Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction / Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Gotta Knock a Little Harder ❯ Rise ( Chapter 26 )

Rise

 

Save your tears; for the day; when our pain is far behind; on your feet; come with me; we are soldiers stand or die; Save your fears; take your place; save them for the judgment day; fast and free; follow me; time to make the sacrifice; we rise or fall - Yoko Kanno - Origa (Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex OST)

 

Jet collapsed on the ground next to the campfire with a tired groan. He rubbed at his shoulder where his cybernetic arm was attached, and felt the knots. Next to him, Al settled with a rattle of armor, and even though he knew the boy didn't fatigue physically, there was still a sense about him. Mind-numbing, Jet thought. This'll wear anyone out. Need to be careful, or we'll start making mistakes.

 

Hughes sagged and leaned into the boy. It was slow-going getting the stones fused to the fuel rods; a process that involved Jet, Hughes and Al pulling the rods out one-by-one, with a protective clamp that reached in, grabbed the rod, and shunted it into a cylindrical container that prevented exposure. It required several men to support it due to length and weight; the rods weighed at least 300 pounds each. That didn't include the weight of the container. The clamp was normally just used to extract broken rods, since refueling in general didn't require removal, and was automatic. But this was the only way they could get the stones fused to them.

 

Drop the stones into the cylinder, turn, grapple, turn, snap, whoosh, hiss, turn, shunt the rod back in place, and start all over again with a new one. It was tedious. They had been working through most of the night, and they still weren't near finished. They didn't need to be completely full, but enough to break orbit, and to get them somewhere in their own system safely before going dry again.

 

Unfortunately, it was left up to just them to do the grunt work. Considering the speed at which that convoy was moving, Mustang had ordered the other soldiers to the other side of Resembool, and Jet offered up the use of a radio that was a bit more reliable than what they had, which would have just been a phone at a local shop. The soldiers were wholly unprepared for battle. They had just been on their way to Central City, or were just enjoying a little down-time, when the Bebop crash turned their entire world upside down. Considering the circumstances, and their current odds of stopping that convoy before it reached the Bebop, Jet had to admire their tenacity.

 

Of course, he wished that Major Armstrong had stayed behind to help with the refueling. But he was the only Alchemist that could be spared. Mustang was needed here to do his thing; at least until he couldn't stay any longer. And there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he was going to allow Ed or Al to go headlong into a battle situation. Not when the odds were stacked against them. They were undermanned, under-gunned, and about to be forced to fight against their own military.

 

The only way they were going to beat those odds, was if they could get enough rods recharged to get the Bebop off the planet before the convoy arrived. And at the rate things were going, it looked like they would be cutting it close.

 

Earlier, Ed had been going buggy at the forced safety, and Spike had managed to put him to work with the last minute system checks. Jet was silently amazed, and amused at how quickly Spike had gotten over being pissed at the unfortunate mess Ed made of the Swordfish. It seemed to him that Spike had essentially taken on a big brother role with the kid. He couldn't help but feel bemused, even though knowing both personalities, it was inevitable.

 

Mustang sagged down on the ground across from him. He looked even more worn than Jet felt. Of course while he wasn't doing the hardest physical work, he was doing the toughest job. He wondered just how much this was taking out of the man.

 

Mustang looked down at his gloved right hand, and gave a tired little laugh. Then he held it up and showed Jet. The tips of the middle finger and thumb were worn smooth. The cloth wouldn't create a spark anymore.

 

“Lovely,” Jet said.

 

Mustang smirked and reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out another glove, and slipped it onto his left hand. “I can do this with one hand tied behind my back,” he said. “It doesn't matter which one, either.”

 

[1.1.1.1]

 

The pre-launch systems had been checked, and rechecked. Everything that needed to be tied down was tied. The Hammerhead and the Swordfish were berthed in the bay. All systems were `go', as soon as they had enough fuel. Spike flopped down into the pilot's seat on the bridge of the Bebop with a cup of coffee, and threw his feet up on the control panel. All that was left for him to do was to baby sit their ticket home, and watch the fuel level creep up. The forced inactivity was driving him crazy, too.

 

He knew he could put an end to the problem of the convoy quickly, and with little effort. But Mustang had insisted he wait until they had no choice. Strategically, it was better to try and escape without a firefight. Then the convoy would arrive, and they wouldn't have anything to take. The Bebop would then be nothing more than gossip; except to a select few who would take the secret to their graves.

 

Winry had already stripped McKenna's craft of the vital technology, and hid it away somewhere she insisted was safe. Then it was gleefully deconstructed by Ed and Al. It was nothing more than so much scrap metal at the back of the Rockbell house, now. No different than the rest of the scraps they kept back there, and completely unidentifiable as alien with the current technology of the world.

