CHAPTER WARNING: Crude language and period-typical racial slurs ahead!
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Amestris, Continental Calendar, July 11, 1919
There he was again, watching over Wendy Rockwell the same way a dog watched his owner. An amused smile crossed Roy's lips. He didn't choose this role, it was chosen for him from the moment he met Wendy Rockwell. Roy left the comfort of the lazy chair and approached the bed. Wendy slept peacefully, unaware of the world surrounding her. Roy observed how the morning light bounced off her brown hair, giving it a coppery glaze. Hazel was a good description for that type of hair color, it was how his aunt and the girls would call it. Hazel matched well with gray, he mused. And another smile crowned his lips.
Roy paused to look at the time in the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. The clock hands were fast approaching twelve. Russell had been gone since dawn, and for the looks of it, he wasn't going to return anytime soon. Roy couldn't help but wonder if trouble found his subordinate while he shopped for what was needed for the trip to Central. For Wendy's sake, he hoped that wasn't the case. His eye returned to the woman, so did his thoughts. He also let his imagination run loose.
Out of all things that revolved around in his head, it was the thought of Wendy Rockwell waking up what captivated him the most. Roy had imagined that precise moment a hundred times already when her gaze finally held his own. He was certain her silver irises sparkled like crystalline bodies of water like the ones found hidden away between blue mountains and towering redwoods. "Breathtaking," Roy whispered under his breath.
It didn't register at first what he'd said, but when he did, his eye narrowed in a frown. What the hell was he thinking? His eye narrowed further.
A beat passed, and Roy used it to suck in a deep breath. A few beats later, his good eye found their way back to Wendy Rockwell's inert form.
Loud barking ripped throughout the room, bringing Roy out of his daydreaming. Something—or someone—must've caught the Rockbell's dog attention. Roy pulled out the gun from his holster and threaded lightly to the front of the house. He thumbed the safety off the gun just as his back made contact with the wall adjacent to the front door. No harm will come to Wendy Rockwell, not under his watch. Every fiber of his body was alert, ready to bring down anyone who wasn't supposed to be on the premises. In his heightened state, Roy made out the rattling of keys. He quickly recognized the jingle and lowered his gun.
A couple of seconds later, the door was opened. Russell stepped inside. He was balancing bags in his hands and arms with the dexterity of a juggler.
"Hey General, can you give me a hand?" He asked once he spotted Roy standing next to the door.
Roy noticed a minute frown on his subordinate's face. He wasn't sure if it was directed at him or if it had to do with something else. He'll find out soon enough.
Roy put the gun back in his holster and took the larger bag from Russell's left arm. "Did you manage to get everything on the list?" He said while inspecting the contents of said bag.
"Yes, sir." Russell as he and Roy headed to the kitchen. He placed the bags on the counter. There was a brief paused; then he said, "You were right, sir, we're not alone."
It was to be expected, but still, Roy frowned. This was also why the Major hadn't contacted him yet. Roy returned his attention to his subordinate. "Can you describe the tail?"
Russell crossed his arms over his chest and made a quick grimace of distaste. "The man looked like he was in his mid-thirties. Short in stature; brown eyes." He paused only a beat before adding, "He has black hair with a white hair patch towards the right side."
"Big nose and bushy eyebrows?" Roy added to the description.
Russell offered him a nod in response.
"Great," Roy said with an exasperated sigh. Out of all of Hakuro's men, it had to be Cid the one who was spying on them.
Cid wasn't a man blessed with high intelligence but he was astute; he excelled at gathering information like no other. And is ambitious— Roy returned his attention to Russell, who was looking back at him expectantly. "I'm not surprised that you didn't know who the man is since you've been doing field work all this time. His name is Cid Rosenburgh, and he's one of General Hakuro's most trusted men." Roy said, then paused; stroked his chin. There was a moment of silence before he said, "This is bad."
"How bad?" Russell asked, his eyebrows hiking up his forehead.
