A/N: School starts in 3! 2! 1! Now! High school, chem h, alg2/trig h, spanish 3, woohoo!
Outpost Foxtrot
Amestris-Drachma Border Region
0700 Hours
"Thunder, Thunder, this is Lightning. Fire mission requested at grid Kilo Four Alpha Nine. Multiple armored targets, repeat, multiple armored targets, over."
"Coordinates received, Lightning. Firing for effect. Be advised, limited anti-armor ordnance available. ETA one minute, over." Atop the massive wall of Fort Briggs, the cannons of 4th Squad, 9th Company, 15th Artillery Battalion, were repositioned to target grid coordinates K4, sub-coordinates A9. Breaches were pulled open, spent canisters removed, fresh propellant and shells loaded, and the breaches rammed closed. The lead gunner paused for a moment, confirming readiness and coordinates.
"Fire!" The 10 160mm 'Sweet 16' howitzers fired almost in unison, sending a hail of heavy anti-armor rounds towards the enemy targets.
Huddled inside Outpost Foxtrot, Sergeant Anthony Dawes peered through binoculars at the snow covered landscape. Atop a ridge 3 Drachman tank turrets peeked above the frozen ground. His machine gun team and riflemen took aim, knowing their weapons would do nothing against the heavy armor of the war machines.
They didn't have to fire, though. The first volley from 4th Squad, 9th Company, 15th Artillery Battalion landed true, several shells crashing into the vehicles, sending turrets flying into the air as ammo and fuel cooked off in massive secondary explosions. The rest of the rounds landed in the snow, sending up massive plume of dirt and ice that rained down everywhere. "Target, cease fire! Good effect, repeat, good effect!" The turrets now came crashing down as well, crumpling upon impact with the earth.
The now exposed Drachman infantry realized their vulnerability and attempted to fall back. They'd been spared by the artillery, courtesy of having a reverse slope position relative to the tanks. When they poked their heads up, though, any advantage they had was lost.
Sergeant Dawes opened fire first, sending rounds flying towards their ranks. His men opened fire as well, the cracking of the rifles, the ripping sounds of the machine gun, and the general muzzle flashes serving to nearly deafen and blind the men inside the tiny bunker.
To their credit, the Drachmans maintained discipline even as their soldiers were cut down, red splotches appearing on their clothes. Return fire came from the orderly retreat, peppering the bunker, obscuring firing lines with puffs of snow, and downing one of Dawes' men. It was all in vain though, as the sheer firepower and better positioning of Outpost Foxtrot won the day.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!"
"Cease fire!"
"Hey, dipshit! The sergeant says to cease fire!" Slowly, the soldiers stopped squeezing their triggers, allowing the smoke to clear, their vision and hearing to return, and thereby observe the effects of their firing.
"Damn! We got all of 'em!" A private in the corner of the bunker let out a victorious whoop, lifting his rifle over his head as far as the low roof would allow.
A corporal shook his head. "Slow your roll, asshat. We lost Ming." The downed soldier lay on the ground, still as death. The men began to sober, realizing that their comrade was gone.
The radio crackled. "Exercise complete. Repeat, exercise complete. All units, cease fire." Like a taut rope relaxing, all the tension in the room evaporated. The 'dead' man groaned on the floor, looking down at the wet paint on his chest.
"Dang, Ming! They got you good!" Private Ming gave the speaker an annoyed glare and a middle finger.
"Screw you, jackass! You're not the one who has to get this paint off his uniform!" By now, the 'Drachman infantry' were showing themselves as well. They made their way past the smoking wreckage of the three obsolete, uncrewed, M13 Chariot main battle tanks.
Inside the bunker, the soldiers were safeing their weapons, unloading paint rounds, and, in Ming's case, trying and failing to get paint off their uniforms. Dawes confirmed that no more rounds were incoming, then pushed open the door of the bunker.
"Hey, Dawes! Your ass was nearly ours!"
"Oh yeah? That's funny, I must have imagined the part where we kicked you right back to your mommas!" Dawes shot back in the standard, good-natured post-exercise banter. His men were coming out as well, trading jokes, comments and insults with OpFor.
"Yo Ming! That's gonna make a stain!"
"Screw you! I got at least two of you people!" The chatting continued, both sides letting off some tension after the multi-day exercise. Dawes smiled, then grimaced as he remembered the binoculars he'd left in the bunker. He tapped one of his men, whispered a quick message, then ran back to get it.
Fort Briggs
0800 Hours
Back at Fort Briggs, the soldiers of 4th Squad, 9th Company, 15th Artillery Battalion were also celebrating the successful conclusion of the exercise. The sergeant smiled briefly, then went to check that each cannon was unloaded and all ammunition accounted for.
He went gun by gun, looking in the breach to make sure it was clean and free of ordnance. Each gun had a pile of spent shells next to it, remnants of several fire missions. A Drachman assault, led by armor and supported by infantry had been simulated in the attack. The main goal had been to train the newly arrived green soldiers in calling in artillery. To that end, no anti-tank weaponry had been issued and the 'assault' had come as a surprise.
