The Flame Alchemist
Random inspiration from Saving Private Ryan, written in a hurry, not very good, but needed to get the idea out there. XD Enjoy.
Lieutenant Lancaster shifted uneasily in his seat. The scorching midday sun on his back, the dark color of his uniform absorbing the heat made him feel like a baked potato. He wasn't even on the battlefield yet and he was dieing. Popping open the collar, he leaned back against the metal framework of the truck. Sitting next to him were other replacements, dressed similarly in itchy, navy uniforms, rifles leaning next to them, boots shimmering in the sunlight.
He flipped through all the information they fed him back in basic, all the tactics, the map reading, weapon assembly, reassembly, how to shin your boots. A lot of good it's doing him now. Why didn't they tell him that there was no water for miles? Why didn't they tell him that his uniform would cook him alive in the desert sun? Why didn't they tell him that he would be completely lost on how to command his platoon once he met them?
The convoy rattled through the desert, truck after truck, towing hundreds of green replacements up to the front lines. Each truck raising volumes of thick, yellow dust, luckily Lancaster's truck was near the front.
On the horizon appeared the pup tents, the rising green banners, the lion and its curved sweeping tail stood upright and waving. The trucks pulled to a stop. Slowly, Lancaster stood up, squinting in the sunlight, he leapt off the truck and landed with a thud on the cracked dirt. He lifted his bag and his rifle and scanned the surroundings.
Lancaster could hear the boom of artillery and the crack of rifles in the distance. He swallowed and licked his lips and held on tighter to the strap of his rifle.
"I Company over here!" He heard the voice of his captain.
In a similar fashion, he summoned his platoon, "Second platoon, let's move!" He heard the NCOs giving out orders to their individual squads and was satisfied to see a mass of navy uniforms gather near the captain. The smallest commands gave him the simplest pleasures when his men followed them.
"Alright, alright," The captain lifted both his arms and brought silence over the company. "We're being attached to a State Alchemist battalion." A murmur swept over the soldiers.
Lancaster raised an eyebrow, a State Alchemist battalion? They were Special Ops, only certain units, specifically trained were commanded by the State Alchemists, and their casualty rate was well over 100. Guess they are really running out of men, mused Lancaster.
"You will be under the command of Major Mustang." The captain boomed. Silence followed. The whistle of shells and the sound of bullets echoed quietly through the area.
"The Flame Alchemist?" Someone shouted, a catalyst from which erupted a loud raucous amongst the soldiers, gibbering excitedly in hushed whispers over this new prospect.
"The Flame Alchemist," Lancaster ran the words over his tongue, "The Flame Alchemist. I'll be damned."
"For someone who's supposed to be our CO, he sure doesn't do much," Lloyd said, a small sergeant with a quick tongue from Rush Valley, several weeks later, sitting in his foxhole. The night settled on the desert, painting everything a dark shade of blue. He smacked his ammo clip against the ground, dirt exhaling. "Damn dust, it's everywhere. Gets into everything."
"I'm sure he does a lot," Replied Schmidt, a soft spoken school teacher from Central, sitting next to his machine gun. He yawned, "We don't get to see any high echelon officers."
"The guy can't be everywhere," Lancaster mused, "He probably out killing masses of people with a snap of his fingers."
"What I would give to be a State Alchemist." Schmidt muttered dreamily.
Franco tapped him on the helmet, "Wake up Cinderella, ain't gonna happen any day soon, watch the damn line." Franco was a veteran of the State Alchemist battalion, been with the same unit since the war started.
"You know how the Major's story goes?" He asked, taking a seat next to Schmidt.
"What story?" Lancaster quipped.
"Yeah, what story?" Lloyd looked up interested, setting his ammunition and rifle down. Even Schmidt sat up to listen.
"The story, as it was told way back in basic, was that the Major didn't have no mother. Such a creature who possessed powers such as he could have not have come from a mere mortal. They say that he was the son of the gods. He just jumped right out of the fire and there he was, clothed, gloves and all. Snappin'em fingers, tearing down whole city blocks and all." Franco concluded with a nod.
"That's the story?" Lloyd asked sarcastically.
"Wait, did he seriously just JUMP out of the fire?" Schmidt asked, absolutely entranced by the tale.
Lloyd took the liberty of smacking him this time, "Schmidt, he's just making shit up."
"Oh," Schmidt replied, rubbing his head, "Oh, you didn't have to hit me."
"Believe what you want, but don't say I never told you."
Before anyone could respond, the booming sound of a machine buzzed up the line, splintering the peaceful night.
"Shit." Schmidt cursed and leapt up, finger on the trigger of his machinegun, eyes leveled on the sights.
Lloyd blew another layer of dust off his cartridge and slammed it into his rifle. Franco calmly loaded a round into the chamber of his sniper rifle and settled onto the edge of the foxhole, scanning the line. Another burst irrupted from the same machinegun, this time the sound of artillery and shouts of medic mixed in.
A loud roar rose in the distance, the sound of feet stamping against the dry desert, up on the horizon appeared shadows, rifles raised and like a hideous darkness made its way towards their positions.
"Holy shit, they're attacking," Schmidt muttered to himself before letting loose a chain of bullets.
"Oh my god, they're everywhere." Lancaster heard himself say, he swiveled from left to right, hundreds of dark skinned, red eyed, vengeful Ishbalans aimed their rifles at him. Fruitlessly he shot back, round after round, cartridge after cartridge expunged from his rifle, lying next to his feet.
A radioman rushed by, screaming into his receiver, "Battery Nine, minus 60, fire for affect! FIRE FOR AFFECT!" Several moments later a volley of shells cascaded upon a group of charging Ishbalans.
"They're too many of them. Holy," Schmidt trailed off, "And you thought we were winning this war."
Snap!
A blazing flash of red split apart the dark night sky, a loud thunderous explosion followed, sending into the sky a large cloud of smoke. Before the dust could settle more sparks followed, rising into the night sky, red plumes of smoke and fire. In a mere matter of seconds the entire Ishbalan attack was repelled, decimated.
Lancaster was unsure of what just happened. He was shooting, firing like crazy into the darkness and hoping he was hitting something, the next second whatever it was he was trying to kill unsuccessfully was cremated.
"Did you see that?" Lloyd asked quietly. The thought began to register in his mind, "Did you see that!?" He asked louder, excited, jabbing his finger in the direction of what use to be their enemy, eyes wide, a large grin across his face.
Up and down the front, everything was a stunned silence.
"What I tell you boys?" Franco asked, lighting up a cigarette. He slumped back down in the foxhole, lying his rifle next to him, "What are you guys looking so tense about? It's over."
"That was the Major." Lancaster muttered dumbfounded. Off in the distance he could see a dark figure conversing with the familiar outline of the captain. He was of median height, hair sticking out, a flowing cape of a jacket, stern black eyes focused on the battlefield. The Major.
"He did just jump out of the fire, didn't he?" Schmidt questioned again, craning his neck to see.
Lancaster's mind was still numb, he blinked several times, mouth ajar. That was perhaps the most awesome display of firepower he had ever seen. The picture ran through his mind, the sparks, the noise, the quiet that followed. How simple, how utterly simple destruction was. The thought overwhelmed him.
Major Roy Mustang, State Alchemist, his commanding officer, the stuff of legends, born of fire, a god amongst mortals. How can they loose the war with such a person fighting on their side?