The Skitterleap
Desperate Glory, Chapter II

Although my relatively short story begins that cold winter in Leipzig, the story I am attempting to impart to you began a century before. Though I suppose if you traced it far enough back, as with all things that happen, it would have its roots in the very first moments of creation, but I digress. The year is eighteen ninety nine and a hitherto very much unnoticed and unassuming wizard has just moved to Sarajevo. His name is Andro Milisovic and he's about fifteen years away from starting the First World War

Now, Andro certainly didn't intend to cause the First World War and he certainly didn't begin with dark intentions, but then people seldom do. He didn't even consider himself, upon his arrival in Sarajevo anything other than a mediocre, Muggle-born warlock. What he did consider though, long and hard in fact, was the oppression of his people by the Austro-Hungarian Empire and as is such in these cases, finding himself with abnormal ability and a problem to solve, set about solving it with very little consideration to the consequences.

It was not very long after that he fell in with a group that would later be known as the Black Hand. These likeminded individuals were everything Andro Milisovic could have hoped for, his way to a united and free Slavic empire. Fortunately for Andro the Black Hand were connected, powerful and muggles and I doubt Andro had much difficulty in controlling them. Of course, he still acted with good intention and I'm sure he consoled himself with the idea that he was truly helping them to reach their goal.

By nineteen fourteen Andro had everything exactly to plan, working through the Black Hand, who in turn were working through a smaller organisation he'd set up a number of assassins and Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand was scheduled to appear in Sarajevo. The assassination was seen by Andro as the beginning of a number stepping stones to a liberated Slavic nation, however, what he didn't foresee were the radical steps that the Austro-Hungarian Empire took and likewise, the counter steps that the government of Serbian government.

By this time, for obvious reasons Andro Milisovic had caught the attention of several international wizarding governing bodies and upon discovering hitwizards from the International Confederation of Wizards on his front stoop, decided he'd rather go out in a blaze of spellfire than be taken alive. By this point however, the damage that Andro had done to international relationships between muggle governments was critical. It was a startling message to the wizarding world; one mediocre warlock's meddling in the affairs of muggles lead to the single bloodiest war that the world had ever seen.

Unfortunately, it wasn't only amongst those who were appalled by Milisovic's actions that eyebrows were raised, all over Europe, those who sought power, mayhem and destruction saw the effects that one weak wizard could have. This great upheaval, the introduction of wizards into muggle culture and vice versa is what ultimately lead to my involvement in some of the most decisive events of the twentieth century.

Four days after Krum and I arrived in Riga I found myself sat in the co-pilot's seat of a Gotha, listening to the stretched fabric creak around us and the wind whistle past the tiny craft. Staring out into the darkness, I thought over the events that had lead me to this; cruising over enemy lines in an enchanted construction of wood, canvas and steel tubing. It was pure madness, I was convinced of it and I'd said so to Krum several times before we'd left. The Bulgarian had merely shrugged off my worries however and now all eighteen of us were inside this death trap.

Trying very hard to ignore the obvious flaws in this plan, I tried to look down out of the glass in front of me. Below us somewhere was Malpils and a train track that we were supposed to be following, but Krum was jealously guarding the map and navigational instruments and so I had no idea where we really were. Every now and again small pockets of light would come into view somewhere far below, which Krum studiously avoided. Something for which I was thankful, each one of those pockets of light was either a town, a village or particularly large gathering of soviet troops.

I rose from my seat gingerly and placed my water canteen near Krum with the lid unscrewed, he flashed me a smile of thanks without once taking his eyes from the window before him. Clambering through the tiny door behind us, carefully ducking my head as I emerged, I sat abruptly on the end of one of the two benches that lined the long chassis of the glider. I gave a half smile to Paddy, who was sat next to me. He turned to better face me and caught me a glancing blow to the jaw with the butt of his rifle.

"For fuck's sake!" I exclaimed, rubbing my aching jaw. Paddy gave me a contrite look.

"Sorry sir," he said, clearly trying to keep himself from laughing. "Not used to this bloody thing yet."

It was a fair point I supposed, although firearms were a mandatory experience in our training, it was generally accepted that it was a pointless endeavour as no wizard in his right mind would choose a firearm over a wand after all. I spared a glance toward Ledorf. None of us were used to our firearms yet and were all decidedly clumsy with them. We'd all trained with the old MAS-49, a bulky weapon made primarily of heavy wood and as a result we'd all picked up some pretty bad habits that came to light now we'd been upgraded.

I looked at my own rifle, resting benignly against the wall of the aircraft. It looked impressive, I wasn't a fan of firearms or anything muggle for that matter, but even I had to admit that it was an attractive piece of equipment. As opposed to the MAS-49, the PARA FAL was made predominantly of metal and felt about half as heavy as the MAS-49. The things I admired most about it however, was that it was a fully automatic weapon and that it had a folding stock, essentially allowing it to be handled like a submachine gun in close quarters. We found, however, that none of us had any semblance of control over the weapon at distance, but thankfully the weapon had the ability to be toggled to semi-automatic, something we were all far more comfortable with.

It was grudgingly then, that the majority of the unit picked up the muggle firearms and Ledorf stuck doggedly to his bolt action rifle. I nudged Paddy and pointed out Jose Pena who was sleeping at the far end of the glider. Jose Pena was already something of a legend amongst the men of the unit; after he revealed that he'd once taken a bazooka round to the chest everyone seemed slightly in awe. He was the single most experienced soldier of anyone in the glider and had he been anyone other than Jose Pena, he'd be the most decorated General in the Reich.