The sergeant looked into the ammo bins for each gun, counting the number of rounds missing and cross-checking with the gun crew and spent shell pile. He logged the number for each bin in a notebook. They would have to be replaced in the next supply delivery.
The crew of Gun #25 celebrated a job well done. Their gun fired part of the volley that repulsed the attack on Outpost Foxtrot. The sergeant smiled briefly at their antics; one soldier played a small guitar. He peered into their ammo bin, expecting to see several missing anti-armor and airburst training rounds.
So it came as a shock when in the live time-delay compartment there was one shell missing. He whirled and looked closely at the pile of shell casings. Sure enough, there was one canister with ID numbers corresponding to an actual M889 time-delay anti-infantry round, not a simple kinetic penetrator and flashbang training round. Judging by propellant residue, it was fired only a short time ago.
By now the gun crew had sensed there was something wrong. "Where was your last fire mission targeted on?!"
"Sir! Our last fire mission was in support of Outpost Foxtrot, grid Kilo Four Alpha Nine!"
"Get me a radio!" The sergeant grabbed a handset from the nearest radioman. "Outpost Foxtrot! Be advised, there is live UXO in your area! Repeat, there is live UXO in your area! Acknowledge!"
Outpost Foxtrot
Amestris-Drachma Border Region
0802 Hours
"Godammit, where are they? I swear I left them right here." Dawes grumbled to himself as he searched for the binoculars. "Ah, here." He held up the field glasses, then turned to leave. Just as he opened the door the radio crackled to life.
"Outpost Foxtrot! Be advised, there is live UXO in your area! Repeat, there is live UXO in your area! Acknowledge!" Dawes' face went pale. Live, unexploded ordnance in the ground, in an area filled with soldiers milling around, not expecting any danger.
He burst through the doorway, frantically scanning with his binoculars. "Where, where, where, come on, give me a hint, where are you?!" As he looked, he spotted a small, black piece of metal jutting out of the ground. He sighed in relief. It looked like no one was near it. He could clear the men out of the area and detonate the thing from a distance. No one was going to get hurt today.
"Hey, hey, did you see me? I almost got away from you guys, but your machine gunner stitched me! I did get Ming, though." His binoculars shot back up. Wandering, without a care, towards the shell were two soldiers, laughing and chatting without a care in the world.
Shit! Can't warn them, they're too close! Even before the thought cleared his head his feet were in motion.
"I saw him aiming at me, you know, and I figure I'm about to go down so-Argh!"
"Uaah!" Dawes tackled the two men, sending all three of them flying into the snow. Safely away from the explosive.
"What the hell?! Sarge, what the hell did you do that for?!"
"Just stay down!" As if on cue, an explosion rocked the landscape, sending debris into the air and raining down on the soldiers of Outpost Foxtrot.
Fort Briggs
0820 Hours
For 20 minutes, the sergeant paced, waiting for word from the outpost. The soldiers of Gun #25 sat around, looking miserable. For all they knew, they might have killed some of their buddies.
"Thunder, this is Lightning. Ordnance neutralized. No casualties." The sergeant listened for another moment and, when no more messages came, went over to the nearest crate and sat down heavily. He put his head in his hands and whispered.
"Thank God. Thank God." The gunners grinned in relief. Everything turned out okay after all. One whooped and two lit up cigarettes.
The sergeant took a deep, shuddering breath to steady himself. He then stood up and glared at the gunners. Their celebrations stopped abruptly and they cowered under his gaze. "StateSec is going to look into this, and they are not going to like what they find." The soldiers exchanged fearful glances. Everyone knew StateSec's reputation. "Luckily for you incompetents, I can cover for you." Grins and fist pumps of relief. "But you will be doing hard labor and hard time as penance for your sins! Double time, to the pump room!"
Fort Briggs
General's Briefing Room
0900 Hours
"Mustang." Major General Olivier Armstrong stood behind Roy's chair, back turned to him. She'd been in here during the exercise, as the point had been to improve the autonomy of her soldiers. "You showed up in the middle of a major exercise. You better have a damn good alibi." A dark, dangerous aura radiated from her.
Roy simply smirked. "Well, I was feeling a little too warm down in Central, so I just felt like coming up here for some snow and sky." This dance was old. He'd been here so many times, the tense atmosphere felt comfortingly familiar, allowing him to relax into the verbal sparring. Roy even managed to forget about the past month's events.
Armstrong was not amused. "I see Central is still breeding its people soft. If it ever comes to war, you people will be absolutely useless. Are your 'soldiers' still fainting at the sight of blood?"
A muscle in Roy's jaw twitched at the reminder of the infamous incident during the 45th Annual War Games. "Well, at least we won't be sitting ducks when it comes to that. How do you even move in those coats?"
"Better than you, Mustang." Armstrong looked down at the personnel list. "Where's that lieutenant of yours? She's the only bright spot in that mess that you call a headquarters."
