A/N: Nice to know you people are still reading these notes! *Whistles* 60+ follows, 30+ faves, 40+ reviews! Daayummm.
SwampThirtyFour: I figured the elements would come from impurities in building materials: sulfur, charcoal (carbon), potassium, and nitrogen.
North City
Train Terminal
1700 Hours
"So you're sure Ms. Corwell is taking care of Hayate?"
"Yep. I gave her instructions and said I'd pay her back once we finished with this." Fuery looked nervous. "I mean, he should be alright with that, right?"
"Yeah, he'll be fine. Don't worry. Hey, we're slowing down. Looks like we're here." Breda stood up with a grunt, stretching out his sore muscles. Behind him the rest of Team Mustang stood up as well, collecting their bags and weapons from the overhead racks.
"Hey boss, you think we'll be able to buy some stuff in North City? I might have left a few things in my rush to pack." Roy shook his head while he pulled out his gloves.
"Orders are to acquire transportation to Briggs as soon as we can. We've got no time. You can check the orders if you want." He tossed the manila folder over to Havoc as Edward and Alphonse came into the compartment.
"Yo, chief. Do you have your cold-weather gear on?" Edward nodded and tapped his automail.
"I needed a repair anyway. Figured I'd get a set of automail that worked up here while I was at it. Sorry about your account, colonel. Carbon composite is expensive." He peered through the window, ignoring a spluttering Roy. "That's a lot of snow." A weather front had slammed into the northern region two days ago, dumping snow on everything. It didn't show any sign of dissipating for the next couple of weeks.
"Alright people, let's get moving. The transport options are slim and you don't want to be stuck in North City any longer than you have to. Trust me." Roy shuddered at the memory of alcohol, toilets and passing out in back alleys. "Bad things happen."
They stepped off of the train, onto the platform, and into a blast of below freezing air. The cold was almost a physical object that slammed into them and nearly sent them reeling. Alphonse being the exception, of course. "Mother of-! I knew it'd be cold, but the briefings never mentioned this!"
"I never thought I'd say this, but I'll be happy once we get to Briggs." The group fought through the snow and into the main terminal building. Once inside, Roy and Havoc went to the liaison counter to locate the motor pool while the rest stood around.
"I'm looking for transportation to Fort Briggs, official military business." The receptionist scrutinized Roy's face. It was a little surprising that he didn't recognize colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, but this was North City. The people here were more than a bit isolated from the rest of the country.
"ID please?"
"Right here." He handed the card over and went through the standard authentication process.
"Okay, the motor pool is to the down this hall, to the left, and out the double doors. I'll call ahead. Your assigned vehicle will be…truck 188. Have a nice day, colonel."
"You too." The pair turned to go back to the others. When they arrived they found the rumor mill in full swing.
"So is it true that Briggs soldiers can defeat a bear one-on-one?" That was Fuery. As the physically weakest of the group, it was natural that he would be asking that question.
"Ah, that's just propaganda. You've got nothing to worry about."
"With those fur coats, they probably can't fight too well anyways." There would be the Central-Briggs rivalry making its presence known again. Roy decided to shut it down before anything came of it.
"Hey, while we're here, tune down the rhetoric okay? None of us really want to be here and a rivalry will just make us more miserable. So, and this goes for you too Fullmetal, no antagonizing the Briggs people. Got it?"
The group chorused back. "Yes sir!" Roy nodded, glad that the problem was over before it started.
"Well, it's 80 miles to Briggs. Let's get moving."
Amestris-Drachma Border
Facility Gamma
1900 Hours
"Let's have a little break." The five soldiers taking part in the "questioning" nodded, saluted, and walked out of the small cell stretching and chatting. Romanovich shut the door behind them, gestured to the two men with him, and appraised the prisoner.
Riza spit some blood out of her mouth. For some reason her run-of-the-mill bruises, cuts, and blunt force trauma injuries weren't bothering her as much as the fact that her right cheek was pressed against the cold, dirty floor. The pain might have been better if she could massage it out, but her hands were still tied to the chair. Rather uncomfortably too, due to the aforementioned position she found herself in. The ropes dug into her wrists. She'd lost her hair clip a while back.
