November 12th, 1963

All was not quiet on the western front. Warzones were harsh, unyielding places, and this one proved to be no different. Though Edward knew full well that it was the same north of North City and out to the east as well. Months since the Drachmans brought out their next round of alchemical weapons – chimeras. They had shown up around North City first, but when Ed had returned from his all-too-brief leave to the west he had discovered that they were there too; reports put them in the east as well. The biggest, strongest of them so far were a breed of wolf-polar bear crosses that were massive, blood thirsty, and had thick layers of muscle and fat that made them hard to take down.

The battles had been rough; a lot of back and forth on some fronts, often over small towns or the same hundred yards of ground. As the Drachmans kept sending soldiers, the amount of progress the Amestrians made slowed.

For a while, the Amestrians had made a valiant push and made progress, but the Drachmans had dug themselves in again as the weather grew colder, and they were clearly more at home in the frigid icy rains that returned when fall set in, and the snow that came by late October. It made fighting against chimeras and the remaining Drachman Alchemists that much more complicated. The Drachmans had finally reinforced their alchemists as well; and the newer additions seemed to be better trained and have more tricks; though that might mean three or four instead of one or two. They also knew how to make use of the wind and snow to their advantage.

The weather was what Ed hated most. Cold, wet, it made his ports ache constantly; sometimes nagging, sometimes a sharp pain that left him nauseated. He was used to it happening occasionally when he elsewhere, but up here in the northern part of the country it was an unpleasant constant. Not that he griped about it. What good would it do?

So he didn't think much of it as he briefly doubled over outside his tent on the way to breakfast and vomited into the snow. He straightened up, pulled his thick white wool coat – the ones everyone was issued - back up around his neck, jammed his hands in his pockets and turned to go.

"You all right, Ed?" It was Fletcher, clearly heading in the same direction. "You're not getting sick on us are you?"

Ed shook his head and shrugged. "Nah. Don't worry about it. It's just one of the perks of having auto-mail in this beautiful rugged climate."

Fletcher chuckled slightly at the sarcasm. "Nasty you mean. I miss Xenotime. I mean, we had mountains, but it was practically a desert."

Warmth; that sounded so good. Ed wondered if he would ever remember what warmth really felt like. Or comfort. He hadn't seen Winry since August. The fighting had gotten too fierce and leave in October had been cancelled. The Drachmans were targeting Amestrian alchemists now with more accuracy too. The death tolls among them were going up, and with each report Ed's resolve steeled further. The Drachmans were dead. If they wouldn't go home, Amestris might just have to kill every one of them. It was not an appealing thought, but it was less atrocious than it had seemed when the fighting started. "I'd take a warm bed with Winry," he commented as he kept moving, refusing to limp or look uncomfortable. He'd warm up a little bit and it wouldn't be as bad until he had to sleep again, or hold still in the wet, slushy trenches for hours at a time. It had come to that finally; fully entrenched warfare.

"I'd take Elisa over the desert," Fletcher agreed, his hands stuffed firmly in his pockets. "But I miss the heat! I haven't been this cold since I got married."
"No travel?" Ed asked.

Fletcher chuckled. "More cooking. Though what I wouldn't give for one of her hot cherry pies. Maybe I wouldn't be as cold."

"Maybe, but it might slow you down," Ed grinned back. "Not that I'd object to pie right now either." They served hot meals out of the mess tents, but they were nothing now but military rations. It was a good day if they had salt and pepper, heated evenly, and didn't taste like sawdust. Pies, stews, a real roast dripping with juices and stuffed with fruit. It made Ed want to drool just thinking about it. He didn't though; his chin would freeze.

There wasn't a man walking around the place lately who didn't have a couple of days worth of growth on his face; maybe a week. Shaving meant a cold, wet chin, and there were already enough colds going around the camps that no one really felt like adding to their chances. Ed was just grateful he hadn't caught cold yet. On top of his ports that would just suck.

"I guess we'll have to do with the usual," Fletcher sighed as they got into the long line already waiting for morning oatmeal. They were lucky that the line wound around the inside of the mess walls. "At least they've got syrup to put in it."

"Didn't you hear?" One of the soldiers ahead of them turned around. "They ran out of syrup end of yesterday."

So much for a breakfast that tasted like something more than basic nutritional sustenance. "I hope they have better food elsewhere than we do," Ed sighed as he settled in for the long wait. His stomach growled in protest and he swallowed as he felt another mild wave of nausea.

"They have better access to supplies," Fletcher pointed out reasonably, "At least for the troops above North City." They had pushed several days march – a couple by car – past the walls by now, and North City was considered out of immediate danger. "I bet they've got plenty of good things to eat."

Ed tried to tune out Fletcher's litany of tasty treats that they might have. All it made him was hungrier. Instead, his mind turned to the people in those places. How were they doing? What were they up to other than fighting for their country or tending the wounded?

