Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, damn it, I don't even own a car… Does anyone want to give me one as a Christmas gift?

TWIST OF FATE

Chapter 1 – An Order to Leave

July 21st, 1929

The Military Headquarters in Central City were always full of people in blue uniforms, rushing to get things done, carrying piles of reports down the long corridors, from one office to another, to be checked, cross-checked, corrected, signed and finally filed. However, the soldiers who were taking a break outside didn't find it strange when they saw some kids and a man in his early thirties, all wearing civilian clothes, gathered around a tall man in uniform.

The soldier was sitting on a bench on the shade, talking, and there were four children, ages ranging from 6 to 11 years old, sitting on the ground around him and paying attention to every word he said. The other man was leaning against the back of the bench, also listening to the story, but he seemed more interested in the children's reactions than on the story itself, like he had heard it before or just had taken part in it.

"There I was, thinking if I should go or not, when this man came, also carrying one of those helmets and said 'Speeding Bullet was born to fly that junk!'" The soldier changed his voice when he repeated the man's words, talking with some kind of accent from another city, which made all the kids giggle. "So I thought: okay… he knows what he's doing. Then the man added 'Just don't scare your friend with loops and all.' Then… I was really freaked out."

The kids laughed loudly, one of the girls wiping tears from her eyes, the younger boy rolling on the lawn, his white shirt collecting pieces of dry leaves.

"Was he good? Speeding Bullet?" The younger girl asked, playing with her long hair.

"Good? He was great! Still is! Great at flying and great at scaring passengers to death. Ask your dad."

The nine-year-old girl was very happy with the idea of getting a first hand story from her father.

"We can ask him tonight." Her little brother said with excitement.

"Don't you think you stir up their imagination a bit too much? You make those stories sound like a movie or something." The man behind the group said calmly.

"Oh, come on. I just tell the stories as I remember them." The soldier said with a smirk that suggested he was well aware of how much emotion he added to the stories to make them sound more exciting. "Besides, what kid doesn't like to listen to stories about their parents? And there are so many stories about their parents to be told. You should share some of your own."

The children's eyes glowed with interest. They couldn't hide their excitement. The man promised he would think of some story to tell them some other time, so they all turned back to the soldier to hear the rest of his narrative, although a bit disappointed.

"Okay, where was I?" The soldier asked.

"You were talking about Speeding Bullet!" The older boy reminded him.

"Oh, yes. So I finally decided that I'd go for a ride with him on the biplane."

"Wow, the view from up there must be beautiful."

"It sure was."

The kids all smiled, imagining how it would feel like to fly in an airplane. They were all fascinated by the adventures narrated to them. Amestris had been turned into chaos not long before they were born, when war had broken out in most of the continent. The same people who had contributed to that country's history, changing it, molding it into what the country was today, were the people they knew as their family and friends, who currently lived ordinary lives, or so it seemed from a child's point of view.

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12 years before

April 12th, 1917

The old man watched through his glasses and the window, as the soldiers were repairing the front wall of the headquarters, damaged in the most recent attack. The most recent, but probably not the last one. He sighed, thinking of how fast things had turned upside down.

Grumman had become Fuhrer of Amestris about two years ago and everything had been peaceful. Brigadier General Mustang had revised the policies on Ishbal and the Ishbalians were finally allowed to go back to their land. He also had made deals with Ling Yao, emperor of Xing, to build roads through the desert. Lots of products were now traded between the two countries, boosting both their economies. Major General Armstrong also took care of lots of things, helping them clear up the mess after the Homunculi's plans were ruined.

Now Amestris had been turned into chaos once more, but this time, the threat had come from foreign territories. Not that they haven't seen it coming. They knew they would be targeted as soon as Creta, one of their neighboring countries, signed a deal with Nymbe, in order to stop the attacks to their own territory. Attacks that came from the sky, spreading sheer terror amongst the population. Noisy killing machines that crossed the skies with unbelievable speed, dropping bombs without warning. They were usually followed by tanks and large troops armed with machine guns. Those were the ones to finish the soldiers that survived the attacks from the airplanes. The new invention, the airplane. Modified into a weapon to kill thousands and give power to the ones who commanded them. And now the airplanes had reached Amestris, after the deal with Creta allowed Nymbean troops to cross their country freely.

"Why can't an old man enjoy his last days in peace?" Grumman mumbled to himself, turning around and staring at a piece of paper on his desk.