North City really didn't get much in the way of news. Armstrong's question was more than likely actually as a result of not knowing. That fact didn't bring much comfort to Roy. The wound caused by Riza's death was almost healed, so when Armstrong ripped off the scab it didn't hurt much.
Roy remained silent for a while. Finally, he licked his lips and swallowed. "She's… she's gone." Armstrong looked at him for a long moment. She closed her eyes and nodded.
"I'm sorry. She was a good soldier." Ice Queen she may have been, Armstrong could tell when someone was truly hurting.
"Yeah. She was." Anxious to move on from the topic, Roy consulted the his memory. "You called me here to assign duties?"
Armstrong nodded curtly. "Half your people will be on icicle duty. The other half will be performing inventory checks. Those were the most basic duties yet to be assigned. Think you can handle them?"
"I do believe so."
"Good. I'll leave individual assignments to you. I hate to admit it, but you know your people better than I do. Don't fuck it up, or none of you will be eating. Hand your assignments to Captain Buccaneer and Major Miles." Roy composed himself and re-plastered a smirk on his face.
"Will do, general. Thank you for your hospitality."
"Good. Now, get the hell out of my office." Roy already had his back to Armstrong, on his way out the door. He tossed a casual two finger salute and made his way down to his quarters where he had some paper and pencils.
As soon as he got back, he sat down and quickly created the rosters. It wasn't hard at all; inventory and icicle cleaning weren't exactly jobs that took specific skills. Roy didn't really like the balancing, though. I think I'll assign both Elrics to icicle cleaning. Alchemy will be most useful there. Too bad I can't even up the alchemists with Riza.
Facility Gamma
Amestris-Drachma Border Region
1800 Hours
She hated herself for it, but she quivered a little. Her arms and legs, bound to a wooden pole, nearly gave out with the sudden release. The click of the revolver hammer was like the judge pardoning her just before the execution.
"Well, well. An empty chamber. Looks like you were lucky this time, Ms. Lieutenant." She sent a death glare through the blindfold, but if it affected the Drachman he gave no sign. Now she recognized this technique for what it was. A mock execution, designed to weaken the subject's mental state through intense fear, anticipation, and extreme release of tension.
Riza felt ashamed to admit to herself that it worked. Try though she might to stay strong, her determination to not talk nearly drowned in her fear and now relief.
"Chernov? Ready?"
"Yes, sir!" Rough hands grabbed her, untied her, slammed her face down and bound her to a table.
A streak of pure, unadulterated, undignified fear shot through her, This was worse than her darkest imaginings. At least in those a hospital, her friends, and Roy were always nearby.
"Do it. You might want to plug your ears." Huh? She couldn't see anything through her blindfold, but she didn't think this was how these things happened.
Three sets of hellfire ignited simultaneously on her back. Beneath the blindfold her eyes shot wide open. She clenched her jaw so as not to scream. Still, the muscles of her lungs were stronger than those of her jaw.
"Music to my ears." She barely heard the officer say that through the shrieks of pain tearing their way out of her throat. As she writhed in the restraints, the part of her brain responsible for ensuring her continued existence screamed just as loudly. Just tell them already! Make it stop make it stop Make It Stop MAKE IT STOP!
"Well, lieutenant? Going to tell us anything, perhaps? Just as a favor, you know." Damn him, being so calm.
"R… r…"
"Speak up, I can't hear you."
"R-Riza Hawke-eye, 1899-Hagh!-9902, A-amestr-trian St-stat-te Militar-AGGGHHH!" Tears were running freely from her eyes now, and she didn't even have the strength to stop them. All she could do was concentrate on that name, serial number, and affiliation drummed into her head during basic training.
"Disappointing. I suppose we will have to continue. Vasili, add another."
Another fire erupted, the screams got even louder, and even that mantra was wiped from her head by the white-hot flare. By now even her burn scars were burning. There was only one thing left besides the pain.
Roy…
Vikentiy mopped the floors near what all the soldiers now termed the 'danger chamber'. He wished he had ear protection as the screams penetrated the supposedly soundproof walls. The higher ups hadn't even seen him about Tier Two. His requests for an audience were met by the assertion that they were 'busy' and 'unavailable'.
One final shriek ripped through the sound insulation, and then all was quiet except for the crackle of burning flesh.
"Idiot! You went too fast! Now she's blacked out!"
"My apologies, sir!"
"Ah, no harm done. We'll continue with the bitch once she wakes up."
Vikentiy harbored no love for the woman, but that was just a little too much for him. Okay, that's too far. Even to an enemy, that's not right.
I don't know if I can stand for this anymore. It's just not right. Shit, I have to do something. What to do, what to do, what to do?
A/N: Creativity/Inspiration only really kick in once I make the 2k word quota. Damn you, creativity! :) Anyways, drop me a review, a fave, a follow, whatever you want! Hey, tell me why you decided to click on this story, or why you still read it! I want to continue delivering content that you guys like!
Our friend Dawes will be important! I didn't put him in there for nothing! :)
And as always: Mash those buttons!