Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction / Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Gotta Knock a Little Harder ❯ Soldiers ( Chapter 25 )

Soldiers

 

What's that sound, what's that dreadful rumble; Won't somebody tell me what I hear; In the distance, but drawing near; Is it only a storm approaching; All that thunder and the blinding light; In the winter night; In the grip of this cold December; You and I have reason to remember -- Abba (The Visitors)

 

Archer arrived at the village clinic outside of Central late that morning. He was met in the main room by the Doctor. “Thank you for coming.” The Doctor offered a hand in greeting.

 

Archer ignored it. “What happened?” he asked.

 

“He has burns over seventy percent of his body, and a pair of gunshot wounds,” The Doctor said. He gestured to a doorway leading to the clinic's back rooms, and added. “They're not serious. He was just winged. For that matter, the burns aren't any more than second degree. He's in a lot of pain, but there's not going to be permanent damage.”

 

They walked side by side down the narrow hallway, and then stopped by the last door. The Doctor faced Archer before opening the door. “He won't say what happened to get him in such a state. He just insisted that I call you.”

 

Archer nodded, and entered the room alone. He stopped just at the bedside, and stared down at the deep red form. He was missing most of the hair on his head and brows, and covered in ointment. Blisters were already forming across his cheeks, chest and arms, and he was wrapped in bandages at his shoulder, ribs and hands. He recognized Mustang's handiwork in the man's injuries right away. This puts a different spin on this whole thing, he thought. It's a good thing I sent a few more people to Resembool. That ambitious bastard is liable to make things a bit more difficult, though.

 

When he was certain the Doctor had left them completely alone, he raised a disdainful brow and said, “This is no way to get back in the good graces of the State, Kimbley.”

 

The other man's eyes slid to the side, and narrowed. It was the extent of any expression Kimbley could give at the moment.

 

Archer smirked. “As it so happens, I'd already taken care of the problem with our `guests'. You needn't have bothered. Besides, I have something else in mind for you.”

 

Kimbley's eyes widened somewhat. He was interested.

 

[1.1.1.1]

 

Spike sat on the steps leading from the bay, into the ship proper. What he really wanted at that moment was a shower, a change of clothes, and to change his bandages before Aunt Pinako found out he'd ripped some of the many stitches he'd collected over the past few days. The very thought of facing her in that condition made him wince.

 

Damn, that evil little leprechaun makes me feel like a snot-nosed kid, he thought with a silent chuckle.

 

He also wanted to find some aspirin, or something stronger. His hand was really starting to hurt again. Suppose I shouldn't have hit Mustang with it, he thought.

 

But Jet had other plans.

 

He was leaning against the side of the steps, his arms crossed, looking less than thrilled at the moment. It made Spike wonder just what the hell was up all of a sudden. Jet saw them acting strange a bit ago, too, he thought. He suspects something.

 

In front of him, Mustang and Hughes were patiently waiting for what Jet had to say. There was a definite difference in personalities, he noticed. Hughes was casual, but observant; looking around the bay and taking in everything he saw. Mustang was quite a bit more formal. Standing at “parade rest”, with his feet shoulder width, and his hands clasped behind his back. Even all scuffed up Mustang still had that air of arrogance and discipline. His look never wavered from Jet, either. Damn military, Spike thought.

 

“Change of plans,” Jet said. He nodded over toward Sheska, who was with Ed and Winry on the other end of the bay. She was staring at the Swordfish while the other two were talking animatedly. “We're not going to need whatever mumbo-jumbo you brought her here to give us.”

 

Spike's brows shot up. “Wait a minute, Jet. I thought the information she had was going to get us home.”

 

“We don't need it,” Jet insisted. He faced the questioning looks of Mustang and Hughes, and said, “McKenna's back, and it looks like she's going to live through eating a handful of those red rocks of yours.”

 

“I see,” Mustang said. “So the price you're willing to pay for our help has dropped drastically.”

 

“Not entirely. We're just paying for a different service, now.”

 

Spike suddenly understood what his partner was getting at. He got to his feet on the step, and leaned on the railing. His look was directed at Mustang, alone. “We need fuel. Getting back to our own system isn't going to do us a damn bit of good if we end up just drifting through space.”

 

“We'll leave the zipcraft McKenna stole behind,” Jet said. “You can deconstruct that to your heart's content. The technology that runs the Bebop runs the zipcraft, too.”

 

“And what do you suggest we use as fuel?” Mustang asked.

 

Spike's smile grew. “We have a theory. And it's going to require quite a bit of heat.”

 

[2.2.2.2]

 

Four military trucks filled with men and weapons rolled relentlessly toward Resembool. At their present speed, they were only about a day away from the small village. There was no stopping to rest, the drivers worked in shifts, and only a handful knew what their objective was. The rest could only speculate; although many of them were close in their guesses. They talked about the rumours flying around Central City of flying machines, and most of them assumed that they were going to secure one for the State.

 

A Warrant Officer was on vacation in another small village; visiting family before he arrived at his newly reassigned post in Central City. He was sitting at an outdoor café, enjoying the quiet and a good cup of tea, when the four trucks rolled through.

