Tut mir leid. Sorry. Gomen nasai!
I've been working and I don't have internet at my new place. In fact, we've been without internet for the two months we've been living here.
Don't get me started on how unhappy I am with that state of affairs.
I've also been very distracted outside work hours so I haven't been working on my writing. Which means my goals have already started slipping. Really got to work on my writing schedule.
Which is why I'm updating now. I have a portable internet thingy on loan from my parents (turns out you need internet to do internet banking. Who knew?) and I decided to finally finish that proposed HP fanfiction project I started a lifetime ago.
It's short, it's first draft, and I enjoyed writing it.
Have fun, and welcome to my new subscriber alphonse13? (Always surprises me when I get a notification that I have a new subscriber ^_^; )
~~~~~~~~~~~
Jackson knelt into the wet grass, pulling the stock of his rifle deep into his shoulder. He breathed softly, peering through his scope. He scanned the target building in front of him, watching for signs of movement.
Nothing.
“All clear down here.”
Jackson held his breath, and checked the six of his fellow team mate, Peter. He was moving carefully along the high garden wall that surrounded the country villa. Peter, like Jackson and the other team members, had his night vision gear on. The villa’s grounds seemed clothed in an unnatural darkness.
“Clear.”
Jackson moved his rifle again and checked on the third member of the team, William. He was in position in front of the main gate. No sentry had been seen in the last ten minutes, and William was getting antsy.
“Motion detector and claymores in place.” Ralph this time.
Jackson did another sweep of the building with his rifle’s scope before speaking; “Eyes on, Ralph. Get your heat scope on the building. I want to know what’s going on.”
“Holding position.” Pete said, almost bored.
“Eyes on.” Ralph said. “Nothing coming up on the house, dead as a dodo. Wait. Hang on a second.”
“What is it, Ralph?” Jackson asked.
“Contact!”
“Take the shot. You know our orders.” Jackson replied.
Captain Jackson remembered his superiors almost shouting it into him to not take any chances with this operation. There was an extra secret meeting with the PM. Extremely dangerous targets with exceptionally dangerous tech. Jackson, having seen a tour of duty in both Afghanistan and Iraq, doubted that there was much that could scare him anymore.
And then the brass invited someone in who didn’t look like he wanted to be there.
After he gave an example of what his superiors were talking about, Jackson didn’t want him to be there either.
“Take the shot!”
In the dead silence of this unnatural night, the suppressed sniper rifle was easy to hear. Jackson watched as a blood spatter slapped over the wall next to the gate. That was decidedly odd, considering that there hadn’t been anyone standing there in the first place.
“Nice shot, mate.” This came from the fourth team member, Andrew.
“Confirm it.” Jackson prompted.
“On it,” Andrew replied, breaking seamlessly from his cover in the darkened undergrowth.
Jackson kept a second eye on the scene as Ralph watched for other signs of life. Andrew made his way to the invisible target, watching carefully as he crept in the shadow of the wall. Jackson watched as he reached down to apparently nothing, and tugged. Something moved, and immediately stopped as Andrew whipped out his combat knife and stabbed it deep.
“Holy mother of Mercy.” Exclaimed William as someone appeared in his view.
The once invisible sentry died, his clenched fist opening slowly and dropping the tiny stick that it had been holding on to. The man hadn’t known what hit him.
Andrew pulled his combat knife out of the robed chest and wiped it before sheathing it on his chest webbing.
“Contact!” It was Peter.
Jackson cursed himself for not keeping up is roving eye. He spun round and saw Peter kneel and begin to engage two targets at medium range. One target raised his arm in apparent defiance, only to crumble as a burst of 5.56mm rounds ripped through his masked face. Peter never missed at that range.
Kill or be killed. Only the best survived to make the SAS.
Jackson sighted the second man; he had tried to duck out of the way, apparently shocked by the sharp bark of Peter’s SA80 assault rifle. Oh well, no point staying quiet now.
Jackson scoped the second man and squeezed the trigger, watching as the first, second and third rounds ripped into the man’s chest and abdomen. Jackson swung his SA80 down and began moving down the hill to join his partner.
“Your man’s still up, Jackson.” Peter remarked.
Jackson said nothing but ran to his partner. He stopped at the feet of the still breathing sentry. The man was clutching feebly at his long robes, muttering curses in a shallow death rattle. He was clearly looking for something.
Peter kicked the man’s hands free of his pockets. “No larking about, nutter. We don’t want any spooky surprises here.”
“All clear by the gate?” Jackson asked.
“Quiet. Can’t give all clear, but it is quiet.” Ralph replied. “Maybe they weren’t expecting company?”
“Or they were underestimating us.” Jackson muttered. “Stay frosty.”
The sentry stared was staring at his two attackers. His pale blue eyes were darting from one soldier to the other as though they were alien creatures.
“Who are you?” He rasped.
Jackson looked down at him, realising that his full helmet and face gear must have been intimidating, and then he remembered the video footage of what his type had done to those poor souls who had been trapped on the bridge in London.
The man screamed as a heavy British combat boot broke his wrist.
“Bad boy. If you don’t go for that magic stick of yours, I might let you keep your other wrist.” Peter hissed.
“Magic…stick…” The sentry chuckled, coughing blood. “Muggle filth. Nothing better than apes. The Dark Lord will kill you all and scatter your bones to the wind.”
“Don’t bet on it, mate.” Jackson said. “Now where is your mate, the Darth Lord?”
The man had snarl of a grin as he heard the question. He spat more blood through his terrible mask and rolled over carefully, only to be kicked on his back again by the overzealous Peter.
“No funny business,” warned Peter again. “Now where’s your mate?”
The Death Eater laughed. It was inhuman, and made the hairs on the back of both Peter and Jackson’s necks stand up.
“No...funny…business?” The Death Eater touched his other sleeve with his crippled hand, “...too…late….Lord Vol-
Crack!
The Death Eater’s jaw slackened as another burst from Jackson’s rifle finished his sentence for him. The Prