November 29th, 1963

"Are you sure you don't want painkillers?"

Edward was getting tired of that question. "Positive," he replied gruffly to Finn as the two of them hunkered down on the front line trenches with the rest of his unit. At this point, there was no real hiding how much his auto-mail ports hurt spending so much time out in the cold and wet. He wasn't the only auto-mail patient in the military, not even up here, and while they were all suffering, none of them were double-amputees, and none of them seemed to have the agonizing pain that Ed suffered. Of course, given they all had Rockbell Auto-Mail, and they all had the newer port designs, specially lined to help minimize discomfort or dangers like frostbite where the ports touched skin, he was not surprised, only a little jealous, that they did not have to suffer as much. After a few days, his nonchalance about the occasional nauseated vomiting had been noted amongst the alchemists and the soldiers who saw him regularly. He still refused to whine. He was getting tired, though, of the ones who knew him best asking if he wanted to take something for the pain.

Forget the fact he couldn't take any of the traditional Amestrian painkillers strong enough to help. While Ethan's developed drug would probably have worked well enough, there was very little of it available to distribute still so far given its relatively new production, and it was still only available in an injection form. Ed did not like the idea of getting stuck with a needle every time he felt lousy.

"You don't have to play tough for us," Finn snickered, but there was a sympathetic look behind his eyes. Ed wondered if he and Lordes had ever forgiven themselves for their unwitting part in his final act of stupidity that had sent Winry running years back. Ed had never held it against them. It wasn't their fault he had forgotten his anniversary, or that he'd been having problems at home or with drinking. After finding out - and after he had gotten back to normal - they had actually come to him - Polasky too - and apologized. Things were okay now, though they had kept a more respectful distance ever since then. They had to wonder why Ed had put two of them on his own team, but they hadn't worked up the nerve to ask yet.

"Who's playing?" Ed shrugged, keeping his head low. They were waiting for the next pause in the Drachman attack. Today's strike mission involved getting into the front lines of the Drachman trenches and wreaking havoc and destruction. For now they waited, surprisingly indifferent to the sound of gunfire above their heads. Nothing could hit them down in the depths of the alchemy-dug trenches anyway. They were too deep and well made.

On the other side of him, Lordes chuckled. "All right, stop being so tough. You're making the rest of us feel like wimps for griping about the cold."

"That's because some of us are," Fletcher quipped shamelessly. "I've never seen a point in worrying about comparisons between myself and living legends."

Cheeky bastards. Still, Ed smiled. "At least one of you has some common sense."

"Not really," Lordes countered. "If we did, none of us would be out here playing soldier and hero. I-"

The sudden lessening of gunshot caught Ed's ear and he put up a hand, silencing everyone. "That's it. All right, you know the plan. Go!" With that, he braced himself and vaulted up the ladder and over the edge of the trench and into the fray.

They had maybe half a minute, if they were lucky, to cross the distance and drop into the Drachman trenches. Ed hated the feeling of slowness that came from making the run across the four-inch deep snow that covered the ground. A few stray shots whizzed around him as he ran, keeping himself as low as possible, as the other alchemists fanned out. A cluster would be disaster. Not that this was any better. Ed focused in on his own task. Run; run, and don't die. He slid the last couple of feet and leaped into the enemy trench, Drachmans staring at him in shock as his hands slammed together and struck the ground as he landed. All along the trench spikes of earth shot up all over the place, disarming soldiers, piercing soldiers, destroying equipment. The shouts of surprise turned to cries of pain and anger. Attempts to fire were nearly useless without a clear line of fire, which Ed did his best not to give them.

Further along the trench in either direction he heard similar cries of anger and surprise, followed by pain. The rest of his unit members were doing their jobs in their own way. To his right he saw vines and roots snaking through the trench doing much the same job; disarming and capturing the enemy, squeezing them tightly so they couldn't escape. Fletcher wouldn't kill purposefully, though Ed knew he'd knock the soldiers unconscious and several would be taken captive. Those who fought hardest would have to die though.

A shot nearly hit him; Ed felt the warmth of the bullet's passing on his cold cheek. Dodging and ducking, he dropped low and rolled under a large outcropping of earth, and came up attacking. In moments his arm was a blade and it cut through the gun that had shot as he closed with the enemy, shoving him down and disarming him. Ed slammed the man - fairly young from the face, even scruffy in the winter - into the wall and pinned him there with bars of metal. Mercy when he didn't have to, but it would have to do as he hurried on down the line, running and fighting with both alchemy and his arm blade. Mission objective: wreak havoc on the lines however possible, primarily by rendering men and weapons useless. Kill any chimeras. Kill or capture any Drachman alchemists for questioning.

