Battle Lines

Chapter 4: Welcome, To the Rock

21 Mar 03: Somewhere in the North Atlantic

0130 hours

When Cho came to she was tightly bound and strapped to the deck of a boat. Rain and wind lashed her face; ahead of her, its position betrayed by a light house, lay an island. By the feel of things someone had relived her of her gun and supplies. At that moment the boat bumped against a pier. Out of her line of vision someone yelled above the storm. Cho felt herself lifted from the deck, levitated off the boat and onto the pier. A handy bolt of lightning chose that moment to light up the building in front of her, a massive fortress, built on the island. Ahead of her on the pier another person shouted aloud and the armored doors to the fortress swung open. Only when they had closed behind her did someone speak.

'Ah, Miss Chang, I see you are awake, you will be taken to your accommodation shortly.'

'I assume it's not five star then?' Cho growled back at the unknown voice.

'Crucio,' the voice whispered.

Cho gritted her teeth as the agony came.

Must not scream.

Spots began to appear in front of her eyes, she couldn't breath. The voice said something else and the pain subsided.

'That was for cheek, Miss Chang, I don't advise trying it again.'

Cho bit back the smart-arse reply rising to her lips and settled just for scowling.

'Very good,' the voice said. 'You learn quickly. I trust you won't mind if I hope you don't enjoy your stay here, welcome to Azkaban, Miss Chang. Stupefy!'

And Cho knew only blackness.

The voice turned away and pushed back its hood, revealing long, blond hair. Lucius Malfoy turned away from the unconscious Cho to another Death Eater.

'Take her to a cell,' he said, 'Make her, uncomfortable. Then inform Wormtail that we have a candidate...'

Though I think he already knows Lucius added in the privacy of his own head.

'... and that he can put his message out. We may be able to do this an easier way. As well as get rid of one of our more, annoying problems.'

* * *

Corporal Brian "Red" Rodgers sat in front of his computer terminal. He'd got his name "Red" because of the colour he turned whenever a member of the opposite sex talked to him. Hence, he'd joined intelligence and had been stationed in communications. This allowed him to do what he loved best, sit in front of a computer screen. It was dull boring, monotonous work, and Red loved it. At the moment he was up to level seven in pong as his equipment casually scanned through the channels. Just as he was about to take the computer a light lit up on the board in front of him.

Damn

Reluctantly he exited pong, put on his head phones and began to listen to the message. As it wound by his eyes widened. Five minutes later he was in the office of his superior with a transcript of the message. An hour after that he was in a room with a number of officers from all branches of the forces feeling totally out of his depth. To make matters worse one of the officers was blond, female and decidedly attractive "Col. Fleur Delacour", Red lived up to his name. As Red watched, a major that he recognized form Intel looked down at the screen in front of her and up again. She turned to the marine lieutenant beside her and said something.

'Quiet!' yelled the lieutenant.

When everyone was quiet she spoke up. 'We have a location.'

The room waited in silence.

'We've triangulated on the signal as well as checked the view behind the pictures of Squadron Leader Chang and the findings are conclusive, it's Azkaban...'

Not good, murmuring broke out around the table.

'... We're checking the satellite data from the last twenty-four hours of Azkaban to see how they got her in there,' said the Major.

'Thing is,' replied another officer, 'what do we do then?'

'What do we do then.' The voice came from the other end of the table, it was low, dangerous. 'What do we do then? I'll tell you what we do then, we go in there and damn well get her out,' said Group Captain Madden.

'You can't order people into Azkaban!' that was the ministry's representative, a career bureaucrat, 'the press would have a field day!'

'The press and propaganda machines would have a field day if we left her behind,' retorted Madden, still sounding dangerous. 'Anyway, last time I checked the Ministry didn't want to believe this was happening.'

'But...'

'But nothing,' the OC of Hogwarts spat the words out, 'anyway, I wasn't going to order anyone, it would be a volunteer mission.'

The ministry man slumped, 'Alright, I don't like it but, alright.'

'Thank you,' said Madden, then he raised his voice, 'Do the rest of you support this.'

Around the room people looked at each other. Cautiously hands started to be raised.

