December 20th, 1964

"Who knew Drachmans could fire tank rounds that accurately?" Edward grumbled as Winry finished tightening the bolts on the cover of his auto-mail arm. He was lucky the whole thing hadn't come apart when he had found himself dodging fire that afternoon.

"Apparently they did," Winry replied with a frown as she pulled out a cloth and wiped the arm down to get rid of the oil.

"Fortunately their accuracy isn't as great as it looked," Roy commented as he strolled in. "They didn't kill a single person; just a lot of defenseless trees."

"Thank goodness," Winry sighed. "Okay, I'm done."

"Thanks." Ed stood and flexed the arm. "Perfect as always." He kissed her cheek.

"Me or the auto-mail?"

"Both, of course," he chuckled at her coy smile. "So, no one else was seriously injured?" He looked at Mustang. The alchemists and their support troops harrying the west side had been under fire for a while, but today had been the worst.

"Not seriously," Roy shook his head. "Riza's twisted her ankle, Fletcher Tringham pulled a muscle in his right leg, the Shock kid has a bruised shoulder, and your daughter's got a mild concussion, but that seems to be the worst of it."

"Thank goodness she's got your head," Winry teased, though there was relief evident in her eyes.

Ed didn't argue the point. "We'll need to be a little more careful about indirect attacks and less predictable movements."

"That's what Breda said," Roy replied with a nod. "Unsurprisingly. Come on," he gestured suddenly to Ed. "Let's take a walk."

Well, that was abrupt. The brief glance Roy gave him as he turned said clearly he wanted to talk to Ed about something out of earshot. "Sure." Ed grabbed his coat and pulled it on. "I'll see you in a bit," he promised Winry as her next auto-mail patient poked his head through the door.

He had no idea where Roy was going, but the Flame Alchemist didn't say a word as they walked briskly through camp and back out towards the edge of the tree-lined cliff to the west that allowed a pretty good view of the armies in the trenches below, but was out of firing range of the Drachmans. The late afternoon sun was hovering above the mountains to the west as if it were defying its orbit to pull it out of sight. The sky hadn't yet shifted away from blue, though it was oddly cloudless over the gray and white spotted landscape.

Roy stopped there, staring down intently at the enemy below as Ed stepped up beside him.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Ed asked.

Roy stared silently downward, the silence stretching between them. "Hey, Ed. That bomb you were trying to find on the other side of the Gate; you said it was powerful. Powerful enough to blow up an entire city, right?"

"Well yeah, but…" What was he getting at? Unless… no way! "Shit, Mustang. Don't tell me that's your plan?" The gate was closed. Ed had no intention of messing with it or anything on the other side! Unless Amestris had been developing the same weapons, but he was sure he'd have heard about that, right? Besides, Mustang had promised all of that would remain absolutely top secret.

Roy seemed utterly unfazed. He chuckled. "Close enough." Roy help up his hand then, poised to snap, but didn't. His grin was one of supreme confidence. "What do I do, Ed? Master Hawkeye always said that Flame alchemy was the most powerful, and the most dangerous form of alchemy. Let's show Drachma its full strength."

Ed shook his head, momentary panic giving way to relief. "And you accused me of delusions of grandeur," he chuckled. "I don't think you and Firebrand combined could take out that entire army, Mustang."

"Just me, Ed," Roy replied, his voice quieting as the bravado faded. "I won't need Maes for this one." He gestured in a line that ran down across the valley. "I've been doing a little research, and the refugee engineers out of Briggs tell me there's a natural gas pocket in the rocks here. It runs almost the entire length of that valley."

"That's huge." Ed looked at the land below with renewed interest. "With that much fuel…"

"I could send the Drachmans into space," Roy commented. "Or close enough. We open that up in a rift and we have a wall of fire like never before."

"You think you could control something that big?" Even with a philosopher's stone, Ed couldn't imagine something of the immensity Roy was describing being controlled by one alchemist, or even ten.

