Mustang had learned nothing from Mokhfat—only a vague hint that the situation had shifted. A few days later, Second Lieutenant—no, now First Lieutenant—Armstrong barreled into the Eastern Ishval temporary command post, and with him came more than ten State Alchemists. Allen wasn't close to Armstrong and didn't bother to ask why.
Over the next month, the picture in Ishval turned upside down. First the Crimson Alchemist slipped off to the Sun Temple and butchered dozens; Mustang had him seized and shipped back to Central. Not long after, the jailed Dawson turned up dead in his cell, and the Ishvalans took up arms. In one skirmish a nervous soldier's gun went off and an Ishvalan leader died. One sudden turn after another—the war had truly arrived. The Crimson Alchemist's appearance shattered the government's original plan and pulled the timetable forward by three months.
Before dawn, with the world still black, a pounding on the door snapped Allen awake. He swallowed his temper and yanked it open, ready to curse anyone below him—only to find Riza Hawkeye on the threshold, impatience written across her face. His anger died on the spot. He scowled. "What is it?"
It was too dark for Riza to read his expression, but the clipped tone and the edge in it were plain. Her temper sparked at once. Maybe their birth charts were simply at odds; whenever they met, they either traded barbs or pretended the other didn't exist. If Mustang hadn't been tied up, she wouldn't have come.
"We're at war."
Allen gave her no kindness, and she had no reason to linger. She threw the words over her shoulder and left. Jerked from sleep, he blinked after her, not quite parsing it.
War? What war?
At dawn the mind moves slowly. One hand on the jamb, the other rubbing his smooth chin, he stared at Riza's receding back, thinking hard, then muttered a few choice curses about tactless women and flopped back into bed. The moment his back sank into the quilt his eyelids fell heavy—right until engines thundered outside and voices rose in a ragged roar. He bolted upright, staring at the dark window and the speckled sky.
War.
He threw on his uniform and hurried for the command post. In the streets, squads of soldiers were already formed up and moving; shopkeepers craned for a look; nightwalkers who hadn't slept yet giggled in doorways. Here and there a half-dressed trooper stumbled out of a side-house trailed by laughing women, and the weight of war sat a shade lighter.
By the time Allen rejoined Mokhfat, he and Armstrong were moving with the same unruffled faces down a battered street. Allen was unbothered; Armstrong was simply numb—two extremes. He bore the glory of his line, the Strong Arm Alchemist, now a first lieutenant after leaping from second lieutenant in a month. Many men spent a lifetime and never rose beyond that junior rank. His father had posted him to the hottest front, face-to-face with a foreign army. Compared to that, this place was a kindergarten playroom. At the front, the hills were carpeted with bodies lying every which way, limbs torn off—hell on earth. Each time he came back from battle, the dried blood on that massive frame would crack and flake from his flexing muscles like broken plate. How many had he killed to wear so much blood?
Before long, Allen ducked into a hastily thrown-up shack where a few soldiers were tallying credit. Verifying kills was tedious and often wrong, but no matter; a real campaign left thousands dead. Whether a man got counted for one more or less, he'd never know, and no one would chase it down.
The main method was simple: count rounds expended. Two rifle rounds equaled one enemy killed; for machine guns and other high-rate weapons, ten or twenty rounds might count as one. Compare total ammunition burned to bodies on the ground and take an average; that was each man's score.
Take that sniper—if he hadn't fired under Mokhfat's and Allen's noses, he might have ended with nothing on paper.
Young soldiers stared, flushed, at a big board propped in the yard, their tallies neatly inked beside their names. A formal report went to Mokhfat; after the next battle, both would go back to Central. Once recorded, medals and new ranks would be sent to the front. "Promotion and profit"—that was how it happened.
With a crisp rustle, the men inside snapped to attention when Allen stepped through. He wore a captain's tabs and the uniform of the Intelligence Bureau; that still counted as military.
He returned a casual salute and grinned. "At ease. Keep at it. Do it right, boys—after the next fight some of you will be getting promoted and paid. Hah!"
He glanced over a few flushed young faces and moved on. Officers like Allen or Mustang could rack up all the credit they wanted; they wouldn't pin anything new on until the war was over and they were back in Central. You couldn't hand out empty titles to senior officers and leave them without men to command.
After a short circuit he was back with Mokhfat, took the paper-wrapped toast and grilled sausage Mustang passed over, and ate with gusto—ignoring the looks from Mustang and Riza and the hard glint in Mokhfat's eye as he polished off every crumb.
Watching grease shine on Allen's lips, Riza seemed to think of something. Her stomach lurched; she gagged, then hurried off and retched until she was pale. Mustang didn't look much better—he nibbled the toast and never touched the sausage.
"Not hungry?" Allen glanced at the untouched sausage in front of Mustang.
"No appetite."
The moment the words left him, Allen plucked up the sausage and ate it happily. Off to the side, Armstrong visibly regretted his restraint; two slices of bread and one sausage were far too little for a body like his. He ate in great mouthfuls, ignoring the murderous look Riza shot him between breaths.
After a while a low rumble rolled in from the distance. Nearly twenty army trucks and several armored cars crested the horizon: reinforcements.
Mokhfat checked his watch—nearly 05:50—barked an order, and the advance troops formed up. After a quick inspection they scrambled into the trucks to await the next fight.
"Colonel Elenk of the Central Ishval Provisional Army, Third Corps, reporting!"
Mokhfat nodded, returned the salute without a word, then climbed into a truck with the others. The column growled to life and headed for the nearby city. The war was about to open in full.
For some reason, once she was aboard, Riza kept shooting Allen a hostile look. It made him bristle, but there was nothing to do about it. He shut his eyes and stole a little sleep. The jouncing only rocked him deeper.
The men who had stormed the village drowsed in the beds of their trucks. Their job was to clear the way so the main force would hit the next fight with fresh legs and heads. Those who couldn't sleep peered at the hard-faced veterans behind them and hunched their shoulders. Compared to the old hands, the youngsters were still green.
They didn't hurry. Ishvalans rose early—sometime after six—to pray before their household sun altars, then set to work in the fields by seven. By eight the day's labor had them fully absorbed. That hour was best for a blow: a clean strike when their guard was down.
Soon a town swam up ahead. "City" was generous—the tallest building had five floors, and that made it a giant among its neighbors. Fields ringed the streets. Ishvalans were already bent to their rows. Winter was past; spring had come in on a mild wind. They were busy with planting, never dreaming that war would break over them at sowing time.
It was all by order of Central. To break Ishval completely, the government had chosen spring planting—the most critical moment—to strike.
As the column closed, the veterans checked their gear. The trucks picked up speed. The engine roar jolted Allen awake. Through the rearview mirror, Mokhfat glanced at him rubbing sleep from his eyes and smiled. The major general couldn't shake the sense that Allen wasn't simple; he just couldn't yet say why.
TN: You can vote for this series as a free member here: https://[email protected]/posts/142658209. The winner will continue to receive updates. While the poll is running, new chapters will be added to both fanfics.
//[email protected]/Razeil0810