'Good,' said Madden. 'If the message was correct we have just over 48 hours from when it was broadcast, which gives us...' he looked at his watch, '...just over 46 hours to act, get to it!'

* * *

Hogwarts AFB:,

45:00:00 to deadline

Natalie Boone woke to the sound of her pager beeping.

She looked down and read it: "All active personnel to report to the main briefing theatre."

Still bleary eyed Nat walked over to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. She was just about to walk out the door when it suddenly struck her that it might be an idea to get dressed first. On went jeans, shirt, boots and, like every other pilot on the base, her flying jacket.

The briefing room was full by the time Nat reached it. Taking a seat next to Mike she settled down to see what was happening. Across the theatre she could see Captain Potter and his group of marines looking very solemn. The pilots from Red Squadron were also very quiet.

Your stupid fault she reminded herself you should have stuck to your wingman. That set her into another bout of depression. She hadn't been fast enough. Around her the lights dimmed, the chatter quieted down and Group Captain Madden took the podium.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' the Captain said, 'I am here asking for volunteers for a mission. It will be dangerous, it is somewhere you probably don't want to go and I don't expect you to come. It involves Squadron Leader Chang.'

There was murmuring from around the room.

'Those, who wish to volunteer, I ask you to step this way. Once you are through this doorway, you'll only have one more chance to back out.'

Natalie looked at Mike and Aaron, they stood up and headed toward the door. As they did so Nat saw Potter, Granger and Weasley also get up and head toward the door. Within about five minutes the room contained around twenty people. Madden entered and shut the door behind him.

'Ok,' he said, 'you have volunteered, now you get to know where you will be going. You will have one chance to back out after that, but what you hear you will not be allowed to pass on to anyone else, if you squeal you will be court marshaled.'

A number of people were already backing toward the door.

'You are free to go.'

They left, fast. Now the room contained, Natalie, Mike, Aaron, Fred, Katie, Potter, Granger, Weasley and, of course, Group Captain Madden.

'As you know,' said Madden, 'during our evacuation at Dunkerque Squadron Leader Chang went MIA. We've found her, at oh-two-thirty hours today we received a transmission from the Death Eater leadership, ransoming Squadron Leader Chang for a number Voldemort's key supporters. If they are released they could turn the tide even more strongly against us. If we do not release them within forty-five hours from now, Cho Chang will be executed. However, we have Chang's location, she is being held in Azkaban prison. Your mission is to go and get her out; if you don't back out now of course.'

He swept his eyes around the room. 'No-one? Good. We have forty-five hours, an Osprey transport is already waiting for you in the courtyard, collect what you need, pilots, that's not your brooms, they will be sent to you later. Be in the courtyard in fifteen minutes. MOVE!'

* * *

USS Wasp, North Atlantic:

42:30:00 to Deadline

The rear ramp of the V-22 lowered itself to the deck, spilling light out onto the flight deck. Deck hands sprinted out, securing the big VTOL transport before it slid off the wet deck in the heavy swell. Natalie and Mike stepped out into the storm just behind Fred and Katie.

'I'm feeling seasick!' shouted Mike aver the wind.

Before Natalie could answer another wave hit the ship, she slipped, landing unceremoniously on her backside. By now a marine lieutenant was beckoning for them to follow him inside. They made their way across the slippery and constantly moving deck as the rain washed across them in sheets. It was a very relived group of wizards and witches who finally made it inside as the heavy sea door slammed shut behind them.

'This way,' said the marine, motioning them into a briefing room, more sparse than the one at Hogwarts it had a definite utilitarian feel about it. The marine who had led them in moved to the front of the room.

'Morning,' he said, 'This is going to be short and informal, hopefully. I am Lieutenant Adam Lomas, USMC. First of all, welcome aboard the USS Wasp, for those of you who don't know the Wasp, she is the command ship for the United States Marine Corps. I believe you've already been given a rundown on what's happening so I won't go into that. Besides, with my level of clearance I probably know less than you do. While you're here, I'm talking to you pilots here, you'll be given a crash course in ground operational procedure and basic weapons handling, refresh those skills you learnt in basic training and haven't touched since then. Before you head out you'll be briefed in full. Are there any questions?'