One of the many documents he was forced to sign in order to prevent that madness from taking more lives. What they would manufacture in their own country, what kind of industry they would develop, who they would sell their produce to and even the prices they would charge. The king of Nymbe sure had imposed lots of new laws in the last month, in exchange for the ceasefire. And now the battle in the East… Brigadier General Mustang had commanded the troops to regain control of East Headquarters. The operation had been successful, until the bombers came. Until Mustang used his powerful flame alchemy to knock down half an escadrille.

It didn't take long for the enemy to notice they would have to attack from higher altitudes to avoid one single man, who could cause a lot more damage to the enemy aircrafts than the regular machinegun shots. Now that Amestris had taken the deal and bowed to their will, this specific document had caused Grumman to feel more defeated than ever.

An arrest order for anyone living in the country, who could perform alchemy. The second page of that document contained a list of people whose execution was now one of Nymbe's top priority list. Grumman got the document, to read the names again. Those were people he knew, people that would have to die to avoid more deaths of innocent people.

There was a knock on the door and he ordered the guards outside to let Brigadier General Roy Mustang come in.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes. Please sit down."

Roy took a seat and Grumman could see he had some scratches on his face, probably from the battle for the East Headquarters.

"Any losses of people close to you, Brigadier General?" He asked.

Mustang knew he was referring to his closest subordinates and their last battle.

"No. No one close."

"Well, I have to thank you for coming on such short notice this late at night." Grumman continued.

Mustang was going to say there was no reason to thank him, but Grumman kept on talking and didn't give him a chance to speak.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news." He said, handing Roy the documents.

The alchemist read the first page, in which there was an order for the arrest of anyone who performed alchemy. He stared at Grumman, not sure what to think at the moment.

"There's more. Not only they demanded the arrest of hundreds of alchemists, but they also gave me a very long list of people who they see as a threat to them and who should be executed." Grumman said in a tired voice.

Mustang laid the paper on the desk, not taking his eyes from the Fuhrer.

"I'm holding this order until tomorrow. That's the best I can do. I'm having as many people as possible warned tonight, so they can run away before we have to arrest or kill them with our own hands."

"Am I in this list, sir?" Roy asked coldly.

"Yes."

He was quiet for a second, thinking of what the Fuhrer could want him to do in this situation. It seemed obvious, but at the same time, unacceptable.

"You're not telling me to run away, are you? Sir?"

"Brigadier General Mustang…" The man said with a sigh. "I have to admit I've always liked your determination. You have something other soldiers don't have. But I can't let more people die. Roads have been blocked, people in the countryside are short on medication and food supplies, schools have been closed out of fear of other bombardments, people don't want to go out on the streets…"

"I understand your reasons for taking the deal Nymbe offered, sir. But what I don't understand is what you want me do in this situation." Roy said.

"We need to rebuild our country and gather our men and weapons to fight the bombers. But all that will take time. We need someone to take over and command our armies when the time comes to fight them." Grumman talked as he was making a speech, trying to convince his audience of his own credibility.

"You will do that, sir. You will be there to command them." Mustang said plainly.

"I'm afraid there's another battle I've been fighting. One I cannot win."

Roy didn't know what he was talking about at first, but soon remembered that the Fuhrer had undergone surgery about two weeks ago. Could he be talking about his health? At the time, no one had told either the press or the other people in the military what was the exact reason for his surgery. They had just said it was a routine procedure.

"I'm dying." Grumman added.

"Sir?" Roy stood up, clearly disturbed, with his fists still on the Fuhrer's desk.

He wasn't expecting this kind of news when he walked through those doors.

"The doctors removed a tumor from my liver. They say it's some kind of highly metastatic cancer and it can spread to any part of my body."

"But they removed it all, didn't they?"

"According to them I've got a year at most, if I'm lucky."

Roy sat down again, feeling despair creep up on him. What would happen to the country now? There couldn't be a more inconvenient moment for the Fuhrer to get sick.

"I'm making arrangements. Our Secret Intelligence Force is working around the clock. They are aware of my situation and they wanted to know who would take over after I died, when it was time to fight again. I want you, Brigadier General Mustang, to do that."

Mustang wanted this. He wanted to become Fuhrer and lead the country, but he had never thought it would take such a dramatic situation for him to have the chance. Suddenly a question pounded into his head. Why would Grumman pick him for the task? Why not someone else?