 

Vato Falman pushed aside his unfinished cup of tea, and left to make a couple of phone calls.

 

[3.3.3.3]

 

Spike felt better after the shower, fresh bandages, and the painkillers. He also decided that he was in a much better mood, when he discovered that Winry had been true to her word, and had the Swordfish put back together by morning.

 

Jet had Mustang and Hughes over by the fuel tanks, explaining what was needed, and Spike didn't have anything to contribute to the conversation. As far as he was concerned, a shakedown was in order for the Swordfish.

 

Mustang had estimated less than two days before the small convoy of soldiers arrived. Spike wanted to make sure his monoracer was running fine. He had a feeling that he was going to need her. Besides, it was going to feel good to get into the air again. Even if it was for a little while.

 

He bounded into the cockpit of the craft, and reached for the ignition key. His hand grasped only air. He looked down, and saw that the key was gone. “Damn,” he mumbled, and climbed back out.

 

He found Winry, Sheska and Ed on the ground by the Hammerhead. “I hope to hell you're not thinking about taking that apart,” he said to Winry as he reached them.

 

She planted her hands on her hips, and feigned offense. “Jet's ship isn't broken.”

 

“And it's not nearly as nifty as mine,” Spike said with a grin. He held out his hand. “Speaking of which, you have my key?”

 

She blinked in surprise. “Oh! Yes.” She reached down the front of her top and fished it out. Spike couldn't help but enjoy the show. He also couldn't help but notice that Ed was suddenly blushing furiously. The boy's a walking hormone, and he probably just now realized his best bud for most of his life is soft in all the right places, Spike thought. Bet that outdoor shower gets a lot of use while he's here.

 

She tossed him the key, and said, “Ed thought he was going to come after you guys last night.”

 

Spike caught the key, and looked down at the boy. His brow climbed up his forehead. “Oh, really?”

 

Ed fidgeted nervously, and looked around. Spike noticed he made a point not to meet his, nor Winry's eyes.

 

“Of course, he couldn't get it started,” she said, as she dug in her pocket. She pulled out a sparkplug, and handed it to Spike. “I made sure of that.”

 

Ed snapped his attention back to her, and he glared. “Hey!”

 

A huge grin spread across Spike's face as he took the plug from her. “Winry, I think I love you!”

 

Then it was Winry's turn to blush.

 

Spike chuckled and strolled off with a wave. About halfway back to the Bebop, he stopped, turned and called out, “Hey, Ed! Are you coming?”

 

The boy trotted up to him, all grins.

 

[4.4.4.4]

 

Just before he took off, Spike radioed Jet to let him know what he was doing. Considering the current circumstances, he wanted to do a little recon to see just how far away the military convoy was. Besides, it was a good excuse to get into the air, and bring Ed along.

 

He knew the boy was loving the speed and power of the Swordfish. Spike thought it would be fun to give him a better taste of what the monoracer could do, too. Of course he promised to stay high, and use the sonar to get the info. But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy himself. He'd almost forgotten how much he loved to fly until he'd taken off for Central City with Ed, and felt it through fresh senses. He couldn't help himself, he genuinely liked the boy.

 

[5.5.5.5]

 

It took several calls for Falman to find out that both Hughes and Mustang were in Resembool, and the news wasn't good. Hawkeye didn't go into detail about the unexpected trip, but she hinted that it was a serious situation. She wasn't surprised at the news of the convoy, but she did let him know it wasn't exactly an official one, either. It didn't bode well for group, he realized.

 

When he hung up, he checked the train schedules. One was leaving for Resembool in the next few minutes. If he ran, he could just make it.

 

[6.6.6.6]

 

It didn't take long for Spike to find the convoy. And he estimated only about a day away, rather than the two Mustang had figured. Damn, he thought. They're not stopping for rest.

 

As soon as Spike was back in range, he radioed Jet to let him know.

 

“Yeah, we just got word from one of Mustang's officers on vacation not too far from their position,” Jet said. “The deadline's been moved up. How well is the Swordfish running? Can we depend on her if we need to create a diversion?”

 

“Well, I'd like to shake her down a little more, but so far, so good,” Spike said.

 

There was a pause on the other end, and then Jet said, “How long?”

 

“An hour, maybe a little more. I want to take her out of the atmosphere.”

 

“Do it, and then get your asses back here.”

 

Spike chuckled. “Roger that… Mom.”

 

He heard Jet growl on the other end, then, “Just hurry up.”

 

Spike ended the call, and glanced in the mirror at Ed. The boy's eyes couldn't possibly get any wider. “You ready for this, Pipsqueak?”

 

The boy heard the challenge in the question, and gave him a determined grin. “Bring it on.”

 

Spike banked the Swordfish sharply, and then put her through her paces. In the atmosphere she performed like a Prima Ballerina, and he made a mental note to thank Winry profusely when they got back. She hadn't flown this well since Doohan had last gotten his hands on her. Maybe I can scrounge up some tools or something as a gift, he thought.

 

He glanced back at Ed. The boy was wide-eyed and white-knuckled, but was clearly enjoying the ride. He's got the makings for a damn fine monoracer pilot, he thought. Too bad he won't get that chance.

 

“Ready to go up?” he asked. Ed nodded and grinned.

 

Spike didn't want to knock the kid out, so he made the ascent more gradual than normal. It afforded him a wonderful view of the planet below without the rapid regression that could be so disorienting to someone who'd never flown before.

 

He glanced in the mirror, and noticed the boy's eyes were squeezed shut. Spike grinned. Speed is fine, he thought. But the ascent is a bit disturbing. At least he's not freaking out.

 

The Swordfish broke the atmosphere, and was in vacuum. He switched gears, and shut off the jets. Then he triggered the thrusters against the inertia to keep from just sailing off into space. He adjusted the attitude controls, and swung the ship around for the best possible view.

 

“Hey, Ed,” he said. “Open your eyes.”

 

He watched in the mirror, as the boy cautiously opened his eyes, and looked around. Front, back, sides. Spike noticed he didn't look `up'. Ed's eyes widened, and his mouth formed a silent `O'.

 

“You'll never get this chance again,” he said.

 

He adjusted the thrusters, then glanced back in the mirror.

 

“We're… in space?!”

 

“Yep.” Spike pointed at the canopy of the cockpit. “Look up.”

 

Ed did. Spike watched as comprehension slowly flooded the boy's face. Once it hit him that he was staring at his home world, he yelped and then tried press himself back into his seat as far as he could. Unfortunately, the lack of gravity was stopping him. “What the hell?”

 

“Take a deep breath, Ed. We're not falling.”

 

The boy's eyes rolled up, and Spike was worried for a moment that the boy was going to pass out. Then he noticed that he was focusing on his long blonde bangs. He watched with a grin, while Ed reached up, and pulled a hank of hair down. He let it go, to watch it slowly rise up again. “Heh. It's almost like swimming.”

 

“Sorta,” Spike said. “But without the pressure, or the drag coefficient.”

 

Ed suddenly looked at him strangely, and said, “Does everything float around in space?”

 

The significance of the question hit Spike like a ton of bricks. “Aw, shit!” he said, and started the Swordfish back up. It had been many years since Spike had first experienced Zero-g, and had forgotten one valuable lesson. Everything is affected by Zero-g. Including the stomach. Spike was used to the occasional lack of gravity, but he had his fair share of moments the first few times he'd been in it.

 

He saw the boy grow pale, then green. He got the ship angled, and headed back to atmosphere. “I told you, Ed! No puking in my sh—“

 

It was too late.

 

[7.7.7.7]

 

Jet was down by the fuel tanks with Mustang, supervising the removal of the spent rods, when the radio squawked.

 

“Jet, you there?” Spike said, sounding quite agitated.

 

“Right here, Spike. Something wrong?”

 

He heard his partner growl. “Just get the damn fire hose hooked up. We'll be there in about five minutes.”

 

Mustang looked concerned, as he came up to his side. “Is there a problem?”

 

Jet just laughed.

 

[8.8.8.8]

 

When the Swordfish landed on the deck of the Bebop, Jet was ready with the fire hose. And as soon as Spike launched himself out of the craft, he hit him with a powerful stream of cold water.

 

The other man just stood there and took it. He was disgruntled enough that the water could have been turning to steam as soon as it hit him. Of Ed, there was no sign at first.

Once the worst of the chunks were washed off, Spike wordlessly stormed past Jet into the bay.

 

Mustang and Hughes had joined him out of curiosity, and they both watched Spike charge past them, slinging water as he went.

 

“Lesson number one,” Jet said to them over his shoulder. “Zero gravity makes everything float. Including dinner.”

 

Hughes winced, and chuckled. Mustang smirked.

 

“Come on out, Ed,” Jet called.

 

Ed peeked out, and then hesitantly climbed down from the Swordfish. The boy was covered in more chunks than Spike was, but not by much. He sighed, and waited.

 

“Spike shoulda warned you about that,” Jet said. “Sorry about that, kid.” Then he turned the hose on him.

 

From behind him, he heard a stifled, choking noise that grew louder in a hurry. He glanced over his shoulder wondering if he was going to have to dodge any sympathetic pukers, and his brows shot up.

 

Mustang was laughing his ass off, and gasping for breath. He wiped his eyes, and gave up trying to control the fit.

 

When Jet turned his attention back to Ed, he really felt for the kid. It was bad enough that he lost his lunch all over Spike's precious Swordfish, but to have his commanding officer laughing at him was only adding insult to injury. He'd heard about the boy decking Mustang earlier. He had a feeling that another one was due. And fairly soon.

 

About the time he shut off the hose, Spike flew past him with a bucket and various cleaning implements. He dropped the bucket at Ed's feet, and said, “You made the mess. You clean it up.”

 

“Oh, cut the kid some slack,” Jet said.

 

He didn't respond, but spun around, and headed back to the interior of the ship. He paused long enough to say to Jet, “I'm going to take a shower. Again.”

 

“You shoulda known better, Spike-o,” Jet said, with a laugh.

 

The other man's eye just twitched.