Aaron raised his hand.

'Yes?'

'Um yeah, where can we get food, I don't know about anyone else, but I'm hungry.'

Mike went slightly greener.

'Oh, yes,' said Lomas, 'I'll show you where the mess is, you'll have about an hour to eat and be back here. Anything else? No? Right follow me.'

By the time they reached the mess hall Mike had actually thrown up, Fred had fallen down the gangway, delaying them for a minute or so while he waited for the little yellow and purple lights to go away, and they all had bruises from being thrown against walls. Only the four marines in their company came out unscathed. The food in the mess was, well, food. There was no other way to describe it. If you really concentrated, Natalie decided, it tasted kind of, but not completely unlike chicken.

'Is this spot taken?'

Natalie looked up from where she was trying to discern what her next mouthful actually was, into the be-speckled face of one Captain Harry Potter.

She swallowed whatever it was she had been eating. 'No Sir, it's not.'

'Your friend doesn't look like he's got his sea legs yet,' said Potter, looking over at Mike who had taken on a slightly darker hue of green.

'I don't know Sir,' Nat replied, 'it might just be this food as well.'

'Mmm,' said Potter.

He inserted a spoonful of something pink and mushy into his mouth and grimaced.

'Merlin's beard, it's even worse than I remembered.'

They ate in silence for another minute, then Potter said, 'You knew Cho, did you?'

The question came right out of the blue, 'Well, yeah, I mean yes. Sir.'

'You may as well call me Harry, everyone else does.'

Natalie went on to explain. 'I guess it's my fault we're here really. I was her wingman, for one mission, her last mission. We got separated. And. I guess the rest is history.'

She looked over at Harry to gauge his reaction. It surprised her. There was no outburst. No angry words about stupidity. No sarcasm.

'We all make mistakes,' he murmured.

Mike chose that moment to break the mood by throwing up noisily.

'Hm, looks like he still had some food in there.'

Harry's smile returned, but this time it contained humor rather than sadness.

* * *

Within the hour they were back at the briefing room. Those who weren't already marines were being issued with special ops combat uniforms and gear: combat fatigues, black; Kevlar composite body armor, black; Kevlar helmet with built in comm. gear, black; leather gloves, black; turtleneck sweater, black; dry-suit, black and combat boots, black.

'I assume we're going in at night,' Fred stated.

Granger turned to him, 'You can bet your bottom dollar on that one. Would you want to try and get in during the day?'

'Um. no.'

After that it was down to the armory for a crash course in weapons handling, something the pilots hadn't done since basic training. Each member of the party was handed one Heckler and Koch MP-5K sub-machinegun, black and one Berretta 9mm pistol, black. Natalie noted that Harry wasn't issued the pistol. The reason became apparent soon later. As a warm up the party was working with the 9mm pistols; firing at targets from twenty-five meters. Suddenly, from the end of the line came a massive BANG, it sounded like a cannon going off. Natalie lowered her gun and flicked on the safety and looked toward the end where Harry was standing. The target at the end of his range had a hole in it around the size of a basket ball, in his hands he held a massive black Hand-Gun, it deserved the capital letters. Natalie lowered her own pistol and walked over to investigate.

Lifting up the side of his earmuffs she yelled in his ear. 'What the hell is that!'

Harry lowered the gun, flicked on the safety and turned to her. 'You've never seen one before?'

Natalie shook her head.

'Take a look,' he said, handing it to her.

Down the side was written "®DESERT EAGLE - .50 MAGNUM PISTOL".

Fred walked up to them, peering over Nat's shoulder. 'Whoa; D'eagle. Why don't we get those?'

'Because,' Ron said, sauntering over, 'you're not marines, and therefore not cool enough to have D'eagles.'

'I wish I had a comeback for that.'

Hand to hand combat came next. The pilots' found themselves being continually nailed by the marines. Aaron got the shock of his life, when, after around five seconds of play he found himself on ground, arm in a polite, but firm police lock and Hermione Granger's knee in the small of his back. He let out a string of symbols usually associated with the top of a typewriter keyboard.