 

Spike briefly wondered if Winry would be able to use any of the scraps to build her automail. He chuckled softly at the memory of her reaction when he presented her with a small set of wrenches and screwdrivers. They weren't much, although they were lighter, and made of stronger alloys than what she had. They weren't even new, but rather well-used. But Spike wanted to thank her, and it was all he had on him.

 

Anyone watching would have thought she had just been presented with the crown jewels, though. She squealed and damn near knocked him off his feet when she jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. The kiss she planted on his lips in her excitement came as a complete surprise, but it was far from unpleasant. Totally spontaneous and thoroughly innocent; but she quickly jumped back as though she'd just been burned. Spike was never the shy type, but he thought he may have blushed as hard as she did at that moment.

 

He was looking forward to getting back home, and in familiar territory. Dealing with bounties and the syndicate was going to be a cakewalk compared to homunculi. At least when you put a bullet in their heads, they stay down, he thought with a small shudder.

 

Ed entered the bridge, munching on an apple, and pulling Spike out of his thoughts. As he strolled past, he tossed one to him too, then stood at the port.

 

Spike bit into the apple, and relished the sweet-tart flavor. He couldn't remember eating as well as he had in the past few days, and mentally added the food to the list of things he was going to miss. He had been stunned to absolute silence when Aunt Pinako and Winry came marching in loaded down with fresh fruit, vegetables, and baked goods to stuff their larder with. When he asked the old woman why the hell she did that, she just smiled, and said, “I saw the way you two ate, Spike. Like it might be the last good meal you ever get. We have plenty to spare, and I wouldn't feel right if I let you take off without knowing you had something to eat on your trip.” She then winked, smiled, and gave him a pat on the shoulder as she left. A moment later, Spike went to the head to see if he could find eye drops. For some reason, his eyes started burning.

 

And now he was staring at the back of a tow-headed pipsqueak with more guts than sense, and felt a sense of impending loss. Spike hated long, mushy good-byes as it was; but he couldn't shake the feeling that he would forever regret not saying good-bye to Ed properly. A handshake just didn't seem enough, and neither of them were the huggy type.

 

“Where I grew up,” Spike said, and Ed faced him. “We had a tradition. A ritual, of sorts. It was only done with someone you could trust your life to. And it was done in secret.”

 

The boy's interest piqued. He moved over to the pilot's seat, and leaned on the control panel. “Oh, yeah?” he asked. “What did you do?”

 

“We'd become blood brothers. We kept each other's secrets, watched each other's backs. We swore to be there for each other, always. We'd seal that oath in blood.”

 

“Do you have a blood brother?” Ed asked.

 

He sat silent a moment. For some reason the words weren't coming as easily as he thought they would. Finally, he said, “I never trusted anyone enough, before.”

 

Ed looked down at his hands a moment. Without a word, he brushed his flesh hand over the automail one, and made a blade from his index finger. He held it up. Spike took him by the wrist, and ran the blade down his own palm. He hardly felt a thing, the blade was so sharp. Blood welled up in the cut instantly.

 

He let go of Ed's wrist, and the boy followed suit. They grasped hands, and allowed their blood to mingle against their palms.

 

“I can't be here to watch your back, Ed. I wish I could.”

 

He gave Spike a small, sad smile, and said, “Heh. I think you're the one who needs his back watched.”

 

“You're probably right.”

 

The silence between them was suddenly awkward, as Spike stared at his bleeding palm. He heard a ripping sound, and then Ed was wrapping a piece of the lining from the black jacket he wore around his palm.

 

A moment later, he'd wrapped his own palm. He leaned on the control panel, and stared out the ports in silence, and Spike could see that something was on his mind.

 

“You said blood brothers are sworn to keep each other's secrets, right?” Ed asked.

 

“It's a part of the oath,” Spike said.

 

The boy faced him, and swallowed hard. “This… blood oath,” he said, finally. “It's not a tradition I've ever heard of. But I knew it.”

 

He took a deep breath, and walked up to the ports. “You told me that you lost one of your eyes in an accident, and that ever since, you saw the past in one eye, and the present in the other.”

 

Spike felt a cold chill run down his spine. “I never told you that, Ed.”

 

Ed faced him. His face had gone pale and tight. “Not yet, you haven't.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

The boy started shaking, and he wrapped his arms around himself. After a few minutes of staring down at the deck, he said, “Something happened. Except it hasn't happened to you, yet.”

 

The haunted sound of Ed's voice made Spike shiver. The words he was using were unreal. “What happened, Ed? Or what will happen?”