Roy's hardened gaze met his subordinate's. "I don't know if you were aware, but General Hakuro has been gunning for the seat of the Führer for a while now." His whole body tensed from thinking about that man's greedy intentions. "Hakuro will use anybody as long as it helps him get closer to achieving his ultimate goal. And he doesn't care who he hurts in the process." Roy sighed audibly. "What happened in the Underground City was kept under a tight lid for a reason. Most of the high tier officials only cared about acquiring the aerial technology from that other world, but not Hakuro. The man's interest was in the portal between worlds."
Russell drew a sharp breath. "You mean the transmutation circles?"
Roy nodded. "His office confiscated everything regarding the alchemy circles found in both Liore and Underground City." His voice trailed off, and so did his thoughts for a quick moment. "I know the lines that man is capable of crossing, so I ordered Breda to spy on him," he said, picking up where he left off. "We already established that an earthquake was the precursor to gateway opening between worlds. Breda found out the specific type of seismic signature needed in one of the confiscated reports. Both the Liore quake and Underground City quake registered in the 4.5 range and the depth had been the same on both accounts. The signature of the Resembool earthquakes is an exact copy to the ones from two years ago."
"Hakuro most likely knows of the new connection between worlds," Russell whispered, his fists shaking in anger.
Roy tilted his head down, his good eye narrowed. "It's what I would assume if I were him." An image of Wendy came to his attention. In her current state, she had no idea of the danger she was in. "No one was expecting an exchange happening." His teeth flashed in his mouth as he clenched his jaw. "General Hakuro probably knows about Wendy thanks to Cid."
Russell squeezed his fists harder. "That's definitely not good."
"No, it isn't," Roy concurred.
A few moments of silence passed between them. A moment later, Russell spoke.
"What now, sir?" he said. "Don't you think is time we contacted the rest of the team?"
Roy's lips twisted into a frown. "We can't," he replied.
Roy walked to the closest window. He looked up; no clouds in sight, just the sun floating in an ocean of blue. He sighed. "I already broke protocol by coming here," he added, recalling his last conversation with Riza before departing for Resembool. "Major Hawkeye was supposed to contact me. The fact that she hasn't meant the team has been compromised." Roy's face darkened at the thought of his subordinates being put in danger. He quickly pushed those thoughts away. His team always managed to come afloat, even when they were thrown into impossible situations. Roy turned around, his gaze met Russell's. "We can't stay here any longer. We need to move Wendy out of Resembool right away."
Russell coked an eyebrow. "And how are going to do that with Hakuro's henchman watching our every move?
Roy planted his hands on his hips while he thought of a solution. After a few minutes of hard thinking, his expression brightened. "We can escape by train to East City. I have contacts there with ties to the military..." He paused, then added, "But that would be a major setback not to mention of the added risk to our sleeping beauty."
"Sleeping beauty?" Russell scoffed.
Roy didn't say anything. He was well aware of his subordinate's feelings regarding the alter.
"We can drug him."
Roy blinked, then a look of ludicrous surprise crossed his face. There was still much he needed to learn about the young man.
"You're the plant expert," Roy said after regaining his composure.
"I'm a botanist, not a herbalist..." Russell snapped back, but then he fell quiet. A moment later, Russell breathed a deep sigh, and said, "There's a herbalist living in the outskirts of Resembool. He's a childhood friend of Winry's."
Roy took notice of the disdainful look smeared across Russell's face. "I take it that he's not the friendly type?"
Russell didn't respond right away. His attention shifted towards the back of the house where the spare bedroom was located. He returned his gaze to Roy. "Pitt will help, but I might need to tell him about her."
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Pitt Renback's House, Early Afternoon
Russell came to a complete stop. He shifted the gear to park, his left foot pushed on the emergency brake. He looked through the window at the long dirt road leading to the cottage owned by Pitt Renbak. The place looked as rundown as the day Pitt bought it. Russell looked away and concentrated his gaze on the leather straps wound around the steering wheel. Pitt... Russell clenched the steering wheel. The idea of driving off began tempting him. He was an alchemist, one that specialized in plants. He could make the drug needed to neutralize Cid Rosenburgh—right? Russell let out a dark chuckle.
