Short for the fanfic bake off! I don't own FMA

III

"Nghaa!" Fuery ducked as derbies from an explosion twenty feet away came crashing down over his head. He grabbed his gear and ran.

He dodged left and right, trying his best to ignore the screams from his fallen comrades, to ignore the raining bits of rock and rubble that pummel his head. He ignored the tears that started streaming down his face.

He learned that on the front lines, it was okay to cry.

All the times Breda, Havoc and Mustang laughed at him for being soft went out the window his first night here. He hadn't even been on the front lines before he heard his first comrade cry. It shocked his soul, hearing the sobs coming from two cots to his left. No one said anything that night, or the next day.

He learned that fast that if you hear a comrade cry, you ignore it.

"Sergeant Fuery!" he heard his name come from nowhere to his left and dived, thankfully landing in a trench. A red haired boy, a little younger than him laughed, "You alive, sir?" clapping him on the back.

"Yes, I'm alright." Fuery wiped his face, letting the spread, wiping away the evidence of tears. "I'm not dead."

He had made a promise to Mustang. A promise he would keep. He would survive; he would not be the first to die.

As he and the boy ducked as an explosion almost made it into their trench, Fuery ushered the boy on, chanting in his head that Mustang always said before they did something dangerous/stupid.

Don't you dare die on me!