However, between his amazing ability to take everything in his stride and constant infractions meant that he was a Stabsfeldwebel, nothing like his twenty two years in service warranted, and not a single medal to his name. Even I, knowing the truth behind the alleged bazooka round, was slightly in awe of him. The ability to sleep going into battle is something to be honoured by its own right.

Closer to us, Timothy Blenkinsopp, who seemed to have found something of a protégée in Antony Davies, was taunting Franco Ritter, a German, sitting opposite. The pair were reciting Rudyard Kipling in a hushed tone, Davies joining in where he knew the words.

"For all we have and are,

For all our children's fate,

Stand up and meet the war.

The Hun is at the gate!"

I couldn't help but snigger at the expression on Franco's face, a mixture of fury, confusion and amusement. Paddy elbowed me.

"Should an officer really find that amusing sir?" he asked, laughing.

"Probably not," I said, trying hard not to laugh myself and together we joined in for the next four lines.

"Our world has passed away,

In wantonness o'erthrown.

There is nothing left to-day,

But steel and fire and stone."

We both chuckled again, but our hearts weren't really in it any more, we'd both come to sudden awful realisation that it was us now that he spoke of, not the English soldiers going to fight and die in the fields of France. I stood and gave Paddy an affectionate jab on the shoulder.

"Not long now," I said and pulled myself back into the cockpit, my head swimming with thoughts of soldiers dying in foreign fields. I wonder if any of my ancestors had fought in France and how many were still there, lying amongst the thousands of rows of white crosses. I suddenly had the desire to visit France, or anywhere that wasn't here, to be perfectly honest.

I took my seat beside Krum and took a swig from my canteen. He barely looked up from what he was doing to acknowledge me.

"How much farther?" I asked, staring out at the darkness. Rather than answer, he pointed out a small pool of light a little way ahead, I assumed that this was Gulbene. The plan was to land the glider some way outside the town and progress northward, following the tracks. As we grew closer to the town, the glider began to shake uncontrollably; Krum and I looked at each other for a moment and came to the same conclusion. I jumped from my seat and threw myself toward the doorway.

"Magical suspension around Gulbene! Brace for impact!" I roared. The men moved to their crash landing positions, packing rifles between each other and linking arms. A particularly nasty lurch of the aircraft flung me from the door like a ragdoll, bouncing off the canvas wall and clattering to the floor. Paddy seized me as another violent shake threatened to throw me down the gangway. I wrenched myself to my feet, Paddy shouting something incoherent in my ear as I did, and headed back to the cockpit, levering myself inside, I hit Krum hard in the shoulder and leaned close in to yell in his ear.

"AIM FURTHER FROM THE TOWN!"

"WHAT?"

"THE INVISIBILITY IS GONE, WE'LL BE SEEN!"

I assumed Krum had understood me, because he tilted the glider into a horrific angle and for the first time I saw why my commanding officer was considered such a prodigy. His face was twisted into an incredible frown of concentration, his arms literally bulging as he fought the aircraft against the winds buffeting the canvas construct. I looked to my canteen which lay dry on the floor, the replenishing charm had clearly worn off, meaning that Krum was now steering the glider with no magical influence.

But as hard as Krum worked and as powerfully as he pulled the controls, the ground was looming ever closer at a speed that was nowhere close to approach speed. In a split second judgement, I flung myself from the cockpit and seized one of the metal pipes that stretched the canvas taught. A split second later the entire craft lurched one final time and then with an awful sound of breaking metal and tearing fabric, the entire glider disintegrated from under my feet and I was flung twenty or thirty feet through the air.

I've no idea how long it took them to find me, all I remember is being shook awake by Blenkinsopp, my head ringing with pain and my face strangely wet. I sat up and wiped blood from my face and stubble, there was a wound on my forehead that my fingers explored gingerly, it wasn't too deep. I looked around and saw debris from the glider strewn across the field, like a newspaper caught by the wind. I looked back at Blenkinsopp.

"Is everyone okay?" I asked, surprised at how groggy my voice sounded.

"Ritter bought it," he said with an anguished tone. I shared his pain; twenty minutes ago we were mocking the German, now he'd be abandoned with the wreckage of the glider.

"Where's Krum?"

"Trying to salvage from the cockpit of the glider."

I got to my feet slightly unsteadily and made my way over to the cockpit. I caught sight of the broken body of Franco amongst the rubble and tried very hard not to stare. Krum looked up at me as I approached and gave me a relieved smile.

"Nice of you to finally join us Potter," he remarked slyly and then examined the wound on my head. "Go get that checked out by Pena, get him to bandage it or the blood will just keep running into your eyes. They're just down that bank there, in the ditch."

I nodded and examined the wreckage one more time, the entire left side of the cockpit was caved in and I thanked my stars silently that I'd not been sitting in my seat. I slid down the embankment and came face to face with the other fourteen soldiers. Cedric immediately stepped forward and assisted me to Pena, who I collapsed in front of. The Spaniard looked me in the eyes and laughed heartily.

"It'll take more than that to do you in, sir!" he exclaimed, whilst lathering my forehead with bandages.

"Well, if you keep that ruckus up you'll bring the soviets and they'll bring bullets and they will do me in Pena."