"Sir, why did you choose me? Why not Major General Armstrong, or…"

"We need a military leader to put the country back on its feet and the people need a leader they can trust. General Armstrong would watch after the people, but she's too strict. She would not accept the decentralization of authority."

"You mean how much influence the parliament has?"

"Exactly. I have given the parliament the competence to deal with many national matters, and all we got from that were good results. They represented the people, and through the people they acted, for the people."

"That would certainly make a good speech, sir." Roy said, his face now showing how exhausted he was.

"I appreciate it." Grumman said with a smile. "But let's not take too long here. I need you to get out of the country. Aerugo has been taking in refugees, from both Creta and Amestris. I believe you can leave the city before dawn."

"Sir, with all due respec-"

"You will not use alchemy, otherwise they may start dropping bombs randomly again and take you down along with God knows how many others." Grumman ordered as his face took on a serious expression.

Roy opened his mouth to speak, but the words just escaped his mind. It just couldn't be real. Fleeing the country in the middle of the ceasefire, when the attacks could start again at any moment was just unacceptable. As he didn't say anything, Grumman continued talking.

"My agents from the Secret Intelligence Force will contact you. You have to understand, Mustang. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for our country. I need you to stay alive until we are able to fight back. I need to know someone will take over from where I'll have left it all. Even if you stayed, what would you do? Surrender and be executed? Or fight and kill your own comrades so they don't kill you?"

Mustang gritted his teeth, thinking a hundred thoughts a minute. It was all too unreal. He looked away from Grumman, still not saying a word. Running away as a refugee and leaving the country he had fought to protect was unbearable. Why him? Why should he be safe and not the others? Leave behind his subordinates, leave behind… his first lieutenant, Riza Hawkeye. Would she be safe?

"Before I make any decisions, are my men also in this list?" he asked.

"No, I checked. Riza Hawkeye, Heymans Breda, Kain Fuery, Jean Havoc and Vato Falman are not in the list."

"Good." Roy said.

Those were the first good news of the night.

"I ordered someone to go with you. I wouldn't want you to be all by yourself, get drunk and decide to come back, blowing up enemy aircrafts."

"Sir, if those are the orders, I most certainly wouldn't do such a reckless thing." Roy replied, almost offended by Grumman's lack of trust.

"Please… allow this old man to have some sense of humor…"

Roy could have laughed in another situation. Grumman was known as an eccentric and the word definitely suited him. However, another question came to Mustang. Who would go with him? Grumman had made arrangements for someone to travel with him. It would probably be one of the S.I.F. agents.

"You should leave now. You need time to get your things. My men will keep track of you, so all you have to worry about is staying alive."

That wasn't an invitation. It was an order and Roy knew it. That was the end of their conversation

"Sir. It was an honor to serve under your command." Roy said with a salute.

The Fuhrer answered with a salute as well and watched quietly as the brigadier general left the office. Roy closed the door slowly, not believing in his own fate. He stopped in front of the door, closing his eyes and trying to reorganize his thoughts. In a matter of minutes, he had turned from brigadier general Roy Mustang to a refugee who wouldn't even be able to use his own name if he didn't want to be blown up by a biplane.

"Sir, we have to go." A female voice urged.

Roy opened his eyes, only to find Lieutenant Hawkeye standing about a meter away from him. She seemed worried. Could she know that he had just been ordered to leave the country?

"Wait a minute…" He thought. It was almost midnight and he hadn't called her there. Why was Lieutenant Hawkeye there at this hour?

"Sir, I'm afraid that if we don't leave now, we won't make it on time." Hawkeye insisted.

"Wait, wait, wait… Are you the one coming with me?" Roy asked, not even trying to hide his surprise.

"That's right, sir. It was the Fuhrer's order. Didn't he tell you?"

"What? You are coming with me? Giving up on your career to become a refugee?"

"What career, sir? What is there for us now? Obeying to enemy's orders is not my definition of a career." She replied drily.

Mustang was impressed. She seemed to have accepted it way more easily than he had.

"You're right." He finally agreed. "We don't have much time. Let's go."

A/N: This was chapter 1... I hope you enjoyed it and will leave a review with your opinion about it. English is my second language, so if you spot any mistakes, I'd be glad if you told me. This story is being edited and all, but it's finished, so I'll be posting once a week till the end. You don't have to worry about me giving up on it. So I ask you, please leave a review!