"Once it's in flames, all I have to do is guide it," Roy nodded. "The only trick will be reaching it. I need to get up close, and the pocket's almost right underneath the front of the Drachman line."

That left a very open sprint through a few scattered trees and no real cover as a very appealing target in order to pull it off. "You'd need cover."

"Five men, tops." He didn't even hesitate. Obviously Roy had given this a lot of thought. "Soldiers mostly; crack shots. I just have to get up there. They can fall back as soon as the ground is opened. That can be done remotely by almost any alchemist. One of the Xingese alchemists has already said he could do it from as far away as this spot to give me access to the gas."

Ed avoided snickering, barely. "Good. So what does Breda think of your little scheme?"

"I'm about to find out. You want to join me?"

"Of course." He wasn't going to miss this!

Breda's first response was a predictable, "have you completely lost it?" But on enough explanation and contemplation, Ed could see him thinking it over seriously. "It could work," he said finally. "When I said come up with something, I didn't mean you had to do it yourself you know."

"But it's the least chance of loss of life on our end," Roy pointed out. "Six men, right or wrong, it's going to be worse for Drachma than it is for us."

Breda nodded. "You're sure you wouldn't want more back up?"

"Positive," Roy replied.

"How long would it take to get it ready?"

"Getting people out of the way, making sure we know where the gas is for absolute certainty…. A week or so."

Breda looked down at the map, where Roy had penciled in the rough location of the gas pocket. It looked even bigger drawn out. "Get it done. We'll give you the cover you need."

"I'll pick the men myself," Roy didn't quite brush him off, but he came close. "Just get me the most accurate information you can and I'll do the rest."

When they left Breda, the General was calling for men to get things in action for that plan, as well as the strategy leading up until then. The Drachmans had to be completely surprised. "That was easy," Ed said as they walked back towards the alchemists' encampment.

"It was," Roy agreed. "The hard part is going to be explaining this to my wife."

There was no point in putting it off too long. Riza would find out no matter what he did, and Roy resolved to tell her that night.

"Roy Mustang, are you insane?"

Yeah, that had been the reaction he had been expecting. "It's the best course of action, Riza," he pointed out.

Her fist smacked half-heartedly into his chest. "I don't care! You're a fool to try a plan like this."

Roy pulled her close, hard against him in passionate kiss. It was the quickest way he knew to take the momentum out of a fight. He broke it off first, his hand caressing her cheek. "You're so beautiful when you're pissed at me," he spoke with tender softness. "It's no wonder I've always loved you."

"No fair pulling that when I'm mad at you," Riza blinked up at him, her anger and frustration plain. "What is this, Roy? Why you?"

"Would you rather we sent Maes out to do it?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she scowled.

Roy sighed. He had known she wouldn't drop it, but he had hoped to soften this for both of them. "Because I'm the only one who can pull it off," he replied as reasonably as he could manage. "If I succeed, Drachma will suffer huge losses."

"And if you don't?"

"Amestris loses almost nothing," Roy shrugged. "I've spent my life building up this state. I'm not going to let Drachma have it now, damn it. Besides, I'm the only one with the skill to pull it off."

Riza rested her head against his chest then, her hands gripping his shirt. "I hate it when you're right about something like this."

Thank goodness. "So you're not going to try to talk me out of it?"

"It wouldn't do me any good," her chin tilted and she looked up at him as he hugged her close. "Just don't screw up, Mustang. I want you back."

"I usually don't plan to fail," Roy chuckled, kissing her forehead. "So I don't plan to start now."

December 27th, 1964

"You've still got one more spot on your team," Maes Mustang pointed out to his father as Sara listened, trying not to pay too much attention as she sat at one end of the large heated tent that had been set up as a common meeting area for the State Alchemists still on the front. Old fashioned wood stoves with pipes that led to small holes in the ceiling made the place surprisingly comfortable, and so she had spent a lot of time there lately. For the moment, it was nearly empty.

"And you're not on it," the Flame Alchemist growled. They had been quarreling for ten minutes. "Your mother's not going and neither are you."

"But I'm a flame alchemist!"