'When I start to swear Granger, you let go!' He moaned, nursing his shoulder.

'Sorry, forgot you were a pilot.' Granger grinned. 'You can call, me Hermione if you want.'

'Hermio... what?'

'I dunno,' said Weasley, 'we just call her Herm, or Braniac. I'll follow the trend, you can call me Ron'

'Easier to pronounce than Hermi, Her, yeah,' said Aaron, looking embarrassed. 'What the hell, I'm Aaron, the green one is Mike and the one of the female persuasion is Natalie. I'm sure you know the other two.'

'Yup, we know the other two, I'm related to one of them, unfortunately.'

'Hey, what is this, pay out on Fred day again?'

'Yup, Again.'

'Damn.'

The final part of the day consisted of work with a type of weapon the pilots had never seen before, but the marines seemed fully familiar with.

'The Armalite MH-12 Maghook,' said Harry, throwing one to Natalie.

The weapon she now held in her hands looked like an old fashioned Tommy gun. One handle forward, one back with the trigger assembly in it. In between them a spool of line and up the end, where the muzzle of the gun should have been, a bulbous metal head with grappling hook arms folded along the sides. Above the trigger was a small switch with a blank and a red "M" marked beside it.

Harry continued, 'It's going to be your best friend. That spool holds one hundred and fifty feet of line. The maghook can be used as a magnetic hold or a grappling hook launcher; flick it to "M" for magnetic.'

It took the pilots around two hours to master the maghook, but it would be worth it.

Overall it was a very tired group of people who fell into their respective berths around twenty-three hundred hours that night.

* * *

USS Wasp, North Atlantic

12:00:00 to deadline

Natalie dragged herself into the briefing room and plonked herself down between Harry and Mike. She drew on the coffee she had in her hand, and made a face. Weak, she'd always heard that the Americans made bad coffee, now she had her confirmation.

'You slept late.'

Natalie looked over at the voice, through the fog of sleep she made out glasses and mop of unruly black hair.

'Better to sleep late now rather than permanently tonight.'

'True.'

By now Nat had managed to consume enough of the undernourished coffee to think clearly, or as clearly as human beings ever did. Good thing to, because at that moment a marine captain took the podium at the front of the briefing room.

'Good morning,' he said, 'My name is Captain Jack Walsh, Officer Commanding of the USS Wasp I'll be delivering your briefing. You already know the background of the mission, so I won't go over that. As you know you are going to Azkaban prison...'

The lights of the room dimmed. In the centre a large holographic representation of Azkaban sprang to life.

'... It is generally agreed by the leaders of the Union that you will not be able to Apparate there as you may risk setting off the security spells surrounding the prison. However, Voldemort Incorporated didn't count on our technology when they set up the spells, so you'll be going in SEAL style.'

'It means we're swimming,' whispered Harry.

'Intel,' continued Walsh, motioning to the graphic behind him, 'has show us a storm water vent here...'

A red cylinder cut its way through the image and split up, one line went into the prison

and another up onto the surface of the island, just above the cliffs.

'...If he can get out you should be able to get in. You'll swim in and come up on the back of the island. From there you will be able to make and entry into the prison itself. We don't know where Squadron Leader Chang is being held, you'll have to find her yourselves. When you have located her get outside; radio in, and wait for the cavalry. Once you have been extracted we're going to level the island. Be warned, if you don't radio in by zero-two-hundred tomorrow, we are going to assume the worst and blow the island back to the Stone Age. Any questions?'

Fred raised his hand. 'I assume we're going in by helicopter, won't they hear us?'

Walsh looked at him gravely. 'The choppers are going in low on the cliff side of the island. With any luck the cliffs and surf will blanket the sound. That's why you're swimming and we're not just dropping you in the island. Anyone else? No? I advise you get something to eat now. If you wish to you may leave letters with me for your families in case you don't return, but remember, all aspects of this mission are classified. Be in the main hanger by fifteen-thirty hours. Oh, and please relieve yourself before you get on the chopper, they're difficult to clean. Dismissed!'