November 13th, 1963

"I thought the old adage was starve a cold, General Breda."

Breda – mouth half open – turned and looked at the smug young doctor who had just entered his office. He took a bite of the glazed donut he was holding before he smiled. "If I starve any more, all I'll do is get colder." He had forgotten, coming north, that he hadn't been up so far into the cold climate in years; and just how much heavier he had been then. Even now he could see the smaller or leaner folks looking frozen as they made their way to and from the battlefront. "Besides, there are no dieters in a fox hole."

"I believe that saying is atheists," Ethan Elric laughed as he came over to the desk and looked down at the box of pastries. "Where'd you get them?"

"There's a bakery a couple of blocks away," Breda grinned. "Reopened the other day and it's been really popular with the soldiers. Someone brought up a box."

"Don't mind if I have one then do you?" Ethan grinned as he snagged a large cinnamon bun and took a bite. "Mmmm…these are fresh!"

Breda smirked, then paused to blow his nose. He hated colds; his nose always felt stuffed and his head heavy. "What happened to healthy eating, doctor?"

Ethan's returning smirk was the spitting image of his father's. "Hey, I'm not on a diet. In fact, if I go home any lighter my wife will probably kill me."

Breda could only wish he had that problem. "So did you come here to steal my treat and harass me or did you have legitimate business?"

"I'm a doctor and a family friend; I'd say that's legitimate business wouldn't you?" Ethan chuckled. "Checking in on the people who aren't stuck in the hospital is part of my job too. Besides, subsisting on pastries and coffee isn't good for anyone."

"In other words, all of the above, I get you," Breda snickered.

"These things are fattening," Ethan pointed out unnecessarily as he finished one and snagged a second.

"It's called insulation," Breda replied. "Something you clearly don't understand."

"Not for lack of trying," Ethan quipped. The man really was just like his father that way. Still smiling away as he munched on the cinnamon bun. "Seriously, I just thought I'd check in on a few people on my off time."

"And I'm at the top of the list?" Breda asked. Given the hour if it was his time off he'd be sleeping in!

"Per my orders," Ethan nodded. "Not just because we need you alive to run this operation, but because of a personal request."

A personal… Nancy had asked Ethan to keep an eye on him? Or had she just asked that he be kept an eye on in general? Or was it even his wife? It could have been Charisa, who had started University in Pylos in Creta – far from this mess – at his insistence despite her objections that she should be in Amestris right now. Fortunately his last letter from her said that she was doing all right, making good grades, and had been full of questions about his health. "Do I get to know who it was from?"

Ethan shook his head. "Nope. Though you can probably guess that there was more than one. You know if you want better food there's some to be had now. Don't make me pull rank and take away the treats," he winked.

"Pull rank?" Breda snorted. "How so?"

Ethan continued to look amused. "Simple, I'm a civilian, a doctor, and the doctor assigned to you while we're out here. I don't actually have to take any orders you give, but what I say in regards to your health will have a direct effect on your life and on your command."

He… had a point. Breda shook his head. "Clever, but too true. I should be grateful you've followed orders so far."

"They all made sense," Ethan replied. "So I'm going to give you a little advice, and no I'm not divulging which sources I glean information from, but you need to get more sleep, get out of this office more, and drink more water and less coffee."

Sources indeed; Breda would have called them Falman, Feury, and Heimler. As if they had room to talk! Breda shook his head, but chuckled. "Tell your informants they'd make lousy field intelligence officers; they're utterly transparent."

"And here my wife was complaining how opaque I can be," Franz Heimler chuckled as he came into the office with a sheaf of papers. "New reports from the front, Sir." He handed them over. "President Rehnquist's office called. They'd like a report before this afternoon's Assembly meeting."

Breda picked up the papers and started shifting through them. "Anything else?"

"Yes sir," Heimler nodded. "They wanted to inform you that Creta has successfully voted to send troops to our aid on the western border and that they should arrive within the month."

"Now that's the best news I've had in days," Breda grinned, then rocked as he sneezed hard. He reached for another tissue.

Ethan was looking at him. "I'll have someone locate you some orange juice, hot herbal teas, and we'll see about finding you something to eat other than deep-fried sugar."

Orange juice and hot tea actually sounded good about now, though Breda was still disgruntled about the pastries! They were one of the few things lately he liked! "Thanks," he replied with some honest gratitude. "Despite your blatant stealing of military provisions, I do appreciate the offer."

Ethan nodded as he headed for the door. "Anytime, General. Just ask."

Breda shook his head as he watched Ed's son leave the room, followed a moment later by Heimler. Like he was going to ask Ethan to keep pestering him! Laughable really, though… he might take him up more often if it meant something to drink other than pitch-tar coffee and water. At least it was nice to know someone up here still cared about more than whether or not a person had a hole in them. Oddly enough, that lifted his mood as he went back to his paperwork. He reached out to the box for another pastry and stopped cold. Damned kid, he took the last one!

