The Skitterleap
Desperate Glory, Chapter I

It was cold in Leipzig this winter. It was always fucking cold in Leipzig. Even under the unforgiving blaze of the summer sun Leipzig would always be cold. Not for the first time today I asked why I was over half a thousand miles from home, in a place even the gods had forsaken.

As I passed through the huge Gothic arch, a nauseating lurch of fear leapt through my stomach. I stepped hastily between two of the city's silent, foreboding guards, their cold stinging my face, the awful rattling breath sending shivers down my spine. I forced thoughts of mother to the forefront of my mind, let them try and feast on those if they dared.

It took me about half a second to sweep past them and I took another few steps before allowing myself to shudder in disgust. I'd always thought them foul creatures from afar. But now, in Leipzig, where they lurk on every street corner, feasting off the city's inhabitants like some multi-headed parasitic worm, I'd begun to actively loath them.

They were very effective police though; this was something even I had to admit. There was no crime in Leipzig, none, not at all. Dementors don't need to investigate, ask questions or prove guilt because they can smell it, literally. They can smell your guilt from three hundred feet away and it doesn't matter if your crime was murder or shoplifting, they'll take your soul for it.

I crossed the courtyard, snow crunching beneath my boots and blowing across my face. My uniform fluttered about me, tuchrock and shirt stuck fast to my body by the driving wind and snow. I'd forgotten that the magical suspension went up across the city today, all my impervious and warming charms for naught because of one fucking politician. Dementors are apparently not enough to protect the almighty Lord Riddle, yet they suffice the whole year round with the Austro-Hungarian Emperor in permanent residence.

I'd never considered Riddle as much of a wizard, even though there are a hundred war stories told in the taverns about Riddle in North Africa. Stories of how he single-handedly brought down the French wards around al-Jazair, how he spearheaded the muggle capture Tobruk as a nineteen year old ex-Hogwarts student caught up in thick of it and how, in the most unbelievable tale of all, how he toppled Lord Arlington, a wizard three score his senior, atop the Scharnhorst in the midst of the Battle of North Cape, in a duel of epic proportions.

Though these stories were told, hand on heart by survivors, I couldn't help but wonder why a glorious war hero; champion of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the wizard who spent the better part of his youth fighting against his own country, now exhausted his days skulking at his master's feet.

I knocked upon the door of Pucey's office and waited politely. Patience was a virtue with a CO like Pucey. He was only two years older than I and barely a captain, but acted with all the dignity and fondness for military doctrine and etiquette that you would expect from a sixty year old general.

After a brief pause, during which the wind howled louder than ever, I heard a sharp command from Pucey to enter. I was halfway through the door when I saw Lord Riddle standing before me. His tall, athletic frame was instantly recognizable, even from behind as he looked into the fire. I paused for a moment to concentrate again on my thoughts of mother, pushing them to the forefront of my mind once more. Though I doubted the veracity of Riddle's war stories, I knew him to be a formidable legilimens, he wouldn't be head of the SS if he weren't and I certainly didn't want him to know what I'd just been thinking.

Pucey looked up at me from behind his desk and beckoned me to sit before him. I did as he indicated, a neutral expression on my face, but behind my carefully constructed façade of memories, my mind raced in a blind panic. Was this some sort of reprimand? Was Riddle here to arrest me on the basis of some imagined slight? I was in such a state of inner turmoil that I didn't even notice the fourth person in the room for two whole minutes.

Sat in the farthest corner from the fire was someone I recognized instantly; Viktor Krum. Somewhat of a prodigy, he was the youngest graduate from Belton's in the sixteen years of its existence. He'd shown a natural talent for leadership and a prodigious magical skill and had flown upwards through the ranks like an arrow, playing a pivotal role in turning back the American landings in Iceland as well as organizing the haphazard defence on the banks of the Nile, slowing the Moorish attack on Egypt long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

Unfortunately for him, like an arrow, too soon he'd hit the highpoint of his career and begun the descent back to earth. Approximately four months ago, Krum had been leading a standard reconnaissance mission across the Nile when he'd spotted around two hundred and fifty men moving in formation. It was dark and he must've been up for three or four days and suspecting the men were a Moorish night time raiding company, he and his men opened fire and slaughtered them.

It was not until the next day that the dreadful truth was realized; he'd butchered an entire company of POW's, captured in the early attack. Afterwards, he'd been sent to watch over a small rural area of Britain, away from the fighting and hadn't seen action since.

He glowered at me from the corner, his dark eyes reflecting the dim flickering light that reached him from the fire. He looked thinner than I remembered from the papers. His face was gaunt and his eyes were dark and sunken. He rose unsteadily into a duck-footed walk and drew closer to the desk. Closer inspection told me that Krum was clearly unwell, his skin was pale and blotchy, he had dark bags under his eyes and his face looked like he'd been starved.

He sat to the left of Pucey in an uncomfortable looking wooden chair and after a few moments, I could distinctly smell the odour of stale vodka. Pucey clearly noticed too, because he gave Krum a deadly glare before training his eyes on Riddle. After a moment the older man removed himself from the fire's warmth and came to sit on Pucey's other side. I dared a glance in his direction and our eyes met instantly. I stared for a moment into those unfathomable eyes before looking at the floor. Riddle spoke first.

"Nervous are you?" he asked, not unkindly, but neither warmly. He sounded a bit like a gruff school teacher. I was surprised, I'd been told he was a charismatic and eloquent man, yet at the moment he just seemed a bit surly.