"Yessir!" he said, not dropping his voice a decibel. I sighed and allowed him to give me a turban of bandages before I arose unsteadily. My head felt slightly restricted and the blood on the side of my face was beginning to dry uncomfortably. Not that I could really complain, not after what happened to Franco. I looked around at the men.

"Did anyone manage to find my rifle?" I asked without much hope. Paddy stepped forward and held out a rifle.

"Here's Franco's," he said simply and passed it to me. I gave the weapon a once over, checking the magazine, the rear aperture and the barrel briefly, pausing only to wipe blood from the front sight. The gun suddenly weighed on my arm like an anchor, so I put it down and to hide my grief, looked around.

"Everyone equipped and ready?"

Several "Yessirs!" were barked back at me but most of the men just nodded stoically.

"I'm going to go get the Major and we'll be off. Pena, Diggory-" I addressed the two highest ranked soldiers "-Organise the men into two squads, ensure everyone's supplied and ready in five." The two non-coms nodded and quickly began dividing up the men between them, doing their jobs with a practiced ease, I realised now why Krum had chosen them.

As I climbed back up the embankment, I decided that I was glad I was seeing action with Krum as my officer. Pucey and Krum were two completely different types of people, Pucey efficient and vivacious but far too obsessed with ceremony and climbing the political ladder, he saw his military career as a way to climb the social hierarchy. Krum on the other hand was a true combat leader, he ignored paperwork and doctrine and chose NCO's who did the same, he picked soldiers who were soldiers and fought not for a love of fighting, or to advance his career, but because there was fighting to be done and someone had to.

It was something that we both shared, both of us were from wealthy, powerful families, neither of us had to be here. I found him crouched over Franco's corpse and I forced myself to look into the dead German's eyes. After about a minute, when I could bear it no more, I crouched down over him and gently closed his eyelids with my fingers. Hating myself more and more, I patted down his uniform for spare equipment and found nothing but a letter. I pushed it into my back pocket and seized Krum, hoisting him to his feet. He looked mournfully at me.

"I've never lost one before we've even seen the enemy," he said and I shook him slightly.

"Well we're going to lose a whole lot more if you don't get a move on."

I could hear raised voices from the direction of the bank, so I hurried over, not knowing if Krum was even following. As I approached the top of the bank I could see the soldiers below with their weapons trained on an old man, carrying a shotgun. The men were all shouting in their respective languages and I was pretty certain the old man was shouting in native Latvian, but before I could really get a grasp on the situation a soldier stepped forward from the crowd. I recognised him immediately as Rasmus Ledorf and with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I could predict something awful happening. Just as I began to slide down the bank to break up the situation, I saw Rasmus reach for his sidearm.

Someone else darted forward to stop him, but I could already see that they weren't going to be quick enough. Ledorf produced a silenced .45 and with two whispered gunshots, dropped the old man where he stood. Paddy picked up Ledorf by the knees and dumped him heavily on the ground and I hit the ground running. Pushing my way through the stunned soldiers I fell to my knees at the side of the Latvian. One glance at him told me that he was probably stone dead before he'd even touched the ground, Rasmus had hit him once in the heart and once in the forehead with two phenomenally quick shots.

When I got up and turned around, Paddy was still kneeling on the pinned Ledorf and Krum was standing between Ledorf and the rest of the men. I picked up my rifle and nudged Paddy with my foot.

"Up!" I ordered and Paddy rose reluctantly. I offered Ledorf my hand and heaved him to his feet. I quickly relieved him of his silenced weapon and after putting the safety on, pushed it into my waistband. I grabbed the Dane by the collar and shook him slightly. "Next time you fucking wait for an order. Is that understood you little shit?"

He nodded uncomfortably and I pushed him backward to the ground again. I picked up the dead Latvian's shotgun and examined it; it was a simple, short, two barrelled affair, with a shell in each chamber and no spares. I strapped it to my leg anyway and addressed the men a second time.

"Next time, shoot and ask questions later. There's a difference between engaging a potential enemy and murder. Last thing we want is that to be one of you lying there in a pool of your own blood. Now, we precede north, take a staggered formation, Diggory's squad on the left side and Pena's on the right. Move out."

We trudged across fields for hours, keeping the light of Gulbene firmly to our west. The grass was frosted through and crunched satisfyingly underfoot. A light breeze clutched at our uniforms and we were quickly frozen through. A sombre mood had gripped the unit and the sporadic attempts at a whispered conversation fell through with a depressing regularity. Eventually we reached the road designated as LP35 on our sand tables and we paused to take stock of our situation.

Krum and I poured over the map for a few moments and then, deciding on an approximate location decided to cross the road and continue heading northwest, until we found the railway we were supposed to be following to Aluksne. It was a fifteen mile hike and we probably wouldn't reach the town until day break.

The unit crossed the road with a practiced stealth; moving two scouts up and down the road slightly to spot movement and when concluding that there was none, as one unit we crossed, ensuring minimal time in the open. We continued our path northward; the most eventful moment was meeting a herd of cows head on in the dark. As we walked, I could feel the weight of Franco's letter in my back pocket; I vowed to send the letter at the next possible opportunity.

I positioned myself at the centre of the two squads, with Krum behind me, my rifle loose in my hands, but my entire body geared for a fight, fresh adrenaline coursing through my veins with each step. We reached the railroad faster than I'd expected, and we collapsed against the gravel bank for a moment, allowing us to take stock of our bearings once more and more importantly allowing the unit to catch their breaths.