As a botanist, he was more than capable of creating all sorts of drugs. The problem lied in that it was too risky. He would either produce something so weak it would take forever to work or he would end up making something so potent that end up killing the target.
Russell returned his gaze to the dirt road, cringed. He needed Pitt's expertise—but Pitt Renbak was the last person he wanted to be indebted to especially since their friendship had turned sour.
He had the misfortune of meeting the curly-haired man two years ago. Even to this day, he liked to think of their fateful meeting as an occupational hazard.
It had been a clear day—clearer than it was right at that moment—the day he arrived in Resembool. Summer was beginning to be seen and felt everywhere, even in the countryside, given the sheer volume of people transiting the tiny train station.
The Brigadier General had informed him that a person going by the name of Pitt Renback was going to be his colleague for the time being. The Conservation Effort has been a military-funded project created for the sole purpose to boost the weakened agriculture of the Eastern region. His Temporary Assignment Duty papers stated that Mr. Renbak was a master herbalist, a valuable asset in a project relying heavily on plant alchemy.
Pitt turned out to be a nice country boy despite his poor social skills. This didn't pose a problem, he'd dealt with difficult people many times in the past.
In the countryside, time moved slowly; Xenotime had been an exception. The research involved in the Red Water kept him and his brother busy—the thrill of working on something illegal helped too. The Conservation Effort was a year-round project. Progress was slow; the wait, excruciatingly long. Boredom tethered his sanity every other day.
One exemplary tedious day, he noticed something peculiar in his colleague. Pitt's mannerisms seemed familiar. The redhead reminded him of someone, but he couldn't recall who. Names and people kept turning over in his head yet nothing provided him with a concrete answer. It was a random comment about Pitt's height what finally solved the mystery for him. Pitt went ape at the mention of the Fullmetal Alchemist. Up until that day, he'd never seen a person overreact the way Pitt did. Something wasn't right, so after that incident, he looked into his colleague's past. He'd been genuinely surprised to find that Edward Elric was originally from Resembool—something his Commanding Officer forgot to mention along the way. He'd been even more surprised to learn that Pitt and Edward had been bitter rivals since grade school. No wonder why the short-stack went ballistic when he got compared to Edward. But Pitt's turbulent history with Edward didn't stop him from teasing him, quite the contrary, Pitt's grief was the cure for the boredom he'd been experiencing so far.
Autumn came in fast. All crops planted in spring were ready to be harvested. These crops were crucial to the experiment. The data collected was going to help measure the efficacy of plant alchemy in the altered crops planted during summer. While the Conservation Effort was a year-long endeavor, the true end date was codependent on the results collected between autumn and winter.
People, like crops, grew and change with the passage of time. What had started as rivalry between him and Pitt turned into true friendship. Crops and relationships had one more thing in common, they both had expiration dates.
Every day was always the same: going to work, engaging in friendly banter with Pitt, fighting with said redhead when things got out our hand (which they usually did), then heading with him to the only bar in town after closing shop. The cycle was broken the day he and Pitt stumbled across Winry while they made their way to the bar. He still remembered the way his heart began beating faster, how hot his cheeks got hot the moment his gaze interlocked hers.
After that fateful encounter, Pitt reverted to his boorish ways. He'd been too naive—too stupid—to understand the changes of his mercurial friend. It all became clear the day Winry paid them a visit at work. Winry was running low on medicine for her post-op patients, and Pitt was the one who supplied her with this medicine. When the blonde stopped by, he'd been sitting at his desk, working on schematics for new alchemical arrays. Winry's voice derailed him from the task at hand. He put his pencil down and looked up. From the comfort of his desk, he quietly contemplated the automail engineer. Her poise; the confidence she exuded in every gesture captivated him. All he wanted was to know her better. While Pitt and Winry set a drop-off date for the next medicine batch, he mustered up the courage to ask her out on a date. He stood up and walked over to them, and he asked her out. The world seemed to fade all around him, all that existed was Winry. If he hadn't been this blind, he would've caught Pitt's reaction when Winry accepted the invitation.