A mission that turned out to be as challenging as Ed had expected, despite going surprisingly well for him personally. Was he really this used to warfare? Was he that much better than even these younger, hard-trained men? Or maybe their training was not all he assumed. He startled them, over-powered them, and out-thought them. A lifetime of training and putting that training into practice made him formidable, no matter how humble he might try to be on the subject from time to time.

Then the firing began again. This time from the lines behind them, and Ed came around a corner to find himself face to face with ten armed Drachmans waiting for him. Shit! Time to go! They all knew they were to fall back when they met re-organized resistance or were too outnumbered. If nothing else, Ed had also learned the value and timing for a strategic retreat. He blocked the first shots fired with a wall of dirt, turned, and ran! He sprinted back through the maze of trenches he had just come through, ducking around his own mess; leaping bars and points of earth or rock; pushing past the dead and dying as he hurried for a low-point, then had to cut right instead of left when he found himself blocked by another alchemist's work. He cut right again shortly after, and nearly tripped as he stumbled right over a familiar form. "Finn! What the hell?" He straightened himself and looked down.

The younger alchemist was cradling Lordes; his friend's head on his lap. "C'mon, buddy," he was whispering frantically. "Hold in there! We'll get you out of this. Angie's waiting for you. C'mon, don't let her down."

Ed took in the hopelessness of the situation in a second's glance. The hole from which blood had already poured was right through the chest, so close to center Ed was almost certain it had hit him in the heart. Lordes' body was already still. He might still be warm, but even a Xingese trained healer with years of experience - or a desperate friend or love with a philosopher's stone willing to sacrifice themselves – wouldn't have a chance of bringing him back. "He's dead," he replied flatly, barking to make sure the words cut through Finn's momentary lack of awareness. He was completely focused on his friend; not the mission at all. He was bleeding from a cut to the head too. "Finn. Back to the line! That's an order."

Finn looked up at him sharply. "But Fullmetal, he-" The disagreement died on his lips as reality set in again. Ed could almost see the anguish in his eyes switch off as combat training took over once more. "Can we take the body?"

"We can come back for it." That was all Ed could promise. They were wasting precious seconds. "Come on, Major. Let's get out of here."

Finn followed, sluggishly for a few seconds, than he started following Ed full tilt again, expression nearly blank as they clambered out of the trenches and bolted for the safety of the Amestrian line. Ed didn't stop until he nearly ran into a wall. Then he came to a halt, sucking in ice-cold air despite how much it felt like it might freeze his lungs. He was panting, sweating in his coat from exertion; almost too warm to feel the agony of his ports anymore. The irony; combat warmed him and the metal enough to make it bearable.

He chose to ignore the slight trembling in his arms and legs. Muscle fatigue? He refused to admit that he couldn't do a mission like this and not feel it. Not a chance! As he got his heart rate slowed and his breathing more normal, Ed looked up and around for the rest of his unit.

Finn had collapsed on the ground, still panting, his head buried in his face. Ed didn't shout at him anymore. The guy had just lost one of his best friends in the world. They'd palled around together for as long as Ed could remember them, and he had heard that the two had come to Central to take the classes and exam together. Ed felt his own pang of regret and loss for that of a colleague and one of the alchemists he had helped train up for this.

What if someone else had died? "Get inside and get warm," Ed commented as he squatted down, ignoring the pain in both knees, and put a hand on Finn's shoulder. "Get to the medics and get your wounds taken care of. Got it? Don't repay Lordes for his friendship by dying."

Finn looked up at him, nodded numbly, and staggered to his feet. "Yes Fullmetal, Sir." Solemnly, he headed away through the trenches towards the back of the line.

Ed headed along the trench, looking for the rest of his unit. He first found other alchemists from other units, some who had been involved, most not; staying on the defensive attack end essentially for this one. Then he found Torv, limping but not bleeding, down the trench towards him. He sighed in relief. "How'd it go?"

Torv shrugged sheepishly. "Twisted my ankle running back. I don't think it's even sprained. I took out a chimera and about twenty soldiers, three machine gun nests, and two of their alchemists who refused to come quietly."