Paddy had just begun to pass out smokes when footsteps reached our ears from the north; footsteps on the gravel, progressing southward down the lines. In an instant, rifles were seized up, cigarettes tossed to the floor and curses muttered under held breaths. Alexander Thalburg, who'd positioned himself a little up the line as lead scout, came crashing down onto the gravel beside Krum and whispered in his ear.

Krum reacted immediately, signalling second squad to move to the other side of the railway. Cedric at once marshalled his squad over the tracks, slipping and sliding on the gravel and took up textbook ambush positions. I followed at a slightly slower pace, trying to spot the formation of the soldiers approaching, but couldn't make out a thing in the dark. Lying on the other side of the tracks, I felt cold gravel press tightly into my chest through my uniform. I spent a moment adjusting the rear sight on my rifle in preparation.

Seconds ticked past, each elongated into hours as we waited with baited breath. Slowly, voices faded into earshot, they were definitely speaking Russian, loudly and with a great deal of laughter. They clearly had no expectation of being ambushed this far behind enemy lines. As they drew closer across the tracks, I began to distinguish their silhouettes from the darkness. I drew a sight on the soldier in my killing field and waited for that first shot to ring out. The soldier I had targeted turned to pass a cigarette to the man next to him.

When the first shot rang out, I fired off three shots in quick succession and the entire night blazed with gunfire for a few seconds. The entire experience was dazing, from almost no sound at all, seventeen guns rang out. The infantry we ambushed didn't even get the chance to fire a single shot back. After a few seconds, once the ringing had subsided from my ears and it was evident that there was no return fire, I rose hesitantly; rifle still shouldered and approached the corpses.

The rest of the unit soon followed my example. The twelve men we'd killed appeared to be Russian conscripts. I crossed the tracks to find the man I'd aimed at still holding his packet of cigarettes. A shot rang out in the night behind me and I spun and dropped, my rifle at the ready, to see Ledorf re-cocking his bolt action, apparently having shot a Russian who was only wounded.

I didn't even bother attempting to reprimand the Dane this time, he was clearly unhinged and instead tried to calm my racing heart. Whilst some of the more experienced soldiers looted the corpses of the men they'd just killed, claiming packets of smokes, side arms, watches as their own, Krum and I stood slightly to the side with the greener recruits. I could tell Krum wanted to move on and I did too, who knew who the gunfire would bring running. Besides, I found the whole thing very distasteful.

Eventually we moved on, Diggory's squad moving on the left side of the embankment and Pena's along the left. Krum and I moved slightly ahead along with Thalburg, who seemed to have been appointed, or appointed himself, lead scout. Unlike the other Dane in the unit, I found myself taking a great liking to Thalburg and his sense of humour. There was something very calming about his ability to tell jokes, however poor they were, in the situation we were in. We walked for almost three quarters of an hour before he looked at me, a strange light gleaming mischievously in his eyes.

"What would you call a Russian tank on a hill, Leutnant?"

I laughed and shook my head "I don't know, Schutze, what would I call a Russian tank on a hill?"

"A fucking miracle, Leutnant."

We reached the town shortly before daybreak and infiltrated from the south, taking shelter in an abandoned barn at the edge of town. Thoroughly exhausted we set about to consume the paltry supplies we'd been able to carry on the glider without weighing it down too much. We set up the small stove that Diggory had been carrying and made hot cups of coffee.

Unfortunately, with neither milk nor sugar the instant blend was revolting, but it was hot and most importantly had huge quantities of caffeine in it. It was a testament to our misaligned priorities that there was a heated argument over whether we should conjure sugar and milk. Using magic too soon was eventually discouraged though, it wasn't certain that the Russian's would notice it, but it was a distinct possibility.

So, armed with my disgusting drink and equally disgusting lone sausage, I sat and chatted to Thalburg and Boone Halverson, our lone Norwegian, about women. It appeared Boone Halverson was something of a self proclaimed expert on women and discussed in length several sexual techniques that I felt I'd probably be slapped for suggesting to any woman I knew.

The more I listened and the more I watched Thalburg's expression change as Halverson explained his wiles with women kind, the more I garnered the suspicion that his exploits would become fresh fodder for Thalburg's repertoire of outstandingly awful jokes. Indeed, as Boone rose and left, Alexander moved slightly closer to me and in a dire Norwegian accent proclaimed, "You see, sir, when I stick the barbeque sauce and wet celery in the woman's-"

Krum drew me away later in the day, with a serious expression, I knew he was about to tell me something I should have heard before we'd left, he'd been cagey with the mission parameters and I'd been sure he wasn't telling me everything at the time. He sat me down with Ledorf, of all people and contemplated us for a moment.

"I hate to spring this on you two at the last minute," he began in a low voice, "but there's a reason we're here and it's nothing to do with blowing up artillery. I couldn't tell you earlier, if either of you had been captured we'd have had to abort and we're only going to get one real shot at this," he glanced over his shoulder to check on the men, but they were engrossed in another game of cards. "Fadei Chernenko is here in Aluksne. At approximately seven this evening, he is going to leave and you're going to assassinate him."

Both Ledorf and I stared at Krum unbelieving; it was Ledorf who found his voice first. "Major, they say this man, Chernenko, he is immortal. That magic and bullet alike are reflected away."