Their first date led to another, their second date led to many more. He'd listened to her stories about Edward Elric and didn't care that Edward had meant something to her. He was sure he could erase Edward's ghost and give Winry the happiness she deserved. He and Winry became an item shortly after. Life was good. Winry taught him to love everything about Resembool.
Then the day came when Pitt stepped into his office to hand him a letter of resignation. Pitt was a civilian contracted by the military, so he had the option to quit whenever he pleased. Pitt's expertise was what made the project a success, but there was no way of convincing him to stay. Flattery, which had worked well in the past, couldn't put a dent in Pitt's resolve. He began pressuring Pitt into telling him the reason why he wanted to leave the project. He brought up the subject constantly—he even considered blackmailing the redhead. Thankfully, he didn't have to stoop so low. Pitt cracked. The surly redhead simply said that he couldn't tolerate working with a backstabber. The accusation angered him; he hadn't done anything to betray Pitt's trust. But he was wrong. After work, he told Winry what Pitt had said. Winry rolled her eyes; groaned. Then she told him the unthinkable: Pitt had been in love with her since they were kids. He didn't feel a drop of anger or jealousy like that moment when he discovered that Winry had feelings for the older Elric. After Winry's confession, he accepted Pitt's request—no questions asked.
Russell got out of the car, his eyes fixed on the road before him. He hoped to catch Pitt in one of his better moods. It was wishful thinking.
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Russell had his hand in the air. He was ready to knock on the door when it creaked open. A jade-colored eye appeared between the crack of the open door. It flashed an angry look at him. A second later, the door was wide open. Pitt stood before him, looking frumpy as usual.
"Tringham..." Pitt spat, his lips curling down with contempt. "What the hell are do doing here?" He looked at Russell from top to bottom; snorted disdain. "Go away. There's nothing here for you to steal."
Pitt might've as well doused him in gasoline and set him on fire. That idiot was never going to get over that fact that Winry chose him. Russell sighed. He stared back at Pitt, secretly hoping the redhead would put his hate aside to help him out. "I'm here to request your professional services," he said. There was no point in lavishing Pitt with frivolities, like flattery. It didn't have an effect on him.
"How rich," Pitt spat, his lips curling into an angry snarl. He motioned to close the door but Russell stopped him.
"It's a matter of life and death—!" Russell cried out then clamped his mouth shut. He'd come out too desperate for his liking.
Pitt took notice given by how his frown turned into a devilish smirk.
"Okay-okay," Pitt said smugly as he let go of the door.
Russell had no choice but swallow his pride. Something good must've come out of his faux pas since it looked like the little shit had let his guard down.
"So...what does an almighty State Alchemist such as yourself need from this old country bumpkin?"
Russell's jaw tightened; there was no doubt in his mind that Pitt was trying to provoke him. He sucked in a breath, then said, "I need a potent opiate, one that can knock out a person for at least twelve hours."
Pitt's eyes grew wide before narrowing into contemptuous slits. "No," he spat.
Russell winced. Shit! He knew this was going to happen.
Pitt was about to slam the door in his face. He wasn't going to let that jerk get away with it. He stuck his foot in the door.
Pitt blinked in surprise but quickly snapped out of it. He shot Russell a warning glare. "You're dead wrong if you think I won't crush your foot!"
But Russell was well aware of this. He offered Pitt a smug smile, one that told him he was prepared for anything.
"You piece of shit," Pitt roared. "Move your damn foot now!"
"You're going to be helping Winry, not me!"
Pitt's rage receded.
Russell sighed. He'd just put out a blazing inferno with one sentence.
"Winry..." Pitt repeated under his breath. After a brief pause, he turned his attention back to Russell, and said, "What the hell happened—And don't you fucking lie to me, unless you want to kiss my help goodbye."
Russell pressed his lips into a thin line. Yet another thing he wished wouldn't have come to fruition. He breathed a deep sigh. "Fine. I'll explain everything to you, but not out here. Let's go inside."
Pitt narrowed his eyes. "What's the fucking problem with talking outside? My next door neighbor lives five clicks away."
Russell was certain the bastard was messing with him. "Just humor me, will you?" he said with a forced smile.