"Nice work," Ed smiled back. "Have you seen Fletcher?"

Torv nodded. "Tringham's just back the way I came, still catching his breath."

Not surprising. "Head in and get warm," Ed gave the same order. "Get your ankle looked at, then find Finn and make sure you both get into something dry and get food." He sighed. "We lost Lordes."

Torv's expression paled momentarily. Then he nodded. "Yeah, I'll find him."

Ed left him be and went to find Fletcher. It wasn't hard to find the other man; he was leaning against the wall behind a line of firing soldiers, red-faced and sides heaving from the exertion of all that running and transmuting. He never complained though. Ed had to give him that. No matter what he asked, Fletcher always kept up, did his job, and made it through even though he had come to this level of physical challenge late in life. "Ready for a relaxing jog?" Ed teased as he came to a stop beside him.

"If I keel over Russell and Elisa will never forgive you," Fletcher teased. "The kids either."

"How about if we go eat instead?"

The suggestion was met with a tired grin from that dirty face. "I think I like that order."

"Good," Ed nodded. "Cause if we drop here it's going to make alchemists look bad." That and he preferred to grieve the loss of comrades somewhere less public. He had seen the casualty reports on soldiers and alchemists alike that Kane had sent him. Each dead alchemist was like a stab to his heart however hard or callous he might like to be. Lordes was the first under his direct command to be lost since Matthias back in Aerugo. Ed could only hope that he would be the last.

"Let's go then," Fletcher replied, a concerned expression on his face though as they started walking. "You look grim."

"Lordes is dead." There was no reason to make it sound nicer than it was.

Fletcher flinched. "I'll miss him. He had a good sense of humor. Are you all right?"

Perceptive. Ed shrugged. "I will be. I hate losing anyone though. It's like a personal insult." Not that he had ever entirely decided why he felt that way. "But it's such a waste. No matter how much training I can give them, anyone could still die out here. I hate it!"

Fletcher nodded sympathetically. "It's not your fault though."

"No it's not," Ed agreed emphatically. That, at least, he had come to accept no matter what his guilty conscience tried to tell him. "It's not my fault, or theirs. It's the damned guys up in Drachma and behind the soldiers here who decided it was a good idea to start trouble where they don't belong." He winced, forcing himself to calm as his stomach clenched slightly, warning of impending nausea if he worked himself up anymore. Now was not the time for another anti-Drachman alchemist tirade, no matter how satisfying it might be. "Let's go." He picked up the pace slightly. He wouldn't drink, but that didn't mean he couldn't eat to the memory of a fallen comrade.

December 9th, 1963

It was still strange to feel a warm breeze wafting in through the window in December. Charisa Breda wondered if she would ever get used to it. Not that she was complaining about the good weather! She enjoyed being able to sprawl out on her bed in her dorm room in short sleeves while she did her reading assignments. It was just such a stark contrast from home, and from northern Amestris, where most of her written correspondence came from these days. Her father's letters were actually pretty decent in length, though they tended to detail stories of goings on in the office, or anecdotes, and emphasized that he was doing fine and that she didn't need to worry about him. She also heard that other people she knew were okay through him. Mostly he asked questions about her classes, her friends, and life in general. She responded with full details, bugged him about taking care of himself, and asked more questions in return.

The other letters she got from the front were a little less cleaned-up than her father's. She had written Tore from school not really sure if she should expect a response or not. She had no idea how long it would take a letter to get from the far western coast of Creta to Amestris and then to find Tore on the front. She had been a little surprised the first time she received a reply, but also grateful when she read it. Tore was having it rough out there, and it sounded like he could use all the friendship and support he could get. He wanted to reach out to her, to talk, and appreciated her writing him. He'd made that very clear in his first letter. Since then, having her address, he wrote regularly, even if she didn't have time to send long replies when swamped in course work, like right now when she had final semester exams coming up in a few days.

Tore's letters told a much more realistic story of a man in the trenches, an alchemist fighting people, hating having to kill but doing it out of necessity. The letters were, in a way, more the Tore she had known than she had seen in a long time. It was reassuring even as it hurt to read the challenges he was facing. Not that he told her everything, but she knew him well enough to be able to guess at things he left out as much as understand what he put in.

The latest letter, still laying open beside the book for her Introduction to Law History course, was a prime example.

Dear Charisa,

How's that bear of a language professor? I bet you're probably studying hard for finals by now. I hope it's going well. Better you than me! Cretan might as well be from another world as well as I understand it. It's even trickier than the bit of Drachman I know.

Though I wish I was in Pylos right now. It's frigid up here. I can't get really warm even when I'm huddled up trying to sleep, and we're out of just about anything but basic necessities. Do you have any idea how lousy oatmeal is without sweetener or milk in it? With just water it's disgusting. Not even all that hot if you're not first in line. What I wouldn't give for a decent meal and some warm air.

The fighting has been pretty intense lately. We haven't had leave in months, and we've lost a few guys. Well, a lot of soldiers, but the alchemists too now more than before. It makes me wonder if they're figuring us out, or if they've got better guys now, or both. I'm sick of things blowing up under me, around me, on top of me. I'm tired of my friends dying. I know what we're fighting for. We can't afford to lose, and I'm not going to let that bastard who killed my mother and my uncle get away with attacking my home and the people I care about.

I'm glad you're in Creta. It seems like it's got to be a paradise compared to this, and when it's all over, things will still be a mess for a while. But you'll be able to come in and help fix them, because you're incredible like that. You'll do your part, and it will be helping rebuild when this hell is over. Take care. Is it too much to say I miss you? Well, I hope not, since I only have a pen and it's on the paper now. I do miss you, a lot.

Thanks,
Tore

The fighting was obviously bad, and conditions for soldiers weren't dire, but they weren't comfortable. But behind the griping, Charisa could tell that Tore was still uncertain at times, still scared; of death, of failure. She had also noticed that he didn't talk much about what he did in his off time. Not that he seemed to have much of it. But when he'd had leave in the past, he hadn't talked about it much other than to say he was glad for the reprieve. It made her wonder. Then there were moments where she was pretty sure she didn't want to know. He was an adult, and a soldier; well State Alchemist, but it was the same thing with a different MO. She didn't need to listen in on her father and his buddies' old stories to know what grown men little more than boys did with that kind of time. Military boys or college boys, they seemed to be a lot alike. She just wished the ones around her would grow up a little more!

"I thought you were studying?"

Charisa blinked and looked up at her roommate, Lexandra Almonetti. "I am."

"It doesn't look like it," Lexi shook her head, grinning, dark straight hair swaying. "Not unless that letter's on the final."

Charisa was momentarily embarrassed. She had opened Tore's letter again and it lay on top of her textbook. "No, it isn't," she folded it back up and set it down on her white-and-pale-blue abstract floral coverlet.

"It's from your alchemist friend, isn't it?" Lexi sat down on the edge of the bed on the other side of Charisa's book. She was a perceptive woman, double majoring in philosophy and psychology; a dangerous combination in Charisa's mind. Lexi was far too observant. Not that she looked like that kind of a brain with her slim frame in tight jeans and a pale green tube top.

"Yes, it's from Tore." There was no good denying it. She had received a few from him already.

"Right," Lexi grinned, "The one who's got a thing for you."

"Had a thing," Charisa corrected. "We're just friends now."

"You think that means he doesn't?" Lexi asked. "He sure writes often." It was only the second time Lexi had tried to get information about her relationship with Tore; previous and current. Last time she had gotten the very brief version. Apparently she was still curious.

Charisa shrugged and sat up, leaning against the wall by the window. "I told him I wasn't interested in seeing him again like that."

"And did you mean it?"

Well that was an annoying question. "Yes."

Lexi's smile never faded. "Do you still mean it?"

"Well of," Charisa cut off mid-sentence. She meant to say of course, but the last word wouldn't come. "I'm not sure," she finally admitted softly. It was the first time she had allowed herself to admit it. She had meant every word when she told Tore she wasn't sure she could trust him that much again; that she didn't think they should go out at the time she'd said it. She still felt she had been right. But did this would be wrong right now translate to forever? She still cared about Tore very much. They had been best friends too long for her not to still worry.

Lexi nodded. "So if you're not sure, why would he be? You said he wanted you back and it's barely been two years right?"

"Two years is a long time," Charisa tried to argue.

"Not enough," Lexi sighed, but smiled anyway. "I know a thing or two about guys."

"So do I," Charisa snorted, smiling back. She'd had a few boyfriends after all. Tore hadn't been the first, or the last. "Sure, he might, but he hasn't said a thing other than wanting to be friends again since then."