"You'll get in the way."

Sara winced as she watched Maes' face turn red. This was not going well.

"What is this all about?" Maes growled. "Some kind of Roy-Mustang-relives-his-glory-days?"

"This is about saving Amestris!" Roy shouted, getting right up in his son's face without a moment's hesitation. "This is the plan, and your orders are to stay with your unit and fight like you're told!"

Maes glared for several more seconds before he snapped to attention then turned and charged out of the tent.

"Did you have to do it like that?" Riza asked from her chair near the stove. She was frowning with clear disapproval.

"I'll talk to him later," Roy replied more softly. Then he looked around the tent, as if surveying options. Sara knew she wasn't under consideration. She was feeling mostly better, but occasional dizzy spells kept her out of the fighting. It was frustrating really, given how close they were to the border now.

She set down her now well-over-polished boots and leaned back on the bench, her head resting against Franz's chest. "I'd go…if he was taking alchemists," she grumbled as she closed her eyes.

"And if you were up for it," Franz chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around her waist. Sara relaxed, and felt herself almost immediately trying to doze off; the sign that she wasn't going to be good for the fighting for another couple of days at least. At least it was better than the agonizing headaches she'd had the first few days. She was lucky she hadn't split her head open on the rocks she'd slammed into. "I, for one, am glad you can't go."

Sara felt a twinge of guilt; the same one she usually did when she thought about how rough it had to be for Franz to be in the relative safety of the command tent while she was out getting shot at and attacked by alchemists. "You getting protective on me now, Heimler?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Franz replied, then fell silent. "As long as you don't."

What the heck was that supposed to mean? Sara's eyes popped open as Franz shifted and began to move away. She sat up and didn't even have time to turn before Franz reached Roy Mustang.

"If you're looking for a fifth man, Sir, I'll go."

Sara almost swallowed her tongue as Roy Mustang stared at her husband as if he was as skeptical as she was startled.

"How's your aim?"

"At least as good as yours," Franz grinned. He tapped his glasses with one finger. "These are for up close. The farther away the target the better chance I'll hit it. If you don't believe me ask Mrs. Mustang. She's seen me on the range."

Sitting right there, Riza nodded. "He's excellent," she confirmed quietly. She glanced Sara's direction, and Sara got the feeling Riza almost regretted being honest.

"Can you keep up?"

"I may work administration, but I don't spend all my time behind a desk."

For a moment, Sara almost wished Franz wasn't as good about keeping fit as he was. Not that it made much of a different on a war front. Who could get lazy here?

"You fought in the Xing War, didn't you?"

"Before I went officer," Franz answered. "I'm qualified, Sir, and I know the details of the plan as well as you and the General do."

"Are you crazy?" It took Sara a moment to realize she'd blurted the words out loud.

Franz turned to look at her; his expression one of serious, sad determination. Then he smiled. "He needs someone watching his back he can trust, Belle."

"But why you?" Why when I'm safe do you want to throw yourself in the middle of combat?

Franz shrugged. "Because I'm here and someone has to." There was no pleading, no nervousness, no anger. He had simply made up his mind to do something. The mission went off tomorrow.

You had better come back to me, desk jockey, or I'll never forgive you. Sara sighed. "Be careful."

"Touching," Roy chuckled, "But who says I've made up my mind?"

"He's almost as good as I am," Riza cut into the conversation then, sipping her steaming cup of coffee. "If I were going we wouldn't even be having this conversation. You promised me you would succeed, Roy. If you can't promise the same of so small a squad, than what's the point? Everyone else will be keeping the Drachmans distracted while you get into position."

That seemed to take the talk out of the situation. Roy nodded. "Fine, you're it Heimler. Report to the command tent at oh-eight-hundred hours in the morning."

Franz saluted. "Yes, Sir."

That decision made, Roy Mustang seemed to relax a little. "I should go talk to Maes." With that, he turned and left.