A moment of silence passed between them; then Pitt spoke. "Get inside." He stepped away from the door to let Russell in.
His jade eyes searched the road (and everything in between) before locking up the door.
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Earth, January 29, 1940 A.D. — The Annex, Midmorning
"Alphonse!"
Wallace's unmistakable timbre reached Alphonse's ears. He peeled his eyes from the Advanced Physics book he'd been reading for the past hour to search for his assistant. Wallace's voice had come from the Control Room. There was a large gap between their work areas, leaving Alphonse with few options. He could either stand up and walk up to the man or respond to him from the comfort of his chair. He chose the latter.
"What is it, Wallace?" Alphonse called, his voice echoing all around the area.
Wallace peeked from behind the message board only to hide behind it again.
Wallace's eccentricity reminded Alphonse of the gopher game he played the first time he visited Coney Island, mere days after he and Edward crossed the Atlantic Ocean by ship. Edward had recently married Wendy, and America was going to be their new home. Finding fun things to do became his hobby. But things change. He couldn't indulge himself like he used to, but that time would surely come back. Right after Wendy returns home. Alphonse smiled to himself. Taking some time off sounded good. It would be the perfect time to travel south, to Key West. He might even take a boat and visit Havana(1). His smile grew wider.
Wallace's bobbing pulled Alphonse away from his daydreaming. He studied the man for a few seconds; his brow dipped with worry. It looked like Wallace was having one of his episodes.
Wallace was a kind man: generous, loyal, and completely dedicated to his job. His genius for numbers was unparalleled, unfortunately, so were his many quirks. Wallace didn't have many friends in the Annex nor in the outside world for that matter. People either avoided him or said cruel things to him to drive him away. Alphonse understood why people shunned his apprentice. Lots of patience and plenty of understanding was needed to deal with Wallace. And not many people wanted to invest their time on someone like him(2).
Alphonse pushed his chair back and stood up. Wallace was waving his hand at him. The waving was so frantic, it blurred the shape of his fingers. Alphonse gave out a nervous chuckle. He had to act fast before Wallace lost all control of his emotions. He trotted to the Control Room.
"I'm here," Alphonse said, quickly placing a reassuring hand on Wallace's shoulder. He'd learned a while ago that this simple action, along with a soft, clear voice calmed his apprentice. This time around, the exercise wasn't working. Instead of acknowledging him, Wallace clamped his hand over the telephone receiver. He then began wiggling his eyebrows in the oddest of ways. Alphonse drew his own together. Had he been too late? Wallace went from wiggling eyebrows to having his eyes point at the telephone base. Alphonse sucked in a breath. He needed to find another way to bring Wallace back into the moment.
"'The Havoc' is on the line!" Wallace whispered harshly as if he'd read his mind.
Alphonse didn't have a chance to feel remorse for grossly misunderstanding his friend. 'The Havoc' was calling! He forced himself to swallow down his panic. "What does he want?" he whispered in turn.
Wallace was now biting his nails. "He wants to speak with Wendy," he said, then went back to more nail-biting.
Shit! Alphonse's stomach churned. He waited for his nausea to subside before motioning Wallace to hand him the phone.
Wallace hand him the receiver as if he was handing over a red-hot lump of charcoal. Alphonse covered the speaker with his hand. He took slow breaths and went over everything that had happened in the Annex in the last four weeks, including the failed teleportation experiment and every detail in Wendy's disappearance. Finally, Alphonse said, "Good morning, Admiral Montgomery!" He tried to sound upbeat for the Admiral. "This is Alphonse Von Elric speaking on behalf of Dr. Rockwell. How can I assist you?"
"It was about time that bumbling idiot patched the goddamn call!"
Alphonse had to pull the receiver away from his ear or risk having permanent ear damage. Admiral Jean Montgomery was in a pissy mood. Alphonse breathed a deep sigh then put back the receiver to his ear. "Wallace is excellent at his job, which is not answering calls." Alphonse heard a growl across the line followed by some words regarding incompetence.
