When word had reached the Northern wall, that one of Mustang’s men was to be stationed at Briggs for four weeks, she was surprised to find out it wouldn’t be either of her two favoured blonde snipers. She was even more surprised when she learned that it would be the techie.
The Lieutenant General wondered how Briggs’ own communications expert, Karley, would react to the news. They were certain to form a fast friendship thanks to their shared interest in wires, radios and all things communication. Perhaps they could exchange their expertise as well.
She had been expecting him, the call she’d received from Mustang earlier that morning, informed her the young dark haired officer would be due later that day.
Take care of him, Armstrong. He’s a little wet behind the ears, but an asset all the same. Oh and don’t scare him too much, I don’t want him coming back all white haired.
Can it, Mustang. I’ll treat him like any of my own officers, no special treatment. I can’t vouch for my men though, they’re certain to welcome him, in their own way.
As soon as the secretary left her office, Olivier settled the papers she had been reading on the desk before her and waited for the officer to enter.
Cold blues stared at the man, running up and down his short stature, and returning to pierce into his bespectacled eyes, like a hawk weighing its prey.
“At ease, soldier. I’ve been expecting you.”
To say that he was nervous would be a gross understatement. In all his years in the military, Fuery had never pictured himself in this situation, and he found himself wondering if perhaps battle might be preferable. He slapped that thought away immediately however. Rationally, he told himself that his fears were preposterous. General Armstrong was after all, a comrade in arms. It was not as though he was being asked to walk into enemy lines.
He fidgeted slightly with the cuff of his sleeve as he waited for the secretary to return, allowing his eyes to dart quickly around the outer office. It was less ostentatious than he had expected, in fact it looked no different than any of the other general's offices that he had been in, which admittedly had not been many.
"The general will see you now," the secretary returned to her desk, tone crisp and professional shattering through Fuery's musings.
"General Armstrong," he said, stopping the appropriate distance in front of her desk and bringing his hand up in a clean, professional salute.
The cold blue stare was perhaps one of the most unsettling things he had ever experienced. Still, he refused to flinch. Such conduct would be unbecoming of him both as a soldier and as one of Mustang's team. Nervous or not, professionalism and doing one's best were not up for debate.
"Thank you, sir." Lowering his hand to his side again, Fuery allowed himself the briefest second to collect his thoughts before carefully pulling the letter from his pocket. "I was asked to deliver this to you from Colonel Mustang."
It was, Fuery guessed, his transfer orders for the four weeks he was to remain there. But then again, the Mustang many ways of getting his messages out, so there really was no telling. Handing the letter to her, he waited patiently for orders which were sure to be forthcoming.