"Well, it's not very often one gets summoned into a room with two high ranking officers and the head of the SS, is it?" I asked and immediately regretted it, but Riddle apparently found my sarcasm amusing and laughed. Pucey gave me a look that was half reproachful and half contemptuous and Krum remained enigmatic, silent and pissed.

"True, true," said Riddle, his eyes now alight with an emotion I couldn't place. It seemed to be a cross of happiness and expectation and was distinctly unsettling. "Well you don't have to be afraid of me, Leutnant. The tales of my exploits of war are greatly exaggerated," he announced, smiling very broadly. I couldn't think what had happened that would put him in such a good mood; moments ago he'd been surly. "It was only two divisions of British warlocks that I defeated singlehandedly, not five!" he chortled, I made an uncomfortable face.

"I've not heard that one before, sir," I said regretfully. His face fell slightly, like a child suddenly criticized for an imagined slight.

"Oh," he said, frowning. "Pity, that one's a corker." I gave him the widest smile I could whilst my heart was pounding like a drum inside my chest. I couldn't make head nor tail of this man stood before me. He'd always been portrayed to me as cold, calculating and ruthless not jovial and self-depreciating. Krum suddenly broke the silence.

"If we could get to business, gentleman," he said and the other two men nodded.

"Your name is Harry James Potter?" asked Pucey, I suddenly felt a little flash of annoyance, apparently Riddle did too because he looked at Pucey, an incredulous expression on his face.

"You're saying you don't recognize your XO of over a year?" he asked, harshly and Pucey flushed bright red.

"Of course I do, I'm just following procedure," he insisted and Riddle shrugged.

"Fine, carry on," he said nonchalantly and pointedly looked at the ceiling. Pucey glared at him for a moment and then looked down at the paper before him.

"You are not, to the best of your knowledge; under the effects of the Imperius curse, Polyjuice potion, Felix Felicis, Befuddlement Draught, Salvia Divinorum or Powdered Puffskein Extract?" asked Pucey, very seriously. I gaped at him, Riddle snorted and Krum's hand lashed out, tearing the paper from Pucey's hand. He stood violently and looked angrily at the captain.

"You are a buffoon!" snapped the Bulgarian, looking very angry. "Do you really think that he is likely to answer yes to any of those questions? That he is going to admit that he is currently using a Polyjuice potion to impersonate himself?"

Pucey also stood abruptly, his face going an even deeper shade of red. "Now look here-" he began, but whatever he was going to say, he was cut off by an abrupt motion from Krum. In less than a second, the two had their wands directed at each other's faces. It was purely symbolic of course, neither could have done any magic if they'd wanted to but it was a sign of potential future violence. Riddle stood as well; his face equally as livid and I suddenly realised why all of those stories were told.

"Sit down, both of you," he said through his teeth, his words were very quiet but they tore at my insides like a pack of hungry wolves. Pucey and Krum both sat immediately, still glaring daggers at each other, but clearly cowed by Riddle's formidable presence. "Let's get this moving on, shall we?" asked Riddle in a normal voice. There was no humour present in his tone anymore and he directed a glance in my direction.

"You, Leutnant, are currently the XO of this training company, top ranked in all four major disciplines for your entire division and three Verdienstpunkte from a promotion to Oberleutnant. Correct?"

"Correct," I agreed but Pucey spoke up again.

"Potter is very modest; he is top ranked in all disciplines for the division and is currently top scored for in-flight leadership throughout any training program in Europe," he said authoritatively but sounded proud. Krum nodded and Riddle raised his eyebrow, apparently this was news to him.

"Very impressive," he acknowledged softly, though hesitantly. "I think I may regret this Potter, hearing this praise I wish I could snap you up into an SS division, as it is, you're hereby transferred to the Jagdgeschwader 26, you will serve as Krum's XO," he rose, abruptly and offered his hand to me. I stood hastily and shook it; he gave me a broad smile. "Congratulations Leutnant." And with that said he left the room. Krum and Pucey rose to salute him and then Krum fixed me with a long, calculating stare.

"You have four hours to prepare your gear and say your goodbyes. I shall meet you here then," he said sharply and then left me alone with Pucey. He gave me a mournful look and sat down again.

"You've no idea what a blow it is to lose you," he informed me.

I gave him a small smile and shrugged. "Hauptmann Krum is one of the best, I'll learn a lot," I said, reverting back to our native English tongue, I knew it was important to him. He recognised the effort and returned my smile.

"He's a Major now; apparently if you murder three columns of your own infantry, they promote you," said Adrian bitterly and pulled the flask from his belt. He offered it to me first, but I shook my head. "It's good, Glenmorangie, not that awful firewhiskey stuff," he insisted, as though it might change my mind. He gave a sigh of resignation. "Suit yourself."

A pause lasted for almost a minute between us before I stood reluctantly and offered him my hand. "Look, it's been a real pleasure," I told him solemnly and he nodded his head in affirmation and shook my hand firmly. "Take care of yourself, sir."

These thirteen months of training, first at Belton, then in Leipzig, had been the longest year of my life. Both the physical and mental strain were beyond anything I could have imagined when I'd signed up halfway through my fifth year of Hogwarts. My Dad had been disappointed, said it wouldn't have been what Mum wanted, that he'd fought all those years ago so that I didn't have to, but in the end, I'd ignored him, just like I always had.

Now I was being transferred to a unit that would almost certainly see action within the year and to be honest, I was beginning to wish I'd listened to him. When I'd first made the decision, the last remnants of fighting in Egypt were coming to a halt. The world had lived through almost sixty years of warfare. First in mainland Europe, then the Northern countries in Africa. I had thought that the world was sick of fighting, that we'd settle into an uneasy, but untroubled peace.