"Where's Dr. Rockwell, slick?" The Admiral spat; Alphonse jumped in place. The Admiral continued his rant before he had a chance to answer the question. "Every goddamn time I call—" he scoffed. "It's like I'm playing cat and mouse with y'all!"
Alphonse groaned. It never ceased to amaze him how different were Earth's counterparts to the people he'd known in Amestris. Admiral Jean Montgomery was nothing like Jean Havoc. The Second Lieutenant(3) was a great man, his alter was a colossal dick. Alphonse cleared his throat, then said, "Admiral, sir, Dr. Rockwell is not in the facility at the moment. She's..." he paused, frantically trying to find a reasonable excuse that would satisfy Admiral Montgomery. "She's indisposed—" Alphonse said then clamped his mouth shut. He cursed under his breath, hating how he messed up.
"Indisposed, you say?"
Montgomery's sarcasm made Alphonse squirm. The increasing silence wasn't helping either. The last thing he needed was for the Admiral to pay them an impromptu visit. Alphonse knew he needed to come up with a better story, fast. But Montgomery proved to be faster than him.
"I assume that you at least got the data from the test," Montgomery asked.
Alphonse drew a shaky breath. Gulped. "We're still analyzing the data, sir," he said, then closed his eyes, and waited for the man to blow up.
"What—!" Montgomery blew up, as predicted. A second later, he said, "Explain yourself!"
Alphonse held the receiver tighter in his hand. "Well...the data collected got corrupted from the power surge created by the generators—"
"Y'ALL DUMB AS A BOX OF ROCKS—GOD DANG IT!"
This time Alphonse was sure the Admiral's screaming punched a hole in his eardrum.
A loud sigh was heard on the other side of the line followed by some unintelligible words.
Finally, Montgomery said, "How long will it take to recover the data?"
Alphonse blinked. The Admiral sounded composed, resigned to hearing the upsetting news. But he learned not to take the Admiral's change in attitude lightly. Jean Montgomery's was a snake, he would strike at you when you least expect it. Alphonse swallowed, then said, "Two months and—" He didn't get a chance to finish, the Admiral made his move.
"Tell Dr. Rockwell that she has one month! One month, slick!" Montgomery hissed. Then, the line went dead.
Alphonse stood motionless, with eyes unblinking. Wallace took the receiver from his hand and guided him to the nearest chair. Alphonse sank on it.
"Al...are we in trouble?" Wallace asked.
Alphonse looked up, his hazel eyes connecting with baby blue. "Yes," he said before casting his gaze to the polished linoleum floor.
One month. The time frame wasn't long enough to fix things. In one month, the Admiral would learn about the switch between Wendy and Winry—God only knew what that man would do with that kind of knowledge. Alphonse ignored the dread coiling in his stomach. His thoughts went to Edward who had traveled to Virginia Tech to talk with the dean about a leave of absence from teaching. He sure hoped his brother had better luck with the dean than what he had with the Admiral.
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Admiral Montgomery's Office
Jean slammed the receiver into the telephone's base. "Miserable kraut(4)," he grumbled, then snorted. As if having to talk with that idiot whose mom dropped him on the head hadn't been bad enough, he also had to endure talking with the Von Elric trash.
Jean leaned back in his chair, rested his feet on the desktop. It wasn't the proper way for a high-ranking official to sit, but at the moment he didn't give a fuck. His posture showed confidence; power. A smug smile crossed his face.
A minute or so passed, and Jean's thoughts returned to his recent conversation with Wendy's second-in-command. That bastard had the gall to lie to his face. He snorted again. Von Elric was going to pay for his insolence. It should be fairly easy for him to get the kraut in trouble, after all, he had the means to make it happen.