Sara couldn't help staring at Franz as he returned to her side. "You know you have to come back," she blurted, trying to ignore her heart fluttering with unnecessary worry. It was stupid to be any more concerned about this mission than any other. Except that usually my husband isn't on them. Selfish perhaps to feel like she shouldn't have to risk him, but there it was. Maybe it was the concussion. "You promised James and Trisha we'd both come back."

"And we will," Franz crouched down in front of her, taking her hands. "I just want to make sure Amestris doesn't lose someone that's a lot more important to the morale and success of this whole thing than he seems to think. I can make a difference here."

I am not going to cry. Crying is for babies and weddings. Sara squeezed his hands back. "I know you'll be amazing. You always are."

"I try," he chuckled humbly. "Don't worry, Belle. I just get the feeling that this is what I need to be doing."

Sara pulled her hands away to put her arms around his neck. "Then I'll just have to trust your instincts."

After storming out of the tent after the disagreement with his father, Maes took a brisk walk through the camps, fuming silently in his head as he moved between circles of tents, avoiding going back anywhere near the State Alchemist encampment while he was so angry. His scowl kept anyone from approaching him, he figured. They avoided his gaze at any rate, or ignored him completely. Around the early evening campfires in the gathering dusk soldiers gathered, chatted, and talked of nothing in particular, or about what they knew from back home. Mixed in with the Amestrian he heard distinct pockets of Aerugean and Cretan. He didn't expect to hear the Xingese alchemists. They camped with the rest of them, and most of them were in the Infirmary tent almost twenty-four hours a day.

They knew nothing of tomorrow's plan other than their parts in it. The soldiers would shoot where they were supposed to, like they did every day. They hadn't been told that they were covering for a very small, seemingly insignificant team that was going to set off a huge attack when it was least expected. The State Alchemists knew, but they were used to keeping secrets.

What is this really about, Dad? You didn't really answer the question. Feeling over the hill? Need a last stab at glory before you retire? You're already a hero. Why not let someone else share in the responsibility and help you do this? Are plain soldiers better than having a real partner?

Maybe his father didn't really see him as his equal. That thought brought Maes up short. All his life, even in its darkest moments, his father had never abandoned him. Even when they fought, he hadn't ever belittled him no matter how harshly he spoke. He bragged about Maes' alchemical abilities, his rank, his family… but what if that was a cover? Everyone expected the great General, former President, Flame Alchemist Roy Mustang to do those kinds of things.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Maes turned quickly and found himself once more eyes-to-eye with his father. "Something else you wanted, Sir?"

His father's eye flashed with irritation, but he blinked, twitched, and didn't rise to the occasion. "We need to talk."

"I thought we just did."

"Without your mother." Then he turned and left the main walkway. Intrigued now, Maes followed.

They wended their way for several minutes to a couple of old stumps at the edge of the camp. Firelight flickered in the distance, casting everything into stark shadows. The clouds tonight made it moonless and dark; the snow had almost no light to reflect. There, his father stopped, staring off into the darkness as far as Maes could tell from behind. Just as he opened his mouth to ask what he wanted to discuss, his father spoke.

"I want you to take care of your mother."

"What?" Maes stared at his father's back. He couldn't mean tonight. Mom was warm and comfortable in the heated tent. Her ankle was injured, but it would certainly heal. A worrying premonition flickered in his head. "You're not planning on coming back… are you?"

"Don't be stupid," Roy barked just a little too sharply. "I've never lost a battle yet and I don't intend to start now." He turned around. "That doesn't mean something may not happen. Whether it's tomorrow, or next week, or next year. I… I'm not a young man anymore." He averted his eyes as if he was ashamed to have those words pass his lips. His voice softened. "There's no reason to think your mother won't outlive me. I just want to know, for certain, that she'll be taken care of."

It was the softest, most tender Maes thought his father had ever spoken. "Do you even need to ask, Dad?" he replied, his own anger dissipating. "She's Mom. I'd rather die than let anything happen to her."

