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The other refugees looked up at the two new arrivals, terrified. They both carried the stench of cordite, and it was clear from their dead-faced expressions that both had killed recently.

Maes quickly picked up on the hint of fear, and gave them all a reassuring glance. "They're friends."

Breda stood up, quickly saluting the Brigadier-General but hitting his head on the low roof, making everyone chuckle slightly. He was clumsy sometimes.

"Good to see you back, sir." Havoc intoned, saluting more carefully.

"Good to be back, Jean..." Mustang replied, before glancing around.

"Where's Fuery?"

The suddenly grim expressions told him all he needed to know.

"I see..." The pause broke quickly, a certain dark mood hanging in the air. "He was a fine soldier."

They all nodded, thankful that the one-eyed commander could give the eulogy none of them could bring themselves to. They all knew he was less of a stranger to death than any of them.

**

Stalin's expression had changed considerably. Even though he was incredibly hard to read, his expression seemed very grim, Beria noticed as he continued.

"Sir... if he does intend to carry out his aim, what is to be done?"

Stalin stroked his mustache in thought, deciding fate as he did so often.

"The remaining Shamballans may only be Elric's vanguard. We must strangle any flow of reinforcements. Take Elric into custody again. And this time, make sure it reaches the usual conclusion."

Beria nodded. "And what of the remaining Shamballan soldiers?"

"Have Zhukov muster the men he needs after the victory parade, and crush them. The continued safety of the USSR depends on it."

Beria bowed. "Of course, Premier."

**

The plane touched down back in Berlin at one of the makeshift airstrips the Soviets had been using for their ground-attack sorties.

Edward looked at his two escorts, smiling inwardly that technically he was commanding both of them. The flames of Berlin had started to die away, and something resembling peace had fallen over the city. The Germans had yet to give in to the unconditional surrender, but with the Reichstag under the red flag, the back of the Wermacht had been broken.

He wondered whether Stalin would fulfil whatever obligation he had to allow democratic elections across Eastern Europe. Maybe... if he did... Europe would be better for it. Eastern Europe, so long hidden by the crushing influences of Germany or Russia, might be able to speak for themselves for once.

The plane finished taxing and the trio descended carefully, the ladder from the plane not quite sturdy enough for any of them. A new escort had arrived, one wearing green tabs on their uniforms...

Goncharov paled.

Why was the NKVD escorting them in a war-zone and not the army?

Natalya picked up on her husband's sudden panic, reaching for her Tokarev just in case.

"Edward Elric, Polkovnik Goncharov, Sniper Simonova you must accompany us."

Edward looked at the odds, before quickly realising they wouldn't stand a chance.

"On what charge are you taking us into custody?"

"Treason towards the motherland and comrade Stalin."

"I did no such thing!"

"We are not the judges of your innocence, we are merely doing our duty."

His heart hammered in his chest. No escape, and no way to out-fight them, or even to reason with them.

As they were led away by the escort, he just hoped that someone else might follow in his footsteps and try to set this world right.