At least the conversation with Von Elric hadn't been a complete waste of his time. Von Elric had provided valuable information. Something interesting happened in the Annex sometime after he pressured Dr. Rockwell into acquiring real results on the teleportation experiments. He let out a dark chuckle. His amusement didn't last long. As the amusement faded, Jean remembered the promise he made to the kraut. Thirty days was a long time to wait for the data collected from the latest test. The delay itself was suspicious. Someone was trying to cover up something. Von Elric sounded nervous at the mention of Dr. Rockwell. Jean couldn't shake the feeling that something happened to her. His brow furrowed. If his hunch proved to be right, then an official investigation had to be opened; and his ambitions didn't align with that. But if shove came to push, who would take the fall? Alphonse Von Elric was a suitable scapegoat. He'd always said that you can't trust a foreigner. But in order to make a case against Von Elric, he would need a snitch. He couldn't entrust anyone with the job. The snitch needed to be someone who possessed some degree of ambition, and it had to be someone who he could easily manipulate. Jean's face brightened. There was a negro(5) in his unit that met these requirements.
Jean dropped his feet to the floor. He leaned forward and pressed the TALK button on the intercom. "YN2 Smith, can you find if QMC White is underway? I wish to speak with him."
The Yeoman replied a couple of minutes later.
"Admiral Montgomery, sir, the USS Ohio(6) is in port. QMC White has been notified that his presence is needed at the Admiral's office."
A smug smile crossed Jean's face. He pressed TALK one more time. "Thank you very much, Smith," he said then released the button. Jean was about to lean back in his chair, but he remembered something important. He pressed TALK on the intercom again. "One more thing," he said into the device. "Bring me QMC White's file, ASAP."
"Yes, sir."
As Jean got comfortable in his chair, he allowed himself a self-indulgent smile.
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Admiral Montgomery's Office, Late Afternoon
"Quarter Master Chief Petty Officer Clarence White, here to report, sir!"
Clarence made sure his salute was impeccable. A man the likes of Admiral Montgomery, thrived on picking his kind apart. Clarence held his posture, even his breath. He could see—feel—the Admiral's increasing scorn, and it made his stomach turn. He tried not to sustain eye contact with Montgomery. His mother taught him that you should never look at a monster directly in the eyes, so he made sure to look at a spot on the wall behind the man.
The Admiral pushed his chair back; stood up. He sauntered his way until he was mere inches away from him. Montgomery's icy stare sent shivers up Clarence's spine.
"So this is the 'prodigy' that came out of basic training just a few years ago?" Montgomery said, his voice dripping contempt.
Every fiber of Clarence's body tensed. All people of color stationed in Norfolk knew that Admiral Jean Montgomery was a racist sonuvabitch. The Montgomery name was well known around these parts. It was a name was associated with wealth, and with power. There were also rumors that the Montgomery's are linked to the presidents of the nation. But Clarence knew that under all that glory and prestige, lied a family whose beginnings were far from admiration. The Montgomery's clout came from slave trading. Almost every son in the family (and immediate family) fought for the South in the Civil War, they only changed their ways when the North won. The Montgomery's appear to embrace diversity yet stories about lynchings had reached his ears. The way the Admiral looked at him—with a mix of ridicule and disdain—made him wonder if the man himself had participated in one of those brutal hate crimes.
Clarence sucked in a breath, then said, "Yes, sir." The confidence in his voice wasn't well received by his superior. The Admiral's smug expression turned angry.
"Did I give you permission to speak, boy?" Montgomery barked.
Clarence would kick himself if he could. His heart began beating hard against his ribcage; he could the skin on his nose becoming moist. Though he was scared, he was also proud. No good ever came from making a white man angry. His mama's words resounded in his head...but no change will ever come if their kind kept their heads low.
The Admiral continued with his sanctimonious rant. "That is the problem with you people. You think that because you got as far as you have, that you are now an equal to us—to me." He let out a low, dark chuckle. "Well, you're not, boy. God knows what heathen thing you did to get to where you're now."
Clarence took each blow with grace. It was a good thing that the thumping in his ears muffled that bigoted asshole's yapping.
"Your file mentions that you've been recommended by your peers to attend Annapolis(7). You only need full command approval to enter the program."
The Admiral's abrupt change in topic took Clarence by surprise. He breathed deeply through his nose. He remembered hearing that Montgomery was a calculating man.
A smile spread across Montgomery's face. "Why haven't any of the high ranking officers in this naval station made slightest effort to sign those your papers?"