As it happened, six months after I'd signed up, what remained of the Middle Eastern coalition had made a consolidated push into Egypt from the east, catching us unawares and triggering another bloodthirsty war. They'd got as far as the Nile Delta when Krum's counter attack had taken the wind from their sails. Four thousand Moors lay dead on the banks of the river by the end of the first day and they couldn't afford continuous losses to that extent so they'd become more cautious, probing and attacking suddenly before withdrawing again.

They were completely unable to find a weakness in our lines however and each time they attacked, we counter-attacked in force and pushed them further out of Egypt. The war was over within five months, an unconditional surrender from the Coalition Government and once again I'd been safe from war.

But for weeks now, there'd been trouble brewing on the Eastern Front, tiny skirmishes were being fought up and down no man's land when an enemy patrol would venture a little too close. It was by no means assured, but every day it looked more and more like there would be another war between the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the USSR. International relationships were tense and the men stationed on the border were becoming increasingly uneasy and restless. Now, I was on my way to a unit stationed in Riga, within striking distance of both Moscow and Stalingrad. War was certainly afoot.

I'd packed my equipment and bade farewell to the men in two of the four hours allotted to me and so I decided to take a walk through the Friedenspark. It was still dreadfully cold and I was chilled to the bone. My charms still weren't working; the magical suspension hadn't been lifted, so Riddle was still in Leipzig somewhere. I stared out across the park, which on a summer's day would have been vibrant and alive, yet I saw nothing but bleak white snow. I wasn't sure where my new unit would take me, but I couldn't fucking wait to be out of this shit hole.

I met Krum on the corner outside the company headquarters, I had no desire to walk past the Dementors again and certainly had nothing more to say to Pucey; pretentious little shit that he was. His driver opened the door to his staff car and Krum beckoned me in without a word. I shoved my duffle bag on the back seat and sat behind him. The door slammed shut behind me and the car pulled away.

I sat and watched the Company HQ until the car turned a corner and it was lost from sight. I sat and watched Leipzig as it sped past the windows, watched the driving snow and the Dementors on the street corner. It was strange to think I'd spent only a month here. It had seemed like a hundred. After five minutes, I realised where the car was headed as we took a left onto Philipp-Rosenthal-Straße and I saw the Friedenspark for the second time that day. The old university was just ahead and that could only mean one thing; the Skitterleap. I swallowed in anticipation and we turned into the campus.

After having our identities thoroughly checked at a checkpoint half way down the road the staff car pulled up outside the Institute of Experimental Physics and I slowly extracted myself through the narrow door. The building was so typical of modern German architecture; long and rectangular and functional. The outer facade looked unkempt; the plaster above the front doors was stained and cracked and the cement walls looked dusty and weather beaten. Five years ago, it had been the pride of the Empire, state of the art, a place where miracles happened, the funding had probably dried up now, there were only half a dozen cars in the car park, the Skitterleap was probably the only department still active.

Krum took the stairs at a trot whilst I lagged apprehensively behind, still unsure if I even wanted to follow. All too soon I heaved against the heavy glass doors and stepped into the lobby. The huge room was empty, apart from Krum and me and completely bare. Not a scrap of paper, or a plant, or a chair. Just a bare white plaster room, with the words 'Institute of Experimental Physics' emblazoned on the far wall in gold lettering.

We took the lift to the third floor, Krum completely silent the entire way and my heart beating a tattoo against my chest. The Skitterleap was invented to fill a gap that until recently was void in magical transport. Although portkeys are accurate to a tee, the travel time is an exponential function of the portkey reach. Simply put; a portkey might deliver you perfectly a thousand miles across the planet but it might take you as long as three weeks. There is a famous story regarding Fargulch the Dolt, who attempted to portkey from Britain to Australia, only to appear unexpectedly in the Australian Ministry two and a half centuries later in a shower of rotten flesh.

Apparition on the other hand is almost instantaneous no matter how far you travel, but becomes increasingly more likely to deposit you a hundred miles out of your way, or far more worryingly; deposit parts of you a hundred miles from your destination. The Skitterleap is a combination of the two. The portkey pulls you in the right direction and the apparitions break up the journey into manageable chunks so that you don't find yourself lost in the ether. It is a perilous undertaking, you have to apparate ten times in ten seconds and if you are not one hundred percent focused, not one hundred percent locked on the drag of the portkey, you will find yourself ripped to shreds as your body tries to be in eleven different places at the same time. I'd seen this happen once before, it was very unpleasant and almost certainly fatal.

With this recollection at the forefront of my mind, we entered the Skitterleap chamber and was met by a harassed looking witch with awful hair. I barely gave her a second look, but Krum flushed as she strode over to him, her eyes wide and wearing a huge smile that showed two very prominent front teeth.

"Viktor!" she cried happily. "How are you?"

"Miss Hermy-own-ninny," he replied cordially, but with none of her enthusiasm. "I am well. Yourself?"

"Busy, busy, busy!" she exclaimed with a laugh that didn't quite suit her. "Are you my two o'clock?" she asked, sounding now very business-like, she caught sight of me and gave me a scowl that looked like it could have burned the flesh from my bones. "I hope you have your papers."

"Of course," said Krum, clearly relieved to be talking business again and handed her a wad of folded paper. She took the merest of glances through it and then looked at me.

"Harry James Potter?" she asked and I nodded in affirmation. "Are you the son of Lord Potter?" she asked again, I could tell from her tone that it was personal curiosity that fuelled the question, I nodded again and her expression softened. "Is this your first jaunt?" she continued, her eyes now alight with mischief.

"No, it will be my second."