I could only nod, flabbergasted. I'd heard tales of Chernenko told in the same awe inspired tone of voice that people used when talking of Riddle. If they were anything to go by, Ledorf was correct, people had emptied entire drums of ammunition at him for nothing, it was said he had even duelled Grindlewald to a standstill in the past, with neither able to land a blow on him. Attempting to assassinate the man, it was verging on the point of suicide. Krum however, shook his head.

"The centre of the town is currently under all of the suspension wards the Russians can throw at it. The man is, at this moment, as vulnerable as a muggle, his magic brought to nothing by his own protections. They are too arrogant to believe we are able to get in striking distance."

I continued to stare at Krum, my brain working at light speed. "So, I see why he's here," I said, jerking my thumb at the Dane. "But what do you need me to do?"

There was a flare of a message in Krum's eyes that was gone almost as soon as I saw it. "Even in Italy Ledorf had a spotter and an aide infiltrating. What's more, he's already proved once he can't exfiltrate on his own."

Ledorf flashed Krum a dirty look but I nodded, my mind was still racing. Krum had certainly been trying to convey a message to me, but I had no idea what.

"How soon do you want us to move out?" I asked. "Have you already chosen a vantage point?"

"Immediately," said Krum, "and yes, the church tower. The target will be located in the square to the west. We'll make our dual assaults on the train station and artillery guns at ten past seven, giving you a distraction to use to escape. Head for the tree line behind this barn, we'll meet you here."

"How do we identify him?" asked Ledorf, looking like he was still processing the information he'd been given. Krum handed him a photograph and I craned over his shoulder to look at it. It was taken at a horrible angle, which made it very hard to take in anything particularly distinguishing other than the long blonde hair, but it seemed acceptable to Ledorf. Then after a moment, the Dane rose and moved to the edge of the barn, his rifle held loosely at waist height, I followed in his wake, shrugging my own rifle onto my shoulder.

We hurried out into the twilight, I'd forgotten how early it gets dark in winter and it was slightly disorientating for a moment. We moved slowly into the town, once or twice narrowly avoiding patrols of Russian soldiers, the streets seemed to be literally swarming with them. We reached the church however, completely unopposed and drawing the silenced .45 I'd confiscated from Ledorf earlier, I lead the way, gun held between both hands at arm's length.

But the church appeared deserted and as we climbed the tower, we didn't see any signs of enemy activity at all. The bell tower itself was cold, draughty and severely inhospitable. So leaving Ledorf at the top of the tower to keep watch, I descended to the ground floor. Spending any more time than strictly necessary with the psychotic sniper was something I had no desire to do at all. Leaving my rifle propped against the altar, I stumbled into a confessional booth and sat for a long time, staring at the ceiling. My mind filled with thoughts of assassination, soldiers and France.

I'd just started to wonder if this was going to be my last night on earth when I heard the church doors open and footsteps enter. I caught a whisper of some half sung Russian song that died on the singer's lips. My mind jumped to the rifle leant casually against the altar and once again I drew the silenced weapon from the waistband of my trousers. As silently as possible I cocked the weapon, blood pounding in my ears, stomach curdling and my mouth dry. I heard footsteps approach the weapon and a puzzled voice calling out, sounding almost as hesitant as I felt. I tried to relax my breathing into a more regular pattern to the short shallow breaths I was taking. Very slowly indeed I began to creep around the corner toward the altar, almost shaking from the nerve wracking situation.

Suddenly, a low whistle sounded from above us somewhere and I heard the person turn. Instantly I threw myself out of my hiding place, my sights instantly lining up with the scared looking soldier stood facing the pews. I fired three hissed shots at almost point blank range, each striking him heavily in the back. He turned slowly, his rifle dangling from one hand and looked at me for a moment, almost confused before crashing to the floor. Ledorf's face and rifle appeared at the base of the stairwell almost immediately, but upon seeing me lower my weapon he lowered his own. We lifted the body and shoved it into the confessional booth I'd just exited. I lifted my weapon from the altar and that of the Russian whilst Rasmus examined the corpse.

"Nice shooting Leutnant," he said finally and walked back toward the stairs to the tower, I followed him reluctantly, not entirely sure I wanted to.

Seven came upon us quicker than I'd have liked. Slowly a motorcade made up of five armoured personnel carriers pulled into the square west of us and Rasmus lay down to steady his shot. I lay next to him, a pair of binoculars steadied in my hands, staring across toward the cars. An entourage emerged from a nearby building and began to climb into the cars, but there was no sign of Chernenko and I was beginning to think we'd been misinformed.

Suddenly he strode out of the building, a small boy standing next to him, no more than six years old. By the blonde hair on his head and the finery he was dressed in, I had to assume that this was Chernenko's son. I waited for several seconds expecting Rasmus to shoot at any moment, but nothing happened. I looked to him, expecting to see a cool, calculating expression, but rather seeing a man in inner turmoil, his face was drawn into an intense frown. I had no idea what to do but as I watched his finger began to slowly squeeze on the trigger. I suddenly felt a lurch in my stomach that could only mean one thing.

"Rasmus, no!" I roared, but I was too late and the Dane pulled the trigger.

The funny thing about wards is that they work in a way that those who don't understand the theory can't properly comprehend. The image most people have in their minds is a giant sphere, a shield suspended around a focal area. A ward is more accurately an enchantment within everything in its perimeter; the soil, the buildings, the air and most importantly the people. Those attuned to these subtle magics can sense their presence, humming through the air around them, vibrating through their bodies and affecting their own magic.

