Boxing
Excerpt from Fullmetal Alchemist WIP "Restoration"
“I’m going to check on the digs this morning,” Second Lieutenant Jean “Hav” Havoc told Major Miles, commanding officer of the Ishvalan Relations Field Office in the Gunja province of Ishval. “Looks like Mauser should be finishing up with the big one in sector Whiskey Golf 21 this morning. Lebel will have his guys at the small dig at Whiskey Foxtrot 42.” They started most days with a quick team meeting at Miles’ desk.
“After Mauser gets his men switched up, could I have him?” asked First Lieutenant Heymans “Manny” Breda. “We could use his help setting up facilities for the last bunch of habitation tents we set up for the women refugees.”
They had found that it was not good for morale for the soldiers to spend too much time on the grave work. After a certain amount of time, it was crucial to move to more positive work or activities. They had taken to calling this “switching up.”
"Do you know what you want to do to switch up?” asked Corporal Raj Ishapore. “I’m working with vendors this morning, but I could get the rec field set up if you won’t need it before 1100.”
“We were talking about some kind of contest between the Ishvalans and the soldiers here,” said Miles. “Any ideas?”
“Hav, you were a heavyweight boxer at the Academy. How about something like that?” suggested Breda.
“Trying to get me beat up?” asked Havoc. “Besides, none of the Ishvalans box anyway.”
“What difference would that make?” asked Little Brother. “Any Ishvalan warrior could beat any of the soldiers here.”
“But with boxing gloves and boxing rules?” asked Carcano.
“What does that mean?” asked Little Brother who knew nothing at all about boxing.
The skeletons had been carefully pieced together and laid in receptacles, and the receptacles moved from the pit so that Little Brother could perform the last rites when he got there from the main dig. Now there was nothing left but an empty pit. The men sat outside the pit and took a break, eating and drinking. There was quiet talk and even some very subdued laughter.
“Okay” said Corporal Antoine Lebel, when break time was up “Let’s fill this in.”
They worked steadily for a while, then one of the men started shaking and sat down. One of the other men took him to the outside of the pit, over to Lebel. The first thing to do was to make sure it wasn’t just heat exhaustion. Lebel got him to shade and helped him with water.
Mistress Shan was visiting with Minor Cleric Shinzou. He had a full beard and mustache and was around Havoc’s age, not even thirty yet. They sat on a rug under a canopy that had been set up to allow her to watch.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, when the soldier was removed from the work.
“Either heat exhaustion or possession,” answered Shinzou.
“Possession?” asked Mistress Shan, surprised.
“They believe the ghosts of the dead can take revenge on the living,” said the cleric.
“Only demons can possess the living,” said Shan. “They think our people are demons?”
“No, no,” said Shinzou. “They believe in many gods and demons and spirits. When a man kills, they believe he must sacrifice to appease the dead. Their priests and priestesses do that. But it gets tricky if the dead were killed unjustly. They have ways to handle that, too, but it usually involves restitution to the living relatives. You can see the problems they run into there.”
Lebel approached the canopy. “Ma’am,” he said, bowing to Mistress Shan. “Cleric,” a nod of the head.
“What’s wrong with your man?” asked Shan.
He paused, looking at the two Ishvalans. He knew they considered his men to be superstitious.
“We call it the shakes, ma’am. It just needs rest. A couple of hours should do it.”
“What’s that?” she asked. “Is it the falling sickness?”
“Ma’am, the ghosts like to shake us up a bit from time to time. Especially when we’re working in their territory.”
After lunch everyone gathered around the boxing ring set up in the rec field.
Jean couldn’t believe he’d let Manny talk him into this. Little Brother wasn’t going to use alchemy, but of course Jean couldn’t use firearms either, so there went any chance of an even fight. The warrior priest didn’t just have superior training – had he mentioned warrior priest? – he also had half a foot and at least fifty pounds on him.
“Come on, Jean,” said Breda, in his corner of the ring. “You have a chance. He’s never boxed before.”
“And I’m the heavyweight champ from the Academy. I know.”
Little Brother let Miles put the boxing gloves on him. He’d worn them for the first time this morning after they’d decided on the match. He’d gone through some exercises with them, but they still didn’t feel natural.
“Why are we doing this?” he asked. “Havoc doesn’t have a chance. He’s going to stay down when I hit him, right?”
“You have to land one first,” said Miles. “And don’t forget everything you can’t do. Boxing rules.”
“So I deck him, go back to my corner, and then we’re done.”
The bell rang. Havoc kept his head down, behind his gloves. Right on cue, Little Brother rushed right for him and swung. Jean blocked and ducked and stepped back.
Several rounds later, to everyone’s surprise, especially Jean’s, he was still standing. Little Brother had not landed a single direct blow, although Jean was feeling the pain from the glancing ones that had hit. Meanwhile, he’d landed enough blows of his own to actually be ahead on points.
The problem was, neither of them were getting tired yet, although even Little Brother’s glancing blows were adding up. Little Brother, though, hardly seemed to be feeling any of Jean’s, point-earning or not.
“If you don’t take him down,” Miles told Little Brother, “at this rate he’ll win on points alone.” Little Brother went in for the next round.
“Hav, just two more rounds,” said Breda. “You’re going to make it.”
“And now you actually sound surprised. Thanks,” said Jean, as he went back into the ring.
Then the klaxon sounded. “Code orange, repeat, code orange.”