November 15th, 1963

It was easier to kill in a snowstorm, Al thought between alchemical attacks. The lack of visibility, the howl of the wind, and the biting cold made for a detachment from the targets themselves. It was tougher because he couldn't necessarily see his opponent before they attacked; but the chimeras they seemed to be fighting more than anything else lately on the edges of their firing lines were vicious, used to snow, and not something Al felt any compunction against putting out of their misery. He understood – perhaps ironically now – how putting them to death was perhaps an act of kindness.

Somehow, he was also warmer when he fought in the snowstorm. It had something, Al supposed, to do with the fact that bundled up warm in the cold-weather military gear and pumping that much alchemical energy, he ended up so warm he was often sweating by the end, but the sweat wasn't against his body, whisked away by the wool, so he was just warm and dry.

It felt good not to feel guilt about attacking his opponents, and more often than not killing them. He still had issues with killing people, but out of necessity, he found he was getting used to it. The Drachmans wouldn't stop, rarely retreated on their front unless pushed mercilessly. So Al, and the other alchemists, fought with everything they had; sometimes at distance, and sometimes up close and personal.

Like now, as the wolverine-and-eagle chimera diving towards his head met a bitter end as Al sent it flying sideways into the mountainside with a cruel swirl of wind that pounded it flat, then he ducked and dodged claws that came out of nowhere. The attack had come during the storm because no one could see to shoot. The chimeras roaring practically into camp had not caused the panic Al suspect the Drachmans had hoped for; instead the alchemists were on them within a minute.

"Look out!" Felix Tringham called out, and a bright flash temporarily blinded him, but also the chimera that came charging out of the snow; another one of the bear/wolf combinations. Al shoved it backwards with the same whirlwind and saw the bear die as something caused its side to explode, spurting red and internal organs into the snow as it toppled, screaming in pain.

Al dodged out of the way, barely avoiding slipping on a patch of ice in the rapidly deepening snow. It was hard to see what was under his feet too.

To his right Al heard the sound of a human scream this time; an alchemist almost certainly. The soldiers had been ordered to retreat and let the alchemists deal with the chimeras. Guns were no good in this weather; not in the kind of brawl this was turning out to be. It would be too easy to shoot friend instead of foe.

There was already too much blood on the snow; whether it was human or chimera it was impossible to tell. Al could only hope more of it was the blood of the chimeras than any of the people fighting alongside him, though he knew when this was done they would face the dismal reality of losses. He'd already leapt over one human body in the snow.

Make that two, he grimaced as he stumbled, saw a face stuck in an expression of terror, and kept moving. He ran into another chimera moments later and this time dropped to avoid it's swing at his head and punched it straight through with a rod of rock straight up from the ground.

Something slammed into his shoulder and Al spun even as he fell and rolled, hands to the ground once more. Above him something large and white growled, bled, and died. That had been a close one! It took Al a moment to scramble out from under the hot, dripping carcass and stand. Damn I'm going to need to clean this coat. Fortunately alchemy, Alyse had shown him years ago, was excellent for stain removal from white laundry.

It took him a moment to realize the chaos had quieted, and the shouting around him now was more people checking to see who was alive. Al got his bearings and headed for the largest knot of voices. It soon resolved itself into Roy Mustang, Alex Armstrong, the two Tringhams, and a couple of others. More than one was bleeding. "Are they all dead?"

Faces turned to look at him, relief evident. Roy nodded. "Dead or fled. A couple of them were smart enough to try and return to their masters." His expression was grim however.

Around them, Al could hear the regular soldiers starting to set things right even in the near white-out conditions. He shivered, and wished he had something to blow his nose on. "How many did we lose?"

"Fifteen soldiers, and four alchemists," Armstrong answered. "Reskel, Oaks, Fell, and Vyrkos."

Al cringed and understood the pain. Oaks had been one of Al's men, Fell Roy's, and the other two had both been in Armstrong's unit. They were all good alchemists and men. They would be missed. "Everyone else all right?"

"A couple of nasty wounds, but mostly just surface. Are you all right?" Riza looked at him with that expression that brooked no arguments or hedging.

Al smiled grimly. "I'm all right. I think I'm in for a huge bruise on my shoulder, but no other injuries." Bumps, bruises, maybe a cut though he didn't think so; he just hurt from getting slammed around and the cold seeping into him now even with the layers. "What's the damage on the camp?"

"A few tents lost," Hal Brewster commented as he appeared out of the falling snow, his muffled footprints barely audible above the sounds of people already driving tent-stakes and reassembling the destruction. "But I think we'll be able to repair and make due. It will take a while for a requisition to make it up here in this weather, though I'll put it in to command immediately."

