I shared a brief look of concern with Jared as we were led through a pair of mahogany doors into yet another office. This one was smaller—about half the size of the previous room—but the man within exuded enough power to fill it. He sat behind a wooden desk, flanked by a wall of arched windows. Paperwork overflowed from the desk as he looked up, a pair of beady black eyes scanning us from head to toe. He had short black hair and a stocky build, but what caught my attention were the stars on his epaulets—three on each shoulder. Even in another world, we recognized the rank. He was the equivalent of a Lieutenant General back home. A man to be feared, yet respected.
There were a few minutes of silence after the woman shut the door behind us before someone finally spoke. It was the man behind the desk—the General. It took him a few tries to begin his questioning as he searched for the right words.
"First off, my name is Brigadier General Roy Mustang. This is my assistant, First Lieutenant Hawkeye. While I do have quite a few questions, I figured we'd start with introductions."
The General stared at us from above his knuckles, his chin resting on the backs of his hands. His assistant stood behind us to the left, positioned as if to block any attempt at leaving should things take a turn for the worse. I had just opened my mouth to respond when Jared's hand stopped me.
"I am Captain Jared Knight, and this is my brother and wingman, First Lieutenant Alex Knight. We apologize in advance if our presence here causes any inconvenience."
Roy listened carefully to the introduction, now seeing the resemblance between the two. While their hair color and eyes were different, their builds were similar, with only a few inches between them in height. However, their personalities were vastly different. Jared, he had been told, was more professional and preferred to get straight to the point, while Alex was more upbeat and didn't mind a detour or two.
"Now that we know each other, I have a few questions that need answering to determine whether you two are a threat. How did you get here? What are those machines you arrived in? What nation are you from? Obviously, judging by your uniforms and flag, you're not from anywhere around here."
Jared and I exchanged another look, trying to figure out how to explain ourselves without seeming rude or imposing. This time, I took the lead. Stepping forward, I cleared my throat and addressed the General.
"I mean no disrespect, General, but we honestly have no idea how we got here. We were in our own timeline, world, reality, whatever you want to call it—when we were suddenly struck by a blue lightning storm and ended up in that rural farm town. Resi-something? As for our machines, we were in them when the storm hit. They allow us to fly over any terrain for hundreds of miles and many hours. Each has a rotary cannon in the front, which is used to support our troops on the ground. At the moment, only training rounds are loaded, so they aren't volatile weapons.
Finally, we come from the United States of America. A map was shown to us shortly before your men arrived at the house we were in, and from that, we can assume our nation does not exist here. Therefore, our futures are in your hands, sir. We mean you no ill will or harm. We simply want to find a way home."
As I answered his questions, I watched the man jot down notes on a nearby piece of paper. I wanted to ask him a few questions of my own, but this man still outranked both of us. It would have been improper to make demands of a higher-ranking officer, especially a General. However, it seemed our wish was about to be granted as he leaned back in his chair, the leather and wood creaking under his weight.
"Alright. Given the sophistication of the technology you possess, I have no choice but to believe you," he said. "One of my men who accompanied you told me about the communication devices you carry—what you call phones. We have phones here as well, but they must be hardwired into a reception office to function. Yours, however, does not. And then there are your flying machines, each equipped with a cannon. Surely, other worlds must be far more advanced than ours. So, in return for answering my questions, you may ask yours."
"We only have a few, as we know your time is limited," Jared began. "What will become of our aircraft? They were left on that farm, but they can't remain exposed to the elements for long without proper shelter. Secondly, what will happen to us? While we may not be of use to you now, I can't imagine a governing body allowing two foreign soldiers to freely roam their nation."
It was as if Jared had read my mind, but in truth, anyone in our position would have asked the same questions.
Roy chuckled slightly at the inquiry. "As you yourself stated, those aircraft—if that's what you call them—are not volatile at the moment. Given that we do not possess weapons of that caliber, we have no means of supplying live ammunition to make them a viable threat. Therefore, their only practical use would be for travel or, potentially, scouting missions—assuming they have communication technology, like a field phone, onboard."
He folded his hands in front of him before continuing.
"As for what will happen to you two, that depends entirely on how you conduct yourselves. At this moment, the only ones who know of your presence are the people in Resembool, myself, and my team. Anyone else who may have seen you likely turned a blind eye, assuming your uniforms were some sort of experimental design being tested.