"He doesn't want to get burned again," Lexi argued. "If he's tried hard to get your trust back, do you think casual friendship is really all he wants?"

No. Not in a million years. She had seen it in his face too many times. He'd been amazingly well behaved the last two years, she had to admit, but he was still jealous of her boyfriends, and always trying to be there, to be supportive, to prove himself again. He worked harder than any of her other exes. While they'd had more to start with, it still seemed like a lot. "No," she admitted that too. "But it's not like anything would come of it anytime soon no matter what happens," she pointed out logically. "I'm here for at least four years, maybe six, and he's fighting a war." A war she still felt guilty to not be a more active participant in, even if she couldn't fight. She should be doing something back home.

"Did I say anything about now?" Lexi teased gently. "He seems like a survivor. He probably won't die before you make up your mind and say something."

Now that was an unfair blow. "Are you trying to be the nosy matchmaker, Lexandra?"

"No," Lexi shook her head. "I'm just trying to make sure my friend doesn't regret her decisions later. You don't have to tell him anything or try and start some romantically tragic long-distance-by-letters war love story that ends in sorrow or anything. Just really think about the situation and be fair to both of you. You still like him too. Maybe you shouldn't be together. I've never met him, I really don't know." She stood up again. "I'm going to the commissary for a snack. You want something?"

"Sure," Charisa said, looking at her textbook a moment before standing up instead. "Actually, I think I'll come along. I've been reading that thing for two hours already. I need a break."

"Good idea," Lexi grinned as she grabbed her wallet and keys. "After all, too much thinking is as bad as not thinking at all."

"That's the truth," Charisa chuckled as she picked up her own wallet and followed. Whether it was studying or personal, the statement definitely applied to both. No matter what happened though, she still worried about Tore. What if something did happen to him?

December 20th, 1963

"What is all that ruckus?" Edward groaned as he heard a lot of voices as people started passing by his tent outside. He had just sat down and was preparing for the unpleasant task of getting into clean, dry clothes to sleep in.

"I'll find out," Fletcher offered. He was still standing by the entrance to the tent. He ducked back out, and returned only a few seconds later, grinning. "Good news! We have reinforcements!"

What? Ed paused in reaching for his boot. "Breda didn't say he was sending anyone."

"To you maybe," Fletcher shrugged, still grinning broadly. "But then, these aren't Breda's troops either. Come see!" He vanished outside again.

With a sigh, Ed stood and headed back out into the quickly falling darkness. People were pouring past his tent still heading towards the road. He could see a line of trucks as he got closer, despite the press of curious people. Those aren't Amestrian trucks! Suddenly Ed knew exactly who he was looking at; President Argyros of Creta – the second Argyros – had agreed to send Cretan troops to help fight Drachma. Not all of their army, in case Drachma decided to retaliate against them too, but it looked like they had sent at least a division!

Ed made his way towards the small knot of open space in the crowd, where he found the Generals from both sides conferring. He also saw an unexpected familiar face. "Ziro Argyros."

The president's younger brother turned and grinned as he recognized him. "Edward Elric!" He detached himself from the official goings on and came over, shaking his hand eagerly. "It's a pleasure to see you, though I could wish it was in better circumstance…and someplace warmer," he added.

Ed noticed that Ziro himself was not in uniform. "You too. Delivering your brother's promise?"

Ziro nodded. "We can't let Drachma get away with this. If Amestris falls, what's to keep them out of Creta? We're smaller, and we don't have as big an army. Besides, we've got friends here."

Ed had known the Argyros family ever since Sara and Aldon were little. In fact, that first visit had been back when Aldon was barely six months old, and Ziro here not much older. They were friends with the Mustangs, and had maintained a good relationship with Breda during his time as president, though after Ziro's father had stepped down, there had been a much more neutral president before the eldest son had run and been elected. "It's nice to be remembered," Ed chuckled. So much for sleep for the moment. "You want to get something hot to drink?" They at least kept coffee going almost every hour of the day and night.

"Please!" Ziro nodded, his even-toothed smile flashing eagerly. "I don't care if it's sludge as long as it's hot."

"That's good," Ed chuckled as he turned and lead the way towards the mess tent. The crowd around them, seeing him now, let them through with little trouble. He was in a good mood now, despite the cold and the aches. They had reinforcements, and they still had friends and allies in Creta. "Because hot sludge is about all we've got!"