It was for this reason, that at the moment the suppression wards fell in Aluksne, I felt my stomach drop through my chest. It was for this reason that the bullet that Rasmus had so accurately aimed at Chernenko's forehead was suddenly jettisoned at a ridiculous angle from the Ukrainian. It was for this reason that Chernenko's son instantly died.

I watched horrified from the church tower as the child collapsed like a ragdoll, even from here I could see the spurts of blood as they sprayed across his father's face. I stood rooted to the floor, my entire stomach clenched and my lungs breathless. Rasmus moved quicker than I thought possible and dragged me toward the staircase. My body just collapsed in his arms and we toppled down the first flight of stairs crashing to the balcony below. Not two seconds later, the top of the tower was obliterated by a meteoric fireball that rained fire upon the entire church. I wrenched myself to my feet but my legs felt hollow and I could only stumble.

Rasmus pulled me toward the second staircase but I wrenched my arm free. Our eyes met for a moment, but all I could see were Krum's and his silent, begging message. Suddenly, as if I'd been planning it for days, I pulled Rasmus' sidearm free and shot him twice in the chest. He collapsed backward down the stairs and I followed him at a slightly slower pace, the gun still raised. Rasmus lifted his head again slightly and so I shot him again, the suppressor doing its job well, only an almost inaudible hiss escaped the gun.

"I'm sorry Rasmus, I truly am."

The Dane lifted his head slightly and whispered something, inaudible to above the crackling inferno above us. I crouched closer and he repeated himself.

"I knew you were going to do that," he said, blood rattling in his lungs.

"You didn't stop me," I replied, it wasn't a question. Rasmus' smiled broadly and blood ran from the side of his mouth.

"'If thou do that which is evil, be afraid'," whispered the Dane stonily. "For he is the minister of God; he is a revenger to execute wrath upon him.' I have done much evil Leutnant, forgive me."

He gripped my hand momentarily, pressing something tight against my hand, then his grip relaxed and his head lolled to one side. I rose away from the Dane and looked into my hand, a simple beaded rosary hung from my fingers. I pushed it into my pocket and looked around; fire was consuming the building around me. I could leave Rasmus here and trust that he would not fall to enemy hands.

I took stock of my situation, my rifle had been immolated with the tower above but I still had two side arms and the shotgun strapped to my leg. I unstrapped it and removed my wand from the holster by my left thigh. I sliced the barrels off neatly with a strong cutting curse, dropping three quarters of the barrel to the floor. Holding it in my right hand and my wand in my left, I descended the stairs as it opened out onto a balcony overlooking the church.

I was immediately face to face with a Russian soldier, who looked almost as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I reacted quickly however and caught him a blow with the shotgun, striking him just under the jaw. He reeled against the banister and I had a split second where I could hear more soldiers coming up the stairs behind him. I threw myself into the soldier, breaking the handrail clean through and plummeting to the ground. I twisted my body as I fell; turning enough to fire an exploding curse at the three soldiers below, obliterating the staircase, shards of wood splintering in every direction.

I landed heavily upon the soldier, who broke my fall just enough to allow me to escape unharmed. As I rose, a barrage of bullets cascaded through the church, splintering pews around me. I dived to the floor again, sliding between two rows as flecks of wood showered me. I lay very still, listening to the soldiers move around me, impeded slightly by the racing heartbeat in my ear. I saw the feet of one soldier moving the other side of the pew I was sheltering behind and I gently cocked the shotgun, making as little noise as possible.

Then swiftly and in one smooth move, I fired one of the chambers into the soldier's foot, eliciting a bloodcurdling scream of pain. At the same time, I rose from my position banishing the pew forward not just striking the Russian a deadly blow but also turning it into my bullet shield. I spun a quarter circle to my left, raising the shotgun under my left arm and firing point blank into the face of another soldier. I dropped back down behind the pews as a second hail of bullets levelled more woodwork around me.

I tossed the now useless shotgun to the side and seized one of the side arms from my belt. I flung one of the pews further from me to cause a distraction and was rewarded with a third storm of gunfire. I moved as soon as I'd thrown the pew, charging down the right side of the church, not even pausing as I emptied three rounds into the chest and face of a man in my path. As I reached the altar I let my feet slow, propelling me into a forward slide along the polished floor, bullets ricocheting off the stonework above me.

Using the slight step between the altar and the pews to my advantage, I rolled forward out of my slide and behind the altar. I kept my head low and almost instantly bullets began to crash against it and straight through the other side, missing me by millimetres. I dropped the magazine on my pistol and examined it; four rounds.

The gunfire ceased and I remained perfectly still once more until I could hear footsteps drawing very close. With a flick of my wand I flung the altar in the direction of the footsteps and rose, firing all four of my shots at the remaining soldier.

Every one of them missed, but forced him to take cover. I discarded my side arm. I was in the process of drawing Ledorf's when the soldier I thought I'd killed with the altar raised his rifle and fired at almost point blank range. The high calibre round tore straight through my stomach and passed out the other side and I almost reeled to the floor.

I kept my feet long enough however to kick down on the butt of his rifle as I collapsed, the business end catching him in the face and flipping the entire rifle toward me. As soon as I hit the floor I hit him with the killing curse, the green strike eliminating all traces of life from his face. With a prodigious reflex I caught the rifle as it fell toward me and fired in the direction of the last soldier who had popped from his hiding place to riddle me with bullets. By some pure fluke of chance, the bullet caught him in the throat and I watched with grim satisfaction as it pumped blood against the very pillar he'd been hiding behind.