Our country is still recovering from a civil war that ended a few years ago, and we could use assistance in furthering our technology. If you wish, we can arrange for you to stay in the barracks here in exchange for helping with the final stages of rebuilding. If we can find a fuel source for your machines, we could even integrate you into our military as a reconnaissance force. It would take some explaining to Führer-President Grumman, but I believe he would see eye to eye with me."
I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief—one that caught in my throat at the mention of a Führer. That couldn't be a coincidence, given the Germanic designs we had seen so far and the year being 1919. While the events we feared were still a way away, the timing couldn't have been more unsettling. Jared seemed to pick up on it as well, and we exchanged another knowing glance before turning our attention back to Roy.
"Since we are nothing but guests in this country, we're willing to provide whatever help we can to avoid being a burden. However, I doubt our currency would be accepted here, and we don't exactly blend in with our clothing. We only have access to these flight suits, which will definitely stand out. Is there any way we could acquire more suitable clothing? Of course, we're more than willing to work to pay for them," I asked, perhaps a little too quickly, realizing just how much we needed to adapt.
If we were going to be here for a while, we needed to learn what was expected of citizens, including their customs and clothing styles. From what we had observed, the military uniforms were quite formal—blue pants, black combat boots, and a blue coat worn over a white undershirt. Rank epaulets adorned the coat's shoulders, alongside any ribbons awarded so far.
Roy opened his mouth to answer, but his assistant, Riza, bent down to whisper something in his ear, stopping him mid-sentence. We couldn't hear what she was saying, but judging by the way Roy's expression shifted, we could only hope she was offering some form of advice. After a moment, she straightened and returned to her post by the door.
"At ease, you two," Roy finally said. "My assistant was simply informing me of a few uniforms that have come into our possession. They bear no rank except for that of a private and have no identifying marks. If you accept our preliminary offer of forming a reconnaissance unit—comprising just the two of you—then they're yours. We'll have to fabricate a convincing story to explain your current ranks and identities, but that can be arranged. Grumman owes me a few favors anyway, so it's about time I start cashing in."
While speaking, Roy rummaged through one of the desk drawers until he found a stack of blank papers. He began writing, the only sound in the room being the steady scratching of his pen. The silence stretched for a few minutes, almost deafening, before he finished and handed each of us a paper.
"These will serve as your barracks passes for now," he explained. "The uniforms should be ready within a day or two. With these, you're free to leave when you wish and access the chow hall. However, for any other area, you'll need permission until your ranks are settled. I assume you two have undergone some form of basic training?"
The speed at which everything was happening caught us off guard. For a moment, all we could manage was incoherent stammering until Jared cleared his throat and regained his composure.
"Yes, sir. We completed an eight-week program that included physical readiness training and marksmanship. If needed, we can serve as infantry as well."
Roy nodded, seemingly satisfied. Their training duration was roughly the same as his military's, meaning no additional preparation would be necessary. Based on their advanced technology, he figured their training must be just as rigorous. The two men standing before him were fitter than some of his own soldiers—he should have known the answer before even asking, but curiosity had gotten the better of him.
"That's all I need to know for now," Roy said. "Why don't you head down to the barracks and get settled? I'll have the uniforms brought to you soon, so you aren't stuck in limbo and can start getting acquainted with Central City. It seems you may be here for a while. We've never encountered a situation like this—people seemingly traveling through dimensions—so unfortunately, we have no way of helping you return."
Jared muttered a curse under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear. Whether the General noticed or simply didn't care was unclear.
"Thank you, sir," Jared said. "If you'd like, we can report in tomorrow morning and begin whatever tasks you need us to do. What time should we be here?"
Mustang raised an eyebrow, momentarily surprised by the younger man's straightforwardness. He hadn't expected him to be the one pushing for a schedule.
"I was going to suggest meeting in a few days to give you time to adjust," Roy admitted, "but if you're ready, then report here at 0900 hours tomorrow morning. It's currently 2130, so I suggest grabbing something to eat before heading to the barracks. The chow hall is open 24/7, but after 2200, the food gets soggy since they stop making anything fresh."
"Understood. Thank you again, sir, for all of this," I said, giving a slight bow out of respect. The motion came instinctively, and I didn't fight it. In truth, we were nothing more than intruders in this world, caught in a cruel twist of fate. The fact that we were being given a chance to prove ourselves—rather than being locked away and forgotten—wasn't something I intended to take for granted.