"Ah well." She smiled. "Don't close your eyes."

I'd heard stories of second timers who'd closed their eyes to avoid the sights of the Skitterleap; it throws off the sense of direction, of reality and eventually breaks your concentration, leading to a liquidized wizard.

'Hermy-own-ninny' lead me over to the other side of the room, Krum traipsing half heartedly behind us. She put me in the middle of a circular grill set into the floor and handed me a small rubber disk. An awful smell reached my nostrils and between the cracks in the grate below I could see a dark liquid reflecting the powerful lights above. I swallowed nervously and tried to keep my eyes open the best I could, resisting the impulse to cower.

"Ready?" asked 'Hermy-own-ninny' but didn't even wait for a reply. "Three, two, one, go!"

I felt a powerful tug on my navel and in the same instant apparated. An awful crack echoed in my ears, but I ignored it and instead focused on the scene before me. I was hurtling through a terrible vortex of mist and though I could feel myself apparating, the scene before me never once changed. Mist roared past my eyes and ears and a terrible smell of burning flesh and brimstone was choking me. The light grey mist was darkening into an awful red colour and the creatures lurking in the mist began to take heed of my presence.

I could see their gleaming red eyes peering at me as I hurtled past. Terror clawed at my chest and I began to feel the desperate need to escape, to be clear of this place. Suddenly something lunged at me out of the mist, a dark shape with powerful jaws and sharp teeth and with my hands cemented to the rubber disk in my hand, I could do nothing to protect myself as it bit at my throat.

Then suddenly I was clattering to my knees on a firm floor, gasping down breaths of clean air, I put a hand to my throat, feeling for the tear in my throat and the gushing blood. There was nothing. I picked myself up and staggered away from the grill I'd landed upon, my head spinning, my entire body shaking. After a moment I looked around and saw a tall, broad figure looking down at me, an expression of concern on his face.

"Alright son?" he asked in stilted German.

"Perfectly fine," I said, in English and he smiled broadly.

"First time in a while?"

"Second time ever."

"You handled it well then; the second is always the worst. Two o'clock from Leipzig? Good, good. Come out of the way, your CO will be following any minute now."

I took a moment to straighten my uniform and watched jealously as Krum stepped through the Leap with a hiss and a flash, as though he'd merely walked from one room to another. He gave me a look up and down, if I looked as bad as I felt, I was probably a sight to be beheld.

"So you didn't wet yourself then?" he asked, a grim humour in his eyes, I bristled.

"You've got lipstick on your face," I snapped and he lifted a hand to his mouth and scrubbed before jerking at the door with his head.

"Come, I will show you to your quarters."

We took leave of the enormous man, who gave me a cheery wave before I left and entered into another lift. We emerged into a lobby as desolated as the one we'd left behind in Leipzig and stepped out into the driving rain. This time my warming and drying charms held up but even still I gasped as the freezing rain caught me in the face, even Krum made a noise of discontent.

He looked up and down the street for the staff car that should have been waiting and after a few moments gave a frustrated grunt and walked down the street. I took a look around myself, before following him and noted the skyline of ruined buildings, the cracked and pockmarked road surface and the smoke billowing from some inferno within the city. I hurried to catch up with Krum.

"This city looks like a fucking warzone. What the fuck is going on?" I asked, astounded at the level of devastation around me, had I missed something in those reports from the front?

"That's because we're at war, Oberleutnant, in all but name," replied Krum, matter-of-factly. I slowed and looked around in amazement; the city looked like London after the blitz. "Keep up," commanded Krum and I hurried again to follow him. We walked from the leap station around the corner onto the river front. I stared in dismay at the ruined city before me; Riga had once been a thriving city, with leafy avenues, climbing towers and bustling high streets.

Now, from the western side of the river, it appeared as though the Dom Cathedral was the building ablaze, its spire aflame as it reached to the sky. It was an awful sight to behold. I'd come here once as a child with my father, I'd loved the city, it was the perfect combination of civilisation and solitude. You could walk the streets and enjoy the shops and company, or you could lose yourself in the tree-lined backstreets and vast parks.

We crossed the Daugava on foot, via way of the north bridge, looking down river, it appeared that the southern and middle bridges had both been damaged; the nearest one in particular seemed to have collapsed haphazardly into the river. There seemed to be no civilians on the streets at all. We passed a great number of infantry, tanks, even the occasional officer or wizard, yet I didn't see a single civilian or civilian transport for the entire journey.

On the other side of the river we followed the Krisjana straight through the old part of the city, which appeared to be the most devastated section of all, especially with the awful skeletal trees lined up in a row along the pavement. We walked onwards to Elizabetes road. I hadn't been on this street since I was eleven, back then, the architecture had seemed superfluous and extravagant, to my eyes now, it was divine. The entire street had been crafted in some of the most exquisite Art Nouveau architecture I'd ever seen.

We followed the road, sticking tight to the tree lined left pavement, until we doubled back on ourselves, walking back toward the river and I suddenly realised that this was Krum's idea of a treat. He'd deliberately taken me out of our way to show us the sights and I could have hugged him. As we approached it, I instantly knew our destination; trust the officers of the Austro-Hungarian Empire to commandeer the most luxurious hotel they could find in Riga.

The Monika was where I'd stayed with my father when he'd come here on business and I'd found it truly hideous, though I thought now that it may have been more my confinement to the building than a realistic opinion of its quality. A blockade of sandbags had been erected to block the road either side of the building and a mounted machinegun sat on each, manned by a pair of equally bored, equally drenched looking guards. The moment they saw Krum and I approaching, they sat up, looking very alert, but Krum by-passed them without comment, I gave them a look that I hope conveyed pity for their position, but perhaps it was lost on muggles, because they just glowered at me.