For a moment I lay very still and there was almost perfect silence around me. Slowly as my ears readjusted I began to hear spatters of gunfire in the distance and the raging of the inferno that was slowly gripping the entire church. Gingerly and holding my side tight I rose from the ground and surveyed the damage around me. The church was littered with broken pews and people. I lifted the rifle with me as I rose; I had almost nothing in the way of pistol ammunition and precious little strength for much magic. Reaching inside my chest pocket, my fingers located the little vial of unbreakable potion.

The potion was theoretically supposed to restore a wounded soldier to full strength, not by easing his fatigue or healing his wounds, but by making him so high that he doesn't notice either. With a little prayer to whatever deity was listening, I threw the potion down my throat and began to stagger toward the doors of the church. I had taken perhaps three paces when they were thrown inward in an incredible explosion that almost toppled me from forty feet away. When I'd regained my ability to see properly, I found myself staring across the church into the furious eyes of Fadei Chernenko.

I was immediately captivated with how powerfully built the man was. He was tall and broad, with shoulders that wouldn't have looked out of place on a gorilla. Unlike the other powerful sorcerers I'd come face to face with, who all had an inherent elegance in the way they moved, Chernenko walked with all the grace of a rhinoceros. Not only was he a giant of a man, I noted, but also vastly ugly; his head was too large for his features and his face looked like he'd had one too many run-ins with a brick wall. What caught my attention the most, however, was the tiny spark of recognition in his eyes.

"Harry Potter," he said and I immediately forced thoughts of my mother to the forefront of my mind. Chernenko smiled viciously at me, displaying his hideous teeth to their full extent. "I don't need Legilimency to know your name, assassin."

"Oooh. How impressive," I replied in a mocking drawl. "What'll be your next trick, I wonder? Pulling a rabbit out of a hat perhaps?"

"How about sawing a man in half?" he replied, the threat evident in his voice. "But first, tell me Mr. Potter, what do you suppose the chances of you being sent to assassinate me coincidentally coinciding with my departure to peace talks with your father?"

I gaped at him for a moment, if what he said was true, the implications were exceptionally significant; someone wanted this war to happen, someone would profit from this war. Riddle? The Emperor himself? I re-focused my attention on Chernenko, who was now wearing a superior smile as he stared back.

"Rest assured Mr. Potter, that I will not allow my son's death to interrupt the peace conference if your father manages to do the same."

"You're rather self assured for a half-ogre," I mocked, jerking my head at his ruined face.

It seemed to get under his skin, for his face broke into a snarl, somehow making his face even more repulsive. "These are your last words, Mr. Potter; you'd do well to make them a prayer."

"I don't need divine intervention to wipe the floor with you," I baited, bouncing on the balls of my feet slightly, testing my wounds. I couldn't feel a thing; the potion had done its job admirably.

"That is exactly what you need." Grinned Chernenko, his eyes glittering in anticipation. "For you'd need the power of a god to fight a god."

"Full of yourself, aint'cha?" I replied, slipping back into English.

Chernenko simply raised his wand to me. I chose to reply; rising into a duelling pose and levelling my wand at him. There was a moment of pause, during which we both instantly assessed the situation, the calm before the storm. Then instantly it was broken, our first curses crossing in midair.

I had decided to open with something mainstream, mediocre and pathetic. He didn't even move his feet as he batted it straight back at me. I spun to the side, dodging both his and my curses and used the turn to mask the next curse I used. Our curses met in midair with a sound like a whip crack.

We held our curses for a moment, our wands still pointing at each other and gazed at each other appraisingly. I saw the slight shift in his weight before he'd cast his curse and I batted it away with a slash of my wand. I evaded a second curse by rolling my left shoulder back but it still managed to sear my shoulder as it passed. I was captivated by the sheer power of Chernenko's spells, god or not, he was certainly doing a good impression of one.

After the first flurry of spellfire, I allowed myself to settle into the duel, fighting exactly as I'd trained; my footwork, spellwork and form perfect. For each step he made I made one in response, for each curse I had a block, for each feint I was ready. I lost myself in the movements, each curse and block falling in with the next; an incessant stream of movements and curse-light. Chernenko for his part was equally as fluid, if not negligently so, with his movements. All his wand movements seemed lacklustre but his curses hit my blocks like a sledgehammer; powerful and crude.

I decided a little finesse was in order and so after dodging another blistering curse, I took a second of concentration to animate one of the statues by the door. The few moments I spent stationary cost me dear, a cutting curse catching me in the shoulder. The power behind the spell actually made my body recoil and I made a half turn as a crimson spurt of my blood sprayed from the wound. I grimaced and luckily kept the presence of mind to move as a second curse whistled past. My animated statue stood with a crunching of rocks; dust and flecks of marble falling to the floor, the noise attracted Chernenko's attention.

He was unable to react quickly enough however as the statue struck him a blow that sent him reeling. Whatever protective enchantments he was using seemed to give him a near invulnerability; as the blow he'd just taken would have slew a man straight out. My assessment was reinforced when the second blow from the statue struck him in the ribs, and lifted the wizard clean off his feet.

Chernenko fell back, clearly winded and I raised my wand to finish it. Before I had a chance however, he flicked his own wand up at the statue and with an incomprehensible roar blew one side of it away with a blasting curse. The air was suddenly filled with flecks of pulverised stone and a fine marble dust and I could no longer see clearly enough to aim a curse.