"So, while we have some time to ourselves lieutenant, let's talk." It sounded like that Drachman - Romanovach? - but Riza wasn't sure. From her position she could only see the wall. She opted to remain silent and evaluate the situation.
"Maybe I can make this whole process easier for you." And here was the good cop. "Command is very interested in the potential power of alchemy to benefit the country. Not for military purposes, but to better the life of the average Drachman citizen. Currently, Drachma has no alchemists that could advise it. You could change all of that. What do you say?"
The facade was so obvious that Riza had to think about it for a second. Was this man really expecting her to believe that? He'd been there when the colonel, she, and the Elrics were all being held together. He ought to know that it would take more than that to make her talk.
"Please, you're only making it harder for yourself. Consider what I've just told you. I know you wish to help people. Why not do it now?" And then he left her, lying there.
Amestris-Drachma Border
Facility Gamma
1915 Hours
Romanovich shut the metal door behind him. His mouth felt physically unclean after acting so reasonable and sympathetic towards that Amestrian. Any longer in there and he might have been physically ill. He turned and headed for the bathroom, looking to clean out his mouth. Along the way he passed Vikentiy. They exchanged the usual salute and greeting, then went on their own ways. Romanovich was an excellent soldier, one of the best Romanovich had ever met, but the warm beds and hot food of Facility Gamma were turning him soft. Romanovich had been observing him during the interrogation, and Vikentiy didn't go quite as hard as he should have. Romanovich would find some way to sharpen him up.
What was command thinking? Did they not read his reports? Did they really think they were going to get that Amestrian to talk? As much as Romanovich wanted her to die a slow, painful death he had to admit that she was the type who would rather die than betray any secrets.
And really. Alchemy as the answer to Fort Briggs? There was no point in having alchemy if you couldn't get close enough to use it. Intel suggested that even the Flame Alchemist, arguably the State Alchemist with the longest range, could only kill effectively up to 110 meters. Fort Briggs' guns had ranges measured in kilometers. They would sip tea and nibble scones while shells turned the Drachman army into paste before they could even see them.
But of course, this time would be different. This time the strategists had a foolproof plan! It was brilliant! All the soldiers had to do was perform their tasks, and everything would go just as planned! Hah, sure.
Romanovich found himself in an empty break room. Most of the soldiers were performing maintenance, on the range, or asleep. The clock on the wall said 1903. He sat down on one of the couches and reached into his pack. "Where are they… don't tell me I lost them…"
Finally, he pulled out a worn and creased photograph and a letter. "Too bad I couldn't be with you… the weather here is really good… wish you could be home." Romanovich mumbled the words of the letter to himself. "Love, Katarina." He stared at the words. The photograph fell from his grasp, and he made no move to catch it. Half of the picture ended up under the couch. The woman in the photo smiled up at the ceiling, her arm around a Romanovich who looked much younger.
Amestris-Drachma Border
Fort Briggs
2030 Hours
"And what are you doing here, Mustang?"
"Glad to see you too, general." Major general Olivier Mira Armstrong, the Northern Wall of Briggs, the Ice Queen, and as some Briggs troopers referred to her behind soundproofed doors, Mama Bear, glowered down at the little entourage.
"Don't mess with me. You've got a lot of nerve showing up here unannounced." Roy raised an eyebrow at this.
"We have official orders telling us to report to Fort Briggs as, let's see, 'to make up for personnel shortfalls in response to requests for reinforcement'. I assume you needed more firepower." Armstrong ground her teeth at the insult.
"Bullshit. I made no such request. Show me those orders, or I'll have you back on that train so fast you won't even be able to snap." Unfazed by the threat, Roy took the file out and handed it to a Briggs soldier who ran it up to Armstrong. She took the orders out, scanned them, frowned, read them again, then crumpled them up and threw them away with a growl. "Mustang, is Central's personnel department made of magicians?"
"Not to my knowledge. Why?"
"They've somehow created an entire set of personnel requisition forms from thin air! Central's lack of competence is worse than I thought. Ah, fine. Welcome to Fort Briggs. You'll be here until I can get you kicked back to Central. And you will pull your weight while you're here. Any slacking off and you won't be eating. " She spun on her heel and marched back into the fortress, door slamming behind her.