The rain let up slightly as we walked toward the entrance of the Monika and once we were inside, it appeared to stop altogether, though I was unsure if that was merely some enchantment on the building. Krum walked silently to a lift, I assumed it was still expected of me to follow, so I entered the lift after him. He hit a button for the top floor and signalled me to remain quiet as we rose through the building by placing a finger on his lips. We reached the top floor faster than I'd have imagined we could have, the lift was apparently magically enhanced. Krum left the lift and entered the stairwell; I followed him, becoming increasingly bewildered and frustrated. He took the stairs upward and pushed open the exit and stepped out onto the flat roof.

There were two people already up here; a Stabsfeldwebel and a dark haired girl I was pretty sure was a local. He had her pressed up against the wall, her short skirt pulled up to her waist and his trousers around his ankles. Krum and I froze for a moment, unsure how to react, then Krum slammed the door behind us and the pair leapt away from each other. She hastily pulled down her skirt and bolted past us, her ample breasts bouncing as she ran, the solider tried to follow her, but ended up tripping himself up on his own trousers and collapsing at Krum's feet. Gently Krum placed a boot on the man's neck and applied the slightest amount of pressure.

"Pena, what the fuck are you doing?" asked Krum with a leer.

"What wasn't I doing, sir?" replied Pena, with smirk and Krum pushed down a little harder on his neck.

"No more girls, Pena. They shouldn't be here, because you shouldn't be here. Understand?"

"On the roof, sir?"

"In Riga, you idiot. The Soviets aren't to know you, or I, or Leutnant Potter are here. Now get downstairs to your quarters before I have you strung up," snapped Krum testily.

"Yessir!" cried Pena, leapt to his feet, picked up his trousers with as much dignity as he could manage and strode through the door and down the stairs, Krum slammed it again and threw a stream of privacy charms at it, then turned to me.

"I don't think we'll be overheard up here," he said and looked around slightly, as though expecting Soviets to be hanging by string from the clouds. "I didn't want to say anything in Leipzig, how the fuck can you know who or what is listening in?" Krum seemed agitated and he began to pace the rooftop. "We've been at war for two and a half weeks," said Krum finally and gave a sigh of relief, as though he'd finally got something very heavy off his chest.

"Two and a half weeks?" I recollection I think I might have shrieked this at him because he cringed at looked away.

"Two and a half weeks ago, the Soviets spilled out of the USSR and straight into Estonia."

"How far did they get?"

"Pretty far-"

Suddenly Krum was interrupted by a loud whistling sound from above. I instinctively knew what the sound was and that the fact it was directly overhead was seriously bad, I threw myself to the ground, hoping for some cover as the whistling became louder and then there was a deafening bang. After a few moments, during which I wasn't blown into a thousand pieces, I looked up and saw Krum staring at me, a look of amusement on his face, he hadn't even moved.

I looked around to see where the shell had landed but couldn't see any obvious signs of devastation. There was another loud whistling and I looked up. A second shell descended upon us, but exploded about four feet over Krum's head, preceded slightly by a flash of white light, I suddenly felt extremely stupid, anti-artillery protections, how could I have been so thick? I climbed to my feet again.

"Pena had his trousers around his ankles, what's your excuse?" asked Krum, his dark eyes gleaming.

"Fuck I'm glad nobody else saw that!" I exclaimed, dusting myself off. "What on earth was that?"

"A 2A65. They've been pounding us for almost a week now."

"A 2A65? Where the fuck is that?"

"There's twelve just the other side of Carnikava."

"Carnikava? That's less than twenty five kilometres from here! That's certainly some push through Estonia."

"They've control of Saaremaa as well."

"Holy shit," I said in soft dismay. Saaremaa was an island off the coast of Estonia of vital significance. If the USSR held Saaremaa, it blocked our Navy in the Rigan Gulf from reaching the North Sea. "They're moving south, aren't they? Cutting us off and laying siege to the city, right?"

"Exactly," said Krum, confirming my suspicions. "That's why you're here, why we're here, why the unit is here. We're to run interference, cut supply lines, knock out communications, distract them whilst our forces south of here move to cut up along the Russian border and encircle the attackers."

"This isn't a full Jagdgeschwader. There's no way we could operate like that with a full wing."

"On paper we are, but in reality; sixteen handpicked men and us two." Krum sighed and turned his back on me. "The Standartenführer in command of Riga has been ordered that no circumstances are we to lose Riga. We defend it, or die trying."

The orders made sense; there were three main roads through Latvia from Estonia and they all converged on Riga, if they didn't take one or all of these roads, they'd have to navigate their main invasion force through the hills, woods and back roads of central Latvia. This combined with the fact that the only other location they could cross the Daugava with any expedience was one hundred and fifty miles to the south east, made Riga the perfect place to hold back the Soviet invasion.

The artillery barrages began again, though this time we could see them falling across Kronvalda Parks. There was a sickening lurch in my stomach as I watched the spire of St. Peter's Church explode in a shower of dust and debris. Even the ever-stoic Krum gave a dismayed grunt as the tower fell. I felt like I could have been sick on the spot, had my stomach not been empty.

Krum finally located his staff car and we drove out to the airfield west of Riga, the rain had long stopped and the smells of damp grass and wet earth reminded me of my childhood. I took the time to read through the files of the men under our command, one through sixteen. Krum had elected to sit in the back seat with me, perhaps to make conversation, but if he resented my stoic silence, he certainly didn't show it. After some minutes, I spoke, trying to make some sense of the situation I found myself in.