"Looks like a few folks will be getting cozy," Russell commented with a sigh. "Come on; let's get patched up and into something warm!"

"Yes please," Al agreed, turning and heading with the others back towards where the alchemists' tents still, fortunately, stood. Though a couple were leaning badly.

"We'll see about that," Brewster sighed. "They tramped a lot."

Al snickered as he pulled his coat close around his neck with gloved hands. He'd clean it first. With alchemy he didn't have to get it wet to get the blood off. Not that the blood spatters bothered him much anymore; but they might bother some of the other men. "Just tell me they didn't destroy the mess tent. I want coffee."

"If it gets any colder I'm going to need a girl in my bed just to keep from freezing," Tore grumbled from inside his military issue sleeping bag. He was tucked up on his bed waiting desperately for his covers to warm up enough for him to be able to sleep properly, like he did every night. Above him, the tent creaked slightly, heavily covered in snow. Even the wind sounded cold.

"I'm not sure I want to know what an army issue girl would look like," Cal snickered from his own cot a few feet away. "Not that I'm objecting to the idea. It would be sure to boost morale."

From the hint of pain in his voice, Tore knew that Cal was suffering from the cold as much as he was; if not more so thanks to having an auto-mail leg. That had to be cold, and from living with Fullmetal he knew that the ports could hurt something awful in this kind of weather. "We could see if there's a way to warm the tents better with alchemy."

"Or a catalytic heater," Cal suggested. "They could issue those easily enough. Okay, so maybe not easily. I'll definitely have to ask around and see if any of the alchemists know a trick for warming the air. There has to be one."

Tore was glad they agreed on something. He shivered, despite being wrapped up cocoon style in his sleeping bag. "If they knew one though, I think they'd have shared by now."

"Don't get depressing on me, Shock," Cal snorted. "Let's go back to the issued girl as bed warmer idea. I think I like that one."

"Got a particular woman in mind?" Tore knew the jibe was not a new one; but it always got a good response. Cal did the same to him all the time anyway.

Cal groaned. "No, why?"

"Because you've been oddly pensive lately and you still keep fingering Alyse's letters." It was pretty hard not to notice. "Have you even written her back? You haven't gotten one of those in a while. Or maybe you made her angry with something you said in the last one," he commented thoughtfully.

Cal's reply was a curt, "Hardly. We've been busy. Besides, I told her I might not be able to write for a while."

"Doesn't mean she's not probably waiting and hoping you will," Tore replied. "I mean… I got a letter the other day." He might as well admit it.

"From Charisa Breda?" He now had Cal's interest. The other man wriggled around in his bedroll and Tore saw his face appear in the tiny hole left for it.

Tore nodded, the whole sleeping bag bobbing with his head. He felt a little warmer just thinking about it. "Yeah, from Creta. It took a while to get here, but it's about the University." She also asked how he was doing and, while she likely didn't know exactly where he was, she seemed quite aware already of the kind of things they might be facing. Still, it was almost a month since it had been sent. He planned to write back immediately, hoping she would get it sooner on a return trip. It had been a very friendly letter, not romantic, but full of warm concern and details about her life and how much she abjectly hated not being there to be involved in the war, but how much she was enjoying her studies even though it was sometimes tough to concentrate. But Tore didn't think he needed to tell Cal all that.

"Are you going to write her back?" Cal asked.

"Of course I am," Tore retorted. "She took the time to write me a very long and involved letter and, for once, it was just friendly. I'm not going to let her think I completely forgot about her." Like it had certainly seemed the first time he left Central. He had learned a lot of things from that trip; this was one of them. "You ought to write Alyse back too."

"Who are you… my conscience?" Cal asked, his eyes looked less thrilled by the moment.

"Oh, I wasn't aware the position was available," Tore quipped, grinning even though he doubted Cal could see much more of it than Tore's eyes. "Can't a guy be concerned about a buddy?"

"Only to the point where his buddy doesn't want to strangle him," Cal countered.

"I'll take that risk," Tore couldn't help saying. Really, he couldn't see why Cal didn't make another open move on Alyse. Okay… amending his own mental statement; he couldn't see why Cal shouldn't, especially when this was all over. While Tore was sure he had very little chance of ever convincing Charisa to give him another shot, Alyse Elric certainly seemed willing from what he'd seen, and her consistent correspondence. He wouldn't believe any statement that she was just asking for the northern weather forecast.

Cal sighed. "Yeah, I'll get around to writing her back again. Get off my case now?"

"Sure," Tore relented at once. Again huh? "You can thank me later."

"What for?" Cal asked.

Tore closed his eyes, readjusted, and tried to feel warmer as he prepared for sleep. "Oh, you'll figure it out."