Free from the general's dark, paralyzing aura, Edward and Alphonse gasped and fell to the ground on their hands and knees, breathing heavily and sweating even in the frigid air. "What… what was that… I thought I was gonna die!" The career military in the group looked at them with amusement and some confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"How do you… not feel that… that killing intent!"
"Oh, that? Meh, we're used to it. Every time we slacked off in the office, we'd get it from Riza. To a lesser degree of course, but I guess it desensitized us." Nobody questioned Roy's use of Riza's first name, even after all this time. It seemed like he had a right to do so.
"Why are… all women so… scary! The lieutenant! That woman! Even Winry! Can't I meet just one non-scary woman?" Ed hung his head in despair while Alphonse patted him on the back, himself still on the ground.
"There, there. I'm sure your little mechanic girlfriend isn't that scary. I've got a piece of advice; don't look scared in front of the Briggs soldiers. They'll eat you for lunch if you do. Now, let's get out of the snow." The group agreed with vigor and enthusiasm and only sort of ran for the now open gates. Edward and Alphonse lay there for a little longer, until Edward's brain caught up.
"Bastard! SHE IS NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!"
"Brother! Not the club!"
"Fire and steel are in the cold. Citadel is open."
"Confirm, Crown." The man didn't say anything, but clicked his microphone on and off in a complicated pattern. The other side clicked twice, then cut the connection.
Operative Crown, Drachman intelligence, put down the phone, grimacing at the tackiness of the "success" code phrase. The planners read too many cheesy spy novels for their own good. He had confirmed earlier that the landline connection hadn't been discovered and tapped, and that his connection to his handlers was secure. The information now lay in the hands of the courier, who would physically bring it to Drachman intelligence. Radio was too risky.
He took out an alcohol wipe and obliterated any trace of his fingerprints or DNA on the phone. He also made sure to destroy the traces of his footprints. Amestrian investigators were good, but they weren't perfect.
Crown walked out of the apartment. The records showed that it belonged to Carey Morehouse, and there really was a woman living there. She was a respectable woman with a good job, stable life, and a good network of friends. She was also operative Cardinal, Drachman sleeper agent. Not that you would have known by looking at her, or even by getting to know her.
He stepped out of the building and looked around for a tail. He was lucky it was this cold. It gave him an excuse to wear a scarf and a hat. Seeing nothing, he turned and walked towards the center of the city. There was work to be done in Central Headquarters.
Amestris-Drachma Border
Facility Gamma
0700 Hours
"Seventy three… seventy four… seventy five!" Vikentiy completed his last push-up and rolled over on the floor. That was the last of his usual morning exercise routine, including weights, burpees, crunches, and the treadmill. His arms needed to cool off before he hit the range, but so far it was a good day.
After getting his breath back, he picked up his submachine gun and made his way to the range. There were already about two squads worth of people there. Only a few targets were left open. Vikentiy took Number 30.
He centered the sights on where center mass would be. The gun kicked and the burst went high and to the left. Vikentiy frowned. The sights were out of alignment again. He safed the gun, adjusted the sights, unsafed and fired the gun again. This time a trio of small, neat holes appeared in the paper target's chest. This time he nodded, satisfied with the sights. The rest of the clip disappeared quickly, holes appearing in the target and on the wall surrounding it.
Two soldiers finished their target practiced and struck up a conversation. "Hey, where's supply closet 15?"
"My God, what do you want that shit for?"
"Intelligence wants us to move on to 'Tier Two' interrogation for the prisoner."
"Holy crap. Do they want intel that bad?"
"I guess. Tier Two is a little too much, don't you think?"
"Yeah. Geez." Vikentiy tried to figure out what they were talking about. Tier Two? But that meant… waterboarding, mock executions, fire, the full nine yards.
"Oh shit, they can't do that!" Vikentiy whispered to himself, head already full of horrible scenarios in which the prisoner got loose or Amestris found out. "Got to convince them not to." He safed his gun, slung it over his shoulder, and set out to find the lieutenant.
A/N: Just read My Immortal.
…
…
… 0_0'
*Retching noises, followed by splattering sound* At least nothing I write is that bad. *Heaves*
Anyways, hope you liked it! Smack those buttons!