"Why does nobody know we're at war?" I asked. Krum gave me a scornful look.

"Use your brain," he said in sharp reprimand and I scowled.

He was right though, it was obvious if I thought about it. Freedom of information was a laughable matter in this bleak world. Riddle and his SS censored anything in the press that was even vaguely the truth, to the point where the newspapers, TV-reports and radio was essentially no more than drivelling propaganda. I recall, as a young boy, asking my father why we in Britain were ruled by a man who lived in Germany.

Even then, at the tender age of six, I could see the inherent flaws in being ruled by a man so far detached from us, our culture and our way of life that it was madness. It was true even now; the armies of the third Reich had marched far afield and conquered everything in their path, so far indeed that they couldn't begin to comprehend the societies that they conquered, the cultures that they suppressed; big men with small minds. Worst of them all was the man sat atop the Emperor's throne.

Grindelwald had been a junior member of the Austrian ministry during Hitler's rise to power, he was steadily becoming an experienced and powerful wizard, a shrewd politician but that which procured his rise to greatness and that important than anything else about him was his silver tongue. He represented everything Hitler dreamed of and whispered promises of loyalty, power and immortality that ensnared the dictator's mind and that eventually lead to his death.

By 1943, there was only one man, who truly stood in the way of the advancing German horde, who realistically had a chance to end what Grindelwald called 'progression'. Albus Dumbledore was recognised as one of the most powerful wizards in the world and one of the greatest in Hogwarts' long, celebrated list of teachers. He was an almost certainty for the British Minister for Magic and a firm believer in the freedoms and rights of all people. He alone stood before this tyrant and oppressor of men.

I was jerked from my musing as the staff car pulled up onto the tarmac and stopped before a small gathering of soldiers milling around. A few were smoking whilst playing cards on an upturned crate, whilst others stood and talked intently, a few sat or stood alone in silence. As we approached, they quickly closed ranks and stood to attention. Krum leapt from the car, his hat tucked under his arm, I followed at a slower speed, walking around the side of the car. Krum examined them for a moment.

"At ease gentlemen," he said curtly and the men shuffled slightly, no longer at attention. "I am Major Krum and this is Oberleutnant Potter." He pointed me out before continuing in an authoritative tone, "As you may have realised by now; you find yourselves part of an unusual unit, a type of unit that has never before been seen in the history of warfare." He began to pace up and down, looking very severe. "You have been selected from all types of units, all countries of the empire, all walks of life to form the most elite unit the world has ever seen." He looked around out them, glowering. "Welcome to the 26th."

Krum had apparently decided that this was enough of a formal introduction to the unit and without another word, swiftly walked away in the direction of one of the hangars that bordered the airstrip. He made no motion for me, or any of the men to follow him so I stepped forward and made an attempt to take charge.

"At ease gentlemen, return to what you were doing" I said sharply and the sixteen men dissolved back into the loose groups that they’d formed before, which I noted now, appeared to be based around their respective mother tongues. I approached the group who were speaking English. The five of them were huddled together; each of them smoking tightly rolled cigarettes. I picked out the only one of them I even vaguely recognised and gave him a terse nod. "Alright Diggory?"

Cedric looked up at me and I almost recoiled in horror, the Cedric Diggory I remembered from Hogwarts was handsome and always had an easy smile to hand. The man that looked back at me looked rugged, scarred and there was no trace of smile on his face, just a long drawn expression that made him appear to be in a great deal of pain.

"Sir," he replied, his mouth barely moving as he spoke. I shuddered at the formal tone of his voice.

"Don’t be ridiculous," I said, in what I hoped was an endearing tone, "I’m Harry, or Potter at the very least."

I noticed suddenly that this conversation had caught the attention of every person on the airstrip. There was a palpable air of tension amongst the men, as if Diggory’s response would make or break my leadership. In fact, it probably would. To my great relief, Diggory gave me the most painful smile I’ve ever seen and put his hand on my shoulder, forcing me into the huddle of men.

"Glad to have you with us Potter," he said in a raspy voice. The tension dispersed as soon as it came and someone handed me a cigarette, I put it between my lips and lit it with a click of my fingers. I usually wouldn't have smoked, but it probably would have caused a little strife between me and the men and with my position apparently so fragile, I didn’t think it would be a good idea. Thankfully, I’d smoked on and off and as such didn’t cough up my lungs on the first drag, saving myself some embarrassment.

Slowly, between snippets of conversation, I associated the files I’d read with those around me. Other than I and another fresh recruit called Anthony Davies, everyone in the huddle had seen action at least once before and John-Patrick Bracken, or "Paddy" as he appeared to be known to everyone and Diggory had served in the same unit in Iceland.

If I’d felt a little out of my depth around Krum’s fearsome reputation and well publicized heroics, I felt completely submerged now around these men’s cool disregard for their own valour. The worst of Diggory’s scars, a wound that ran from the base of his neck to the bottom of his ear was apparently sustained whilst leading a charge into a trench outside Akureyri.

"Silly yank cook came at me with a meat cleaver, completely took me by surprise," he said grimly, then flashed a pained grimace around. "Funny thing was though; the Americans sent me a bronze star for killing him, apparently the battalion mess benefited greatly without him."

Everyone laughed heartily, leaving Anthony and I to chime in weakly. Apparently he wasn’t cavalier about the loss of life either.

We stood around for a while talking, the groups divided by language slowly merging together until all sixteen of us were perched on ammo crates and helmets, chatting easily. Despite some good natured ribbing of the greener recruits, including myself, there was a distinct level of camaraderie amongst us already. I found that Paddy especially was pretty easy to talk to.