Clarence felt his jaw tighten. He didn't like where the one-way conversation was heading. "Permission to speak, sir?"
"Permission granted," the Admiral replied with a smug smile.
Clarence cleared his throat, then said, "The officers say I'm still lacking proper instruction to enroll in any of the programs available, sir."
The Admiral's smile grew wider. "And do you believe this to be true?"
"I meet all pre-requisites to enroll in any program, sir." Clarence toned down his voice and carefully measure each word he spoke. There was no doubt in his mind that he was dealing with a devil.
"Can you tell me the real reason the officers won't send you to Annapolis?"
That awful man was taking satisfaction in humiliating him. Clarence had no choice but clamp his mouth shut or risk punishment for insubordination.
"No answer?" Montgomery mocked. "Well, I'll tell you why. It's because they don't want a dirt-eating negro in the academy."
Clarence bit the inside of his cheeks. He thought of his mom, his brothers, and sisters. The money he brought home fed them; help put a roof over them.
Admiral Montgomery turned around and returned to his desk.
Clarence still held salute. His right arm tingled from holding it up for so long. That bastard was letting him know how insignificant was in his eyes.
Montgomery was contemplating him in silence. God only knew what kind of things he was scheming at that very moment.
Finally, Montgomery said, "Annapolis would be a great career opportunity for a person of your...kind. Becoming an officer means prestige, power, and a better future for you and your family. Your poor momma won't have to serve a master anymore and your little brothers and sisters will be able to live a better life than yours. It's a golden opportunity, I say."
Clarence's brow furrowed. The Admiral had laid the terms of his plan, and he didn't like it one bit. "What is it I need to do in order to receive the honor, sir?"
Admiral Montgomery gave Clarence a warning glare. "I don't like your witty tone, boy," he said, then paused. "But you're correct."
Clarence gulped. This devil wanted him to sell his soul.
The Admiral continued, "All I need you to do is gather intelligence on the people living in the Rockwell Estate. Your dear momma is a servant in that place. She can give you information about what happens behind closed doors."
Despite all effort, Clarence's upper lip curled. That bastard Montgomery was trying to drag his mother into his mess. He must've been showing contempt because Montgomery spoke again.
"Remember, I can grant you easy access into Annapolis," the Admiral said, in a light, mocking tone.
Clarence's realization that he was trapped felt both sudden and complete. Bitter cold despair washed over him. Was this how his ancestors felt when their lives were seized against their will? This white devil before him never intended to give him an option. Montgomery would make his life—his family's life—a living hell if he rebelled. Clarence sucked in a deep breath. Miss Wendy, her husband, and her brother-in-law were good people. They treated his mom with respect. What did Montgomery want from them? It didn't matter. He was left with no choice but to obey orders, besides—
My family comes first.
Clarence held the Admiral's gaze, and said, "I accept your gift with gratitude, sir."
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A/N 2: This story is set in the 1930s (40ish). The behaviors you see depicted are decades before the term/lifestyle was coined/implemented. In Convergence you will see racism and sexism. The times of our grandparents and great-grandparents was way different so keep this in mind when you read. If this makes you uncomfortable the please stop reading the story. Also, I have many head-canons for FMA and their characters, please respect this. And please respect my OCs. Thanks!
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Thank you for reading!
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References
(1) The passage alludes to Ernest Hemingway and his life in Key West, and in Cuba. While living in Key West, I read some interesting stories about Hemingway. There was much more than daiquiris involved. ;)
(2) Wallace suffers from a developmental disorder. This OC is based on a family friend.
(3) As far as Alphonse knows, Jean Havoc is still a Second Lieutenant back in Amestris.
(4) A derogatory term used in WWII by Americans (taken from the British) to refer to German citizens.
(5) An archaic term traditionally used to denote persons considered to be of Negroid heritage. Source: Wikipedia. In this story, the OC uses the word in a malicious way.
(6) USS Ohio is a made up name. I took the USS Arkansas (BB-33) a real battleship that was used in both WWI and WWII as the model for the battleship mentioned in this chapter.
(7) In reference to the Annapolis Naval Academy, in the state of Maryland.