Roy nodded and a small, sheepish smile came to his face. "Maybe I just needed to hear it. She's spent her whole life devoted to me; my causes, my needs. She's always been so stubbornly independent though; doing it her own way. You'd almost think she never needed help herself. Just don't let her fool you into thinking she doesn't, okay?"

Maes' anger had gone. That was it. His father didn't want them both going into battle, because if something happened, he wanted to make sure the family was taken care of. They couldn't both go into this one. It was a bit of a miracle that one or the other of them hadn't died already. "I promise I'll take care of her, Dad. Feel better?"

"I will." Then his father laughed and gestured back towards camp. "Come on. Let's have a drink."

"Heavy drinking already?"

Ethan looked up at his father, laughed, and offered him a bottle of soda pop. "Yeah, why don't you join me?"

Ed dropped down next to him on the log outside the gathering tent and took it with a grateful smile. "Don't mind if I do, just don't tell your Mom," he joked.

Ethan shook his head, amused. "Yeah I'm sure we'll get a lecture about how it's bad for our health." They were more likely to get scolded for being too thin than anything. He was sure Lia was going to have a few choice words on the subject when he got home. Try as he might, he was sure he was leaner than when he'd left.

"Maybe our teeth," his father agreed, popping the top off and taking a long draught. "Why are you out here instead of inside?"

Ethan shrugged, watching their breath steam and pool in the wavering light. It stood out brightly against the night. "It's easier to think out here."

"A dangerous pastime," Ed smiled, though Ethan could tell his father was curious. "Anything you care to share?"

Ethan shrugged. "Nothing that isn't as old a theme as these mountains." He took a sip of his cola, grateful they'd still had some for sale in Buzcoul. "I got another letter from Lia."

His father chuckled knowingly. "No wonder you're thinking. Did she say anything interesting?"

"That I can share?" Ethan snickered. "Yeah. It was five pages of everything she's been up to since her last letter, and that one was seven. Every anecdote from school she'd share with me over coffee after work before. Every cute thing – or annoying for that matter – that James and Trisha do while she's watching them. News about Ollie Larson since they're still next door at his parents' place. Bits of things she's heard from Aldon and Cassie about Resembool and the family down there. Most of that's in the letters Aldon sends you guys, but she still passes it on."

"And what do you write back to this encyclopedias?" Ed asked, drinking.

"Short mushy love notes," Ethan couldn't help laughing. They were pretty sorry excuses for letters in comparison. "Well, not so short," he amended. "But I can't exactly tell her about extricating chunks of metal from some guy's stomach or treating the guy who came in covered in acid burns from an alchemical attack."

His father's smile faded as he nodded in understanding. "Not exactly pleasant reading material," he agreed. "So what do you tell her?"

"How much I miss her," Ethan replied, "About the funny stories people tell in odd moments, and how we're winning the war and I hope I can go home soon." Not that he really knew how long it would be, and he almost felt guilty for sounding upbeat. "Then I tell her I'm trying to get enough sleep like I promised, but I think she knows I'm hedging. But she never scolds, and that's almost worse than if she would just come out and do it, or blame me for running off and putting our entire lives on hold because I had to do this." Okay, so the self-recrimination had come out a little more forcefully than he expected.

Ed still didn't look surprised. "You learn faster than I do," he smiled sadly. "The one thing I bet Lia wants right now is just for you to show up on the doorstep in one piece. She'd probably even take mostly-whole," his grin widened a little. "You've done more good up here than almost anyone else, Ethan. You're one of the few people saving lives instead of taking them, and that takes a completely different kind of strength and commitment. I think you were right to come, and I think Lia agrees or she would have said something. She's not any more subtle about it than Winry."

There was something reassuring about his father's statements, though Ethan found it a little funny that being made to feel like a fifteen year old kid again could be so soothing. "Oh, she's not subtle," Ethan agreed, grateful for the lack of light as his face warmed. He couldn't help grinning though. "Somehow, I don't think I'm going to get much work done when I get home." He wasn't sure he'd be allowed out of the bedroom when he got home!

"Good," Ed chuckled. "That's the way it ought to be."