I moved as quickly as possible; a sound tactic considering a killing curse tore through the air where I'd previously been. As the dust cleared, revealing Chernenko standing tall amongst the wreckage of my charmed statue, I aimed a severing curse toward his legs and dropped low as his own bludgeoning curse tried to cave my face in. My curse caught him unaware and I was gratified to see a spray of blood as it dug into the outside of his thigh.

It was the first blood I'd drawn and I allowed myself a little glimmer of relaxation. Perhaps this was not going to be as difficult as I'd anticipated. No sooner had I thought that, however, than the wound I'd inflicted on Chernenko healed right over and he stood and laughed at my horrified expression.

"I told you child, the blood of Eurynome runs through my veins; I am the god of Death, the devourer."

He fixed me with a spine chilling gaze and then smirked. With a trifling flick of his wand he transfigured three of the benches still standing into giant spiders. I stared for a moment, my mouth hanging open, refusing to believe that he'd transfigured three Acromantula with a single wand movement. Reacting as soon as I could pull my jaw off the ground, I struck the spider closest to me with a blasting curse that ricocheted off the creature's hide and into the ceiling above.

The fire from the tower had apparently spread to the roof because the blasting curse brought a torrent of burning debris down upon us. Working completely on instinct, I banished a falling roof tile which buried itself in the face of one of the Acromantulas. A second leapt at me through a cloud of putrid smoke and I dived out of its path.

The second was upon me before I could even think and I spent several panicked seconds on the floor attempting to avoid its huge mandibles. A vicious bludgeoning curse tossed it across the room, leaving a trail of gore in its wake. Quickly I rose and turned to fight the other, quickly ducking a swipe from its legs and rolling beneath its abdomen.

"Avada Kedavra!" I roared, the brilliantly green hiss of magic thundering from the end of my wand, killing the spider instantly. It collapsed upon me, its thick protective hide sheltering me from a barrage of curses Chernenko had just sent my way. I waited for a moment to catch my breath, trying hard to ignore the oppressive smell of the dead beast above me. Then with an almighty push of my arms, flicked the spider over, catching more spells with its hard exoskeleton. I spun out from behind it and flashing my wand down in a spiral, I roared "Inimicacendius!"

A monstrous titan of hellfire exploded from the end of my wand, it rose to seven feet tall, the heat radiated from the burning figure immolating everything around it; the entire church erupted into plumes of fire and smoke in a split second. The fiendfyre pounced at Chernenko, grabbing his face with both hands. His scream of fury and agony rent the air. I was distracted for a moment by two more Russian wizards running through the doors of the church. They stopped suddenly, eyes wide at the sight of my golem, now holding the charred body of Chernenko in a bear hug. I quickly set the golem on them and it dropped Chernenko's remains to lumber toward them, chasing them from the church.

I paused a moment to wipe a foul mixture of blood and soot from my face. A killing curse screeched past my head, causing me to duck and spin away instinctively, I looked wildly around for the source of the curse and my stomach lurched sickeningly as I found it. The blackened, carbonized figure of Chernenko had risen to its feet, the burns sweeping back over his body to reveal unblemished skin.

For several seconds I could do nothing but stand and stare in horror, allowing Chernenko to close the difference between us and throw another deadly green curse I had to scramble to avoid. I returned a killing curse of my own, but he met it with a lump of stone ripped from the floor. I shielded two curses and allowed him to get closer. As he aimed another killing curse at me, I spun to the side, breaking my shield and drawing incredibly close to him. With not enough time to strike him with my own killing curse, I swiped my wand at him and a bright purple flame struck him across the chest, knocking him to the ground.

Again I was thwarted as I raised my wand to finish him, his disarming hex ploughing into me, sending my wand and me in different directions. He rose laboriously at the same time I began to drag myself over to my wand, my fingers were within a hair's breadth of the polished holly handle when he rolled me over with the toe of his boot and pointed his wand into my face.

"Valiantly fought, Mr. Potter," he said, his eyes and voice alight with his pleasure in the fight, his satisfaction in victory and his thirst for my blood."Well trained and resourceful to the end."

"It was hardly a sporting duel," I said, my eyes on his but my mind on the wand half an inch from my fingers.

"This is not a game, unfortunately. This is war and all the more glorious for it." He must have caught my confusion in my eyes because he laughed and explained. "Mr. Potter, whatever shall we do, men like we, when there are no more wars to contain us, no more bloodshed and death to appease our thirst?"

"You think me a monster like you?"

"Not a monster, Potter, a soldier. You were born for this Harry; it's evident in your voice, in your eyes, in the way you move-"

His monologue was broken by the reappearance of my fiendfyre. Chernenko turned his head just in time to catch a face full of burning wreckage that it hurled across the church. He staggered away, clutching his blistering face and I leapt to my feet, grabbing my wand and drawing Ledorf's handgun. There was one bullet left in it and a tap of my wand against the magazine transfigured the bullet to silver.

Chernenko turned to me, his face already perfectly healed as I raised the pistol in both hands. As our eyes met there was a moment between us that seemed to last far longer than it actually did. Finally, I exhaled and fired the single silenced round into his chest at point blank range. The silver bullet ripped through his enchantments and through his heart, passing straight through his body. Chernenko collapsed to his knees, his eyes glazed and I ran for it, experience telling me it wouldn't be long before he was on his feet again.