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This will probably need some explanation: I enjoyed Conqueror of Shamballa, but the end left me feeling that the story was incomplete. So I present you with my humble offering for an epilogue to the first anime and CoS, and my attempt to join the FMA timeline with ours.

***

The bunker shook once again, grains of concrete tumbling from the ceiling. Hitler continued staring at the maps, willing his men to fight harder. The city was not lost, how could the General staff even think so? Berlin would stand, and the units he had prepared for the counterattack would break through the oncoming Communist hordes. The long shadow thrown by a paraffin lamp quickly blotted out the map, and with it his thinking. He looked up, fumbling for his spectacles, to see Leutnant Groebe. The thirty year old clicked his heels together, raising his arm before his idol.

"Mein Fuhrer, I have the solution you requested."

Hitler reached over for the file Groebe had brought, his frail hand reaching for the paper like a skeleton grasping for life.

"Tell me, Groebe... why should the Thule Society, which failed then, prove any use to me now?"

"Because, mein Fuhrer, we have devised a weapon to rid these Russian pests from our city. We know of the world, Shamballa, that lies beyond the ether. We failed to conquer it back then, but surely, with persuasion, the great warriors who dwell there may join our cause. They will see the Soviet cancer paralysing our Reich, and will hasten to our defence!"

The Fuhrer sat back in his seat, his mind filled with the notions that Groebe has conjured for him. "How do we know that these beasts will fight for us?"

Groebe drew a photograph from the file. "This man. His name is Edward Elric. Our informer told us that he said he was an inhabitant of Shamballa."

There was a gleam in the dictator's dead eyes, Groebe thought. Something about this man, little more than a boy in truth, had appealed to the leader's mind. "Groebe, of course they will fight for us" He said, clutching the photograph.

"This boy is an Aryan."

He looked at the map, his eyes flaring with triumph.

"Tell the Thule Society they have my blessing. These Warriors of Shamballa shall descend from the heavens, like the Valkyries! Go! Tell them!"

Groebe ran off as instructed, his heart filled with pride: the Fuhrer had seen the way after all. This day, he would bring honour to the Reich.

***

Pyotr wiped his face again. The grime of this blasted city had engrained itself into his very skin. He wondered if ever he could smell clean again.

The Polkovnik had been driving the whole of his Guard's Rifle Division like whipped dogs to reach the Reichstag. No doubt, he was under even greater pressure from above, from Marshall Zhukov. Pyotr's train of thought was suddenly cut off by a spray of machine gun rounds impacting the brickwork to his left, the inexperienced gunner hitting what had most likely been a kiln once.

"Stay low, Comrades, let the tankists take care of the fascist bastards!" He yelled, making sure the company kept low and away from the hail of fire. Indeed, as he did so, the wire-mesh factory gates to his right were smashed open as a gigantic IS-2 crushed them, grinding them underneath its treads.

The tank took careful aim at the bunker, and fired at point blank range, the shell sending lumps of concrete sailing into the air, and ensuring that the Strelkovy could continue on their way. But just as his Gvardie began celebrating, the tank was rent open by a panzerfaust from one of the far-lying out-buildings.

He cursed under his breath. This factory had suddenly become a much harder nut to crack.

***

What had remained of the appartment block had just taken a direct hit from the Soviet artillery. Edward grimaced, knowing full well that there were still families inside. He scrabbled over the rubble, trying to reach anyone trapped inside, almost clapping before removing the rubble with his hands.

After a few minutes, it was a fair assumption that the family had gotten lucky and were either in a cellar or were heading west. If the stories emerging from East Prussia were to be believed, the Soviet liberation was followed by a fairly brutal second wave, which was not policed. Suddenly an engine roared into life ahead of him, and he ducked into one of the road's gaping pot-holes. Luckily the tank was heading into the old Earthenware factory, firing shortly after, the shockwave reminding him of that produced when Scar had made his escape all those years ago.

He lay in the crater, reflecting on the chaos that surrounded him. How? How could this great country, which had once been a centre of culture, of science, have turned to such a disgusting monster? A monster that even now, was being crushed relentlessly under the weight of the red steamroller. Why hadn't he gone to America, along with Alphonse, Einstein and the others? Maybe it was because he needed to stay in this country.

If only Hohenheim hadn't thrown away his life like he did, they could have formulated a plan. But what with the changing political currents, the defeat of the Thule Society had been small fry. Things had changed far too quickly, and far too strongly for Ed or his brother to do anything to stop the rise of that bastard dictator. And so, yes... maybe he had missed an opportunity by staying here. But at least he could try to help the other Berlin residents as best he could.

A violent explosion caused him to look up, and he saw the Russian tank smouldering away, it's turret rent open and the crew compartment belching flames. He had seen war before, but this... this was unlike anything he had ever seen. The chattering of automatic weapons quickly came to a halt, as the Soviets finished off the rest of the volunteers holding the factories, and swept on. He had been in the crater far too long, he reasoned, and arching low, started to sprint back towards the appartment, until he heard the PPSh's deafening roar behind him.