed and reached back before she winced in pain. "Could you undo my braid?" She looked sheepish.
"Sure," Ethan chuckled, coming around and starting to undo his sisters long braided tail of hair since both of her shoulders were too injured for her to do so. Sara had the only hair in the family longer than his and Dad's now, though Mom's was awfully close. "Is Maes still stuck on that? It happened years ago."
"I don't think it's that by itself," Sara admitted. "We see them both fairly often. Trisha and little Roy are best friends and hang out all the time the way Maes and I used to. He's just… he's changed. I don't really know how to explain it, but he's even more afraid to lose or mess up than he ever was as a kid. I think he thinks that doing something noteworthy will help bring some of that back, or bring back some of the spark he used to have with Elena, or… oh I don't know."
"I get it," Ethan replied calmingly as Sara's hair came loose and tumbled free. He understood all right, and it bothered him. "So if you know this, why does Kane treat him the way he does?"
"This is the military," Sara replied flatly. "Every soldier, alchemist or not, has to be able to handle the job or they don't belong here. Every soldier gets dressed down for their transgressions. Kane's doing his job. We're not at home. We're not all friends hanging out around the grill. It's life or death and any screw-up, however small, can mean death. He barked at me too."
This was true. "You don't seem too upset about it."
"No reason to be," Sara shrugged slightly, then winced and turned to look at him. "It's like I told Maes, we both should have seen those soldiers. So should Sergeant Milner. We didn't."
"Sara?" A voice, trying to be quiet but failing, came from outside the room in the empty building that had been appropriated as the military hospital.
Ethan stepped to the door and peered out, waving at Franz. "In here."
Worried and frazzled, his brother-in-law hurried down the hallway with long strides, and brushed right past him, going to Sara and kissing her gently, careful not to hug her on her injuries. "Are you okay? I passed Brigadier General Kane in the hall."
"I'll be fine," Sara assured him softly.
That, Ethan decided, was his cue to exit. He had a couple more things to do before he could sleep, and he wanted to get them done quickly. I'm trying to keep my promise, Lia. Really. I'll sleep tonight… eventually.