Fic: The plight of the soft-hearted (FMA)
Title: The plight of the soft-hearted
Word Count: 730
Rating: G
Characters: Alex Armstrong, Philip Armstrong
Author's Notes: This story is partly inspired by the peace song Le Deserteur, written by BorisVian and sung by different people, inculding Joan Baez. If you are interested in reading the lyrics, there are plenty of translations available on the Internet.
Summary: Amidst the horrors of Ishbal, Major Alex Armstrong makes a decision.
*
The day dawned pale and early, as most days in the desert do. Midnight blue lightened into a pearly mauve above the sandy dunes and Alex let the cool touch of dew kiss his skin. Soon, the sun would blind the world once again, cerulean skies and sweat and death. But in the birth of this new day, it hardly mattered anymore.
Now that the days of doubts had passed, Alex felt light, a forgotten kind of euphoria filling his limbs, singing in his blood. Finally a sliver of hope shone through the darkness of his thoughts.
*
There was a satisfaction in war that Philip Armstrong couldn’t quite express. It happened there, in offices just like this ones, far from the blood and the grime, the smell of gunpowder and the sound of screams. His battles took place within these walls of files; within that busy hive of people coding and decoding, translating dirty realities into sharp words.
It was not the primal fight of a man against another one. It was a game against God. There was potential for exhilaration in the power that held his word but Philip found it sobering if anything else. What few could understand was the profound satisfaction of a victory crafted from your very thoughts, the overcoming of every uncertainty and imperfection that hovered over the facts. It was like playing with fate, shaping a splinter of the world to your will.
*
Father,
It is with sorrow and yet an incommensurable sense of relief that I write you this letter. As you must know, my garrison has been stationed for the last five weeks in the sector west of Talita. We are three State Alchemists deployed there and we have accomplished in this short amount of time what no man should be able to do; the work of God, the abnegation of existence itself.
*
“General Armstrong, Sir!”
The sergeant standing at attention by the door looked barely out of the Academy, cheeks smooth and round and dark hair cropped short. Philip spared one last fleeting look at the map spread in front of him before nodding to the soldier.
“A letter for you Sir”, the sergeant announced and then added, a little unsure. “From Ishbal.”
*
Where used to lay the white stoned city of Talita, only rubbles remain. No words can describe justly that terrible sight. The sand turned crimson, soaked with too much blood and pain. Smoke fills the air like poison. There is nothing left but desolation in this land.
The pain that fills my soul is not for my sullied hands, Father. It is for those lives that we smother like fragile flames. It is for the women I see crying, for the children I see dying. It is for my country that commands this suffering. For its soldiers that carry out this terrible deed.
*
For a handful of heartbeats, disappointment and disbelief swelled in Philip’s chest like a cancer, stealing his breath, numbing his mind. Knowledge teetered at the edge of his consciousness, faces of men in blue, some haunted, some with bright and resourceful eyes. He knew that weaknesses and strengths battled in every soldier but as a dream crumbled to dust, he couldn’t help the sharp sting of betrayal in his flesh.
*
This is no war, Father. Amidst the winds of the desert, I lost its meaning. And I cannot do this anymore. I am not on this earth to kill innocents. I am not an alchemist to kill people. I do not mean to anger you, to sadden you, but my decision is taken. Today, I’ll leave.
It is with regret that I bid you farewell Father, for I know my decision will bring you disappointment and shame. But I hope you can find in your heart to forgive your son. Tell Mother and my sisters that I love them dearly.
Your loving son,
Alex Louis Armstrong
*
Fine tremors shook Philip’s hand as he reached for the phone. From the ruins of his hopes, a new resolve emerged. Love and that unshakable loyalty that thrummed in his veins steadied his voice and sharpened his thoughts. Strategies blossomed in his mind, ideas considered and discarded, repatriation, injuries, expertise. Philip thought of the eyes of his son, small and blue and so very kind. He would bring him home.
Word Count: 730
Rating: G
Characters: Alex Armstrong, Philip Armstrong
Author's Notes: This story is partly inspired by the peace song Le Deserteur, written by BorisVian and sung by different people, inculding Joan Baez. If you are interested in reading the lyrics, there are plenty of translations available on the Internet.
Summary: Amidst the horrors of Ishbal, Major Alex Armstrong makes a decision.
*
The day dawned pale and early, as most days in the desert do. Midnight blue lightened into a pearly mauve above the sandy dunes and Alex let the cool touch of dew kiss his skin. Soon, the sun would blind the world once again, cerulean skies and sweat and death. But in the birth of this new day, it hardly mattered anymore.
Now that the days of doubts had passed, Alex felt light, a forgotten kind of euphoria filling his limbs, singing in his blood. Finally a sliver of hope shone through the darkness of his thoughts.
*
There was a satisfaction in war that Philip Armstrong couldn’t quite express. It happened there, in offices just like this ones, far from the blood and the grime, the smell of gunpowder and the sound of screams. His battles took place within these walls of files; within that busy hive of people coding and decoding, translating dirty realities into sharp words.
It was not the primal fight of a man against another one. It was a game against God. There was potential for exhilaration in the power that held his word but Philip found it sobering if anything else. What few could understand was the profound satisfaction of a victory crafted from your very thoughts, the overcoming of every uncertainty and imperfection that hovered over the facts. It was like playing with fate, shaping a splinter of the world to your will.
*
Father,
It is with sorrow and yet an incommensurable sense of relief that I write you this letter. As you must know, my garrison has been stationed for the last five weeks in the sector west of Talita. We are three State Alchemists deployed there and we have accomplished in this short amount of time what no man should be able to do; the work of God, the abnegation of existence itself.
*
“General Armstrong, Sir!”
The sergeant standing at attention by the door looked barely out of the Academy, cheeks smooth and round and dark hair cropped short. Philip spared one last fleeting look at the map spread in front of him before nodding to the soldier.
“A letter for you Sir”, the sergeant announced and then added, a little unsure. “From Ishbal.”
*
Where used to lay the white stoned city of Talita, only rubbles remain. No words can describe justly that terrible sight. The sand turned crimson, soaked with too much blood and pain. Smoke fills the air like poison. There is nothing left but desolation in this land.
The pain that fills my soul is not for my sullied hands, Father. It is for those lives that we smother like fragile flames. It is for the women I see crying, for the children I see dying. It is for my country that commands this suffering. For its soldiers that carry out this terrible deed.
*
For a handful of heartbeats, disappointment and disbelief swelled in Philip’s chest like a cancer, stealing his breath, numbing his mind. Knowledge teetered at the edge of his consciousness, faces of men in blue, some haunted, some with bright and resourceful eyes. He knew that weaknesses and strengths battled in every soldier but as a dream crumbled to dust, he couldn’t help the sharp sting of betrayal in his flesh.
*
This is no war, Father. Amidst the winds of the desert, I lost its meaning. And I cannot do this anymore. I am not on this earth to kill innocents. I am not an alchemist to kill people. I do not mean to anger you, to sadden you, but my decision is taken. Today, I’ll leave.
It is with regret that I bid you farewell Father, for I know my decision will bring you disappointment and shame. But I hope you can find in your heart to forgive your son. Tell Mother and my sisters that I love them dearly.
Your loving son,
Alex Louis Armstrong
*
Fine tremors shook Philip’s hand as he reached for the phone. From the ruins of his hopes, a new resolve emerged. Love and that unshakable loyalty that thrummed in his veins steadied his voice and sharpened his thoughts. Strategies blossomed in his mind, ideas considered and discarded, repatriation, injuries, expertise. Philip thought of the eyes of his son, small and blue and so very kind. He would bring him home.