Since Grumman had taken over from Bradley as Fuhrer, there were no more wars on the borders of Amestris. But the eastern half of Amestris had always been prone to the attacks of bandits, and Ishval, in the southeast, was still mostly empty since the genocide campaign of 1908. So now Miles’ military encampment was catching the bandits before they got further west into Amestris.
“Little Brother – walls,” Major Miles. “Havoc, combat squad to X-ray Golf 3. Breda, come with me to command.”
“Lebel,” said Havoc, “I need combat. The four from your squad and pick who you need from the others. And someone from tech for comm, and a medic.”
Breda had already left with Miles, so Jean was alone in his corner of the now empty boxing ring. He’d already taken off his gloves, and pulled off the sweat soaked black t-shirt he’d been boxing in. The support bag in his corner had towels, water bottles, and a terry cloth bathrobe. He’d planned on taking a shower after the match before getting dressed. There should be… there it was, the bag with the clothes for after the shower.
Great. No boots. So these shoes would have to do. Other than that, no uniform or camo’s, just gray sweat pants and a sweat shirt. Well, he sure was sweating. He towelled himself off and pulled on the sweats, then the ubiquitous military white desert coat. By then, Lebel was back with a jeep truck and eight men. Jean jumped down from the boxing ring to the passenger seat next to Lebel.
“What are we facing?” Jean asked.
Lebel filled him in as they drove. “Command has eyes on a two-wheel cart heading toward Camel Rock in sector X-ray Golf 3.” Camel Rock was a large rock formation they’d nicknamed based on its appearance. “Too much dust kicked up to see exactly who is in it. Could be humanitarian, but we should keep our eyes out for bandits.”
When they got within view of the cart, Jean called for them to stop and they took cover behind another, smaller rock formation.
“Once they’re at Camel Rock, they could dig in,” said Jean. “Let’s see if we can get them to stop out in the open first. Set up the loudspeaker.”
Ishapore handed Jean the megaphone.
“You have crossed the border into Amestris. Please halt, get out of the cart, and prepare to be approached,” he said.
The cart halted, but only the driver got out. The sides of the cart hid whatever or whoever might have been there. Then the driver got out and walked away from the cart. It was an Ishvalan woman.
She put her hands up and walked away from the cart.
“Ok,” Jean said to Lebel. “I’m going out to talk to her. I’ll stay out of rifle range of the cart. Cover it in case there’s any hostiles hiding there.”
“Sir,” said Lebel, and positioned his men.
Jean walked towards the cart, but stopped well before he figured he was in rifle range. He motioned to the ground in front of him and addressed the woman. “Come up here please, ma’am.”
She came to the spot he had indicated.
“Okay, ma’am,” said Jean. “We get bandits out here, so I’m going to have to search you.”
She seemed neither shocked nor surprised, but remained expressionless. So she’s expecting this, he thought. When he patted her down, to his surprise, she didn’t even show as much embarrassment as an Amestrian civilian woman, let alone an Ishvalan. More like a female Amestrian soldier. Was that it? Was she a soldier? Not Amestrian, clearly, but some of the Ishvalan women had fought.
“So,” he said, “it’s not exactly illegal to be out here like this, but like I said, we get bandits. We prefer you go to Gunja City and check in with the Ishvalan Affairs Field Office. Refugee, right?”
He motioned for her to come with him, and suddenly she looked upset. “I thought you were military!” she said.
He followed her eyes to where his gray sweat pants and trainers showed below his white desert coat.
“I am. We’re not always in uniform.”
“The rest of us are, though,” he continued. “Over there,” and he waved to rock formation where the others had taken cover.
She seemed to panic, then, and collapsed to the ground, refusing to move.
“Gods take it,” he swore. He didn’t want to drag her over there. But why would she be more afraid that he wasn’t military?
“Ishapore!” he yelled. “Get out here.”
Ishapore ran up to Havoc, and Jean watched the woman seem to calm down at the sight of his uniform.
“Tell her I’m military, will you?”
Ishapore looked from Havoc to the woman on the ground and back, then said something in Ishvalan that took longer than Jean thought was strictly necessary. But it had the desired effect. She was calm and stood up, and this time, she even smiled.
It made her look good, despite the blemished, unhealthy look of her face. Jean smiled faintly himself.
He and Ishapore walked with her to the others behind the rock formation, and then Jean asked, “Anything I should know about what’s in the cart?”
“It has food and water,” she answered, “and some bags that I think have clothes in them. I’m not sure. I stole it.”
Author’s Notes:
Boxing scene inspired by boxing match between boxer Mayweather and MMA champion McGregor.
Shinzou is Japanese for God’s gift, an attempt to translate the name Matthew. Since the name I’m using for Scar’s master, Bozidar, means God’s gift in a slavic language, I thought I’d give my clerics names that mean something like God’s gift in other languages. Logue Lowe, the only cleric specifically named in the manga, doesn’t follow this convention, but I can’t think of any pattern it might follow. And I’m still assuming even Logue Lowe isn’t a “true name” anyway.
Little Brother is the name Scar adopts in my fic after the end of the manga.
I loved this, Ms. Mary. Plus, I learned that *Shinzou* was a rough translation for my name. 🤔 I may have a new penname for my GameLit stories. 🙂
I don't know if you've ever seen the movie "From Here To Eternity", but there are some elements in that (boxing, for one) which are also common to this story.