 

It seemed that the boy was struggling to get himself under control, as he gulped for air. Without looking up, he removed his jacket, and turned around to show Spike his back. There was a huge burn hole in the back of his shirt, but no sign of injury. After a moment, he put the jacket back on, and turned back around.

 

Spike's mind went numb.

 

“I don't know why everything else went back to the way it was, except that,” Ed said. “Maybe it's a reminder. Or a warning.”

 

Ed smiled a little, but it never reached his eyes. “I had your back.” He looked back down, and Spike swore he heard him sniffle. He cleared his throat, and then said softly. “I can't tell you any more. You made me swear on our blood oath.” He looked up at Spike, and held up his wrapped hand. “Even though I hadn't made the oath yet.”

 

Spike, at this point, just gave up trying to wrap his brain around what Ed had just told him. Silently, he was grateful that his future self—

 

Is that what he's telling me?

 

--had sworn the boy to secrecy. He didn't think he could handle any more information.

 

[2.2.2.2]

 

Major Alex Louis Armstrong stood with his arms crossed in the middle of the road leading into Resembool, patiently waiting. The predawn quiet was only broken by an occasional dog bark in the distance, and the sound of a whistle as the early train was pulling out of the station in the village.

 

Behind him, and off to each side, were Lieutenants Riza Hawkeye, and Jean Havoc, both with rifles ready. He never even looked back, but heard them get into position. He also knew the other soldiers; Breda, Fuery, Ross and Brosh, were positioned on either side of the road, behind the low rock walls. It wouldn't be long, now.

 

He heard the sound of the small convoy before he saw the headlights. An instant later, he also heard Hawkeye and Havoc prime their rifles, and Havoc's low voice reporting in to Mustang over the radio.

 

It was time.

 

[3.3.3.3]

 

Falman had seen the lights of the convoy from the train window as it passed by. Moments later it pulled to a stop at the Resembool station.

 

The Warrant Officer couldn't get off the train quickly enough. He wasted no time heading straight for the Rockbell property, and his comrades. He just hoped he could get there before the convoy did.

 

He avoided the road. Instead he cut across properties in a straight line. Charging through trees and fields of grain with no concern about the noise he was making. If the convoy caught up to him, they wouldn't hear him over their motors, and if they didn't, it wouldn't matter.

 

As the Rockbell house came into view, he slowed and started moving quietly. Something was amiss. It was nothing he could put his finger on; but a deep gut instinct. He quickly found cover, and a good vantage point.

 

[4.4.4.4]

 

Spike was dying of boredom. There was nothing left for him to do at this moment, and it was driving him crazy.

 

He wasn't the only one feeling it, either. He noticed that Ed had taken to pacing back and forth through the bridge. He knew that neither he nor Ed had the brute strength that Jet and Hughes had for the physical labor of pulling the fuel rods out, but he figured they could at least spell the two of them a bit. It would be something, at least.

 

Spike dropped his feet to the deck with a dull clank, and startled Ed out of whatever had his mind occupied at the moment.

 

“Let's go give them a hand with the rods,” Spike said. Ed smiled and nodded.

 

[5.5.5.5]

 

The lead truck in the convoy came to a smooth stop just inches from Major Armstrong's legs. The giant refused to flinch or budge, however.

 

The driver leaned out his window, and asked, “What's going on, Major? I've got supplies I need to get to troops.”

 

Armstrong strode up to the driver's window, and leaned down. Behind him, both Havoc and Hawkeye remained in the middle of the road, their rifles ready. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two of the other soldiers bounding quietly over the rock wall they'd been hiding behind, and sneaking up to secure the drivers of each truck. He had no doubt that the other two officers were doing the exact same thing from the other side of the road.

 

“I'm afraid you are going to have to find a different route,” Armstrong said. “The village has been quarantined.”

 

“A different route?” the driver said. “That means going back two hours to take the other road. I don't have time for this.”

 

“My orders are not to allow anyone in, or out of the village,” Armstrong said.

 

“Out of the truck,” he heard Ross demand. “Now.”

 

Armstrong could hear the hammers of several guns being pulled back, and doors opening. He stepped back, and said to the lead driver, “Please get out of the truck, and put your hands up.”

 

The driver complied with a smile, which sent Armstrong's internal alarms off. As the other driver's were being led at gunpoint up to the lead truck, Fuery barreled past them, and stopped just short of running into the Major. His eyes were wide, and he was clearly flustered. “Major Armstrong, Sir? The backs of all the trucks are empty.”

 

Armstrong glared down at the lead driver, who just smirked. “You're too late.”

 

In the background, he could hear Havoc's urgent warning into the radio.