"Do you drink?" he asked, in his incomprehensible manner, an odd cross between English pronounced too quickly in an Irish accent and someone attempting to gargle petrol whilst speaking. I stared at him blankly for a long moment before he chuckled and punched me on the shoulder. "Do you drink?" he repeated, slower this time and I shook my head slowly.

"Not so much," I answered, but apparently he caught something in the tone of my voice and grimaced.

"How long you been sober?" he asked, a wry smile evident in the tone of his voice that didn’t appear on his face. I understood him immediately this time, a marked improvement I thought.

"Six months," I said resignedly, something about this Irishman made me feel comfortable talking about myself. I don’t usually open up like this. He nodded and produced a hipflask from his tuchrock and I reflexively shook my head. Paddy gave me a look of solidarity and patted me reassuringly on the shoulder.

"Look, you’re going to start drinking again sooner or later, out in the field. You might as well start now," he said sympathetically, "besides, I want to know you can handle it before you get us all killed."

"Charming," I responded half-heartedly and took the flask from him, I examined it disparagingly for a moment then looked back at Paddy, "What is it?"

"Old Bushmills, it's a twenty-one year old single malt. So don’t be treating her bad."

I whistled appreciatively and took a small sip, testing the waters, so to speak. It wasn’t bad, a little dry perhaps and metallic from the flask, but it warmed me through immediately. I handed back the flask and noted, with no little disgust the huge swig he threw back. What a waste. My attention was then drawn to the conversation that the rest of the group were involved in.

It seemed to centre around the slight young man sat chewing gum, an aloof expression on his face. He was the only one of the seventeen of us to be carrying a firearm; a bolt action rifle was haphazardly slung over his shoulder and the rest of the group seemed to be mocking him for it. I studied his face a moment, he appeared to be of Scandinavian descent and I knew immediately who he was.

"Rasmus Ledorf?" I asked him, he gave me a discerning stare and nodded slowly. A few of the men bristled in indignation, others raised their eyebrows in interest but the majority, those who’d never heard the name before, just looked curious. I dropped the subject, there was no point hashing up the past. However, some of the others clearly didn’t share my view on the subject.

One in particular, a stocky man of Latin descent stood, sending cards, drinks and his own helmet flying. Some others followed his example and rose, some in order to calm the situation; other’s possibly just looking for a fight. I rose myself and prepared to calm the man now held back by two of his comrades and spewing insults in accented Italian at the Danish sharpshooter. In response, Rasmus shrugged, stood and began to walk toward the same hangar Krum had disappeared into.

"My name is Aldo Fabrizi, you murdering Danish scum!"

This stopped Rasmus in his tracks but he didn’t turn toward Aldo but this momentary acknowledgement seemed to make the Italian even more irate and he let loose with another diatribe of curses. I stepped forward to handle matters.

"Stand down Schutze or I’ll make you," I said in a level voice. His head whipped around to face me, his face a mask of fury.

"Shut your face, Englishman. You might be my superior in rank but you’re nothing but a boy."

I regretted the words even as they left his lips. He’d just challenged my leadership and to step away now, to lose face in front of the men I was supposed to be leading would be disastrous and certainly a premature end to my career in this unit. I sighed and tapped Paddy’s shoulder in indication that he should move.

"Let him go," I ordered the two men holding the Italian back. They did as I said and everyone backed away slightly, they knew that it was going to get messy quickly. "Wands or fists?" I ask Aldo and he scoffed, he’d clearly not expected me to actually call him out.

"Fists," he snarled and internally I sighed in relief, magic would have caused much more collateral damage. I raised my right hand toward him and made a beckoning motion. I knew it would be best to end this as quickly as possible and luckily for me, blinded by rage as he was, he came swinging at me almost immediately. His first blow sailed harmlessly over my head as I ducked under his swing, planting my own punch into his right kidney.

He dropped to one knee, gasping for breath and I immediately rose before swinging my torso down and right, levelling him with an elbow to the back of the head. I fell with him and pinned him to the ground with my forearm against the back of his neck, straddling him on my knees.

The entire encounter lasted perhaps five seconds and I pinned Aldo to the tarmac just long enough to make my point. When I rose again, I looked around at the men, my men and glowered at them, challenging them to repeat Aldo’s mistake. When nobody seemed particularly eager to, I addressed them in a harsh voice. I’d tried to integrate myself and failed, so now I had to establish my dominance.

"Fabrizi made the same mistake most of you made on meeting me; he wrote me off as an inexperienced child. Whilst I might be both, I was made your executive officer for a reason; I am a soldier and I am exceedingly good at what I do. I demand both your respect and loyalty, if you are unable to give me either of these, then leave now, I won’t make a move to stop you. But I promise you all this; I’ll kill the next person who challenges me."

Nobody moved a muscle or said a word so I walked away in the direction of the hangar, neither rushing nor dawdling. I drew Rasmus away with me as I did so; there was no point in letting Aldo curse him the moment I was gone. Now things were less intense, I allowed myself to examine the soldier walking beside me.

Rasmus Ledorf was another man of legend among some soldiers of the Third Reich and a horror story told amongst others. Around fifteen years ago Grindlewald, or perhaps Riddle had decided that the lords governing Italy in their stead weren't quite up to the task, or more likely, all but openly defying the Third Reich. The official response from Leipzig was to assassinate everyone involved.

In perhaps seven days, five assassins killed more than twenty two members of the Italian aristocracy and government and one by-stander, an eleven year old girl; Gina Fabrizi, Aldo Fabrizi's little sister. Rasmus Ledorf was the only one of the assassins captured and thus publicly identified; he was later given the Iron Cross for 'loyalty to the Third Reich'. If I remembered correctly, Ledorf's 'loyalty' involved shooting four men and a little girl in front of an audience of children at the opening of a new magical school.

Despite my defence of him, I couldn't help but find the man walking so calmly beside me extremely distasteful; it takes a certain type of man to willingly put innocent children in the crossfire. Although I had a healthy respect for his skill as a soldier, after all one doesn't fire five incredibly accurate shots in the space of half a minute without incredible skill, I already saw him as a liability to the unit, partly because of the controversy he would stir up amongst the men and partly, if his file was to be believed, because Rasmus Ledorf was a psychopath.

He was captured a day after the shootings by Italian Polizia and soldiers of the Third Reich and interrogated for another eight before he was finally released. He was checked over by the finest doctors in the Empire and they determined that although physically he was a wreck, mentally he was lucid, strong and intelligent. The man killed four men and a child, was tortured for over a week and returned to service three weeks later with a spring in his step. The stoic, unreadable man beside me certainly met my expectations of the 'Salerno Shooter'.

As we entered the hangar together, I had to wonder what criminally negligent person decided to put this man and Aldo Fabrizi in the same unit. It was insane; anyone with any degree of sanity would have had to realize that it would eventually lead to bloodshed. Unless, I thought whilst looking for Krum amongst the hundred or so gibbering intelligence officers working at the hundred or so ramshackle tables in the hangar, that was exactly the intention, use Aldo Fabrizi to murder Rasmus Ledorf and be done with, in one fell swoop, what were shaping up to be two serious liabilities. I was already beginning to hate my billing. Hopefully I was reading too much into a clerical error and this would all blow over.

It didn't take long to find Krum's brooding shape at one of the farthest desks and at this point Rasmus caught my eye, nodded his thanks and left my company in favour of a cute witch pouring over a map and jotting something on a sheet of paper. They appeared to be old friends or more and so I left him to it. I joined Krum as he was being briefed by an extremely harassed looking balding man tracing a route along a second map, Krum acknowledged my presence with his usual glower and I tried to pick up the conversation the best I could.

"-And so your best bet would be fly north as far as Gulbene, praying that your enchanted tin cans get you that far and then proceed by foot toward Aluksne, following the tracks as closely as you possibly can-" he broke off from his briefing to stare at me, clearly hesitant to continue in front of me but Krum waved him on impatiently, so he continued at once "Once you're there, the four targets are located in these spots," he drew four circles on the map in red pen "and don't ask me how you'd approach them, because I'm an ordinator, not a soldier."

Krum nodded, snatched the pen off the man, jotted some incoherent notes in the top corner of the map in what I assumed was Bulgarian, threw the pen aside, seized the map and stalked off. With what I hoped was an apologetic smile tempered with amusement I followed him out of the hangar. A quick look at the men informed me that they were more settled than they'd been when I left and before we were too close I decided it was something I had to bring up with Krum.

"Major," I hissed urgently, he stopped immediately and turned to face me. I caught up a little and thought about how best to phrase what I was about to say. Krum interpreted my expression and body language correctly and almost barked a question at me.

"You fought Aldo Fabrizi?"

I tried my hardest not to look surprised.

"You saw?"

"No but I assumed you would, there was no other way to get the men to accept you than to show you off in your element."

"That's why you put Fabrizi and Ledorf in the same unit?" I asked bewildered.

"I wish," replied Krum darkly and took a glance over his shoulder toward the men. "Riddle wants Ledorf dead, Fabrizi too if at all possible. They're both a black stain on his otherwise spotless career that he's been waiting far too long for an opportunity to clean up."

"So why doesn't Riddle just have him interned and quietly murdered by his SS?"

"Because Ledorf is a favourite of the Emperor," spat Krum in disgust, it appeared he had no fondness for the Dane either. "Murders a child and the Emperor treats him like a hero, gives him the highest award of bravery he can."

I resist the urge to make mention of the Major's own speckled past and nod in agreement. Krum takes another glance in the direction of the men and lowers his voice to a half whisper.

"I plan on giving Fabrizi his chance to avenge his sister. You'd be well advised to stay out of it," he obviously sees my reservations and glowers even more intensely at me. "Listen Potter, I know your father and if you're anything like him you've never been more outraged by the idea of a soldier's superiors planning his death, but if you can keep your mouth shut, your wits about you and just do your damn job for three or four months you'll very quickly see yourself promoted out of this mess and more importantly I'll be promoted out of this mess, because to be fucking honest, I'm sick of killing people for some sexual deviant's fantasy of ruling the world."

At this point of my life, I'd never heard anyone speak so plainly and openly in defiance of the Emperor and I quickly found myself in awe of Krum. I nodded my assent and we walked together to the men, who erupted into protests at the sight of us, the general consensus amongst them appeared to be a complete unwillingness to work with 'that psychotic bastard'. It appeared as though Fabrizi might not be the only one Ledorf would have to watch out for. One way or another, Riddle was going to get what he wanted.

I stood for a moment, watching Krum take charge of those with the most passionate protests and Paddy sidled up to stand next to me, he offered me his flask again and I took a long gulp gratefully.

"You shook the proverbial hornet's nest with that little stunt," he said after a moment. "I think we were all impressed at how quickly you dropped Fabrizi, some more than others but you've earned yourself a little respect. But you know you're going to have to prove yourself a confident leader in the field before you convince some of us older soldiers, right?"

I gave him a sly smile and laughed slightly.

"Well I'd fucking hope so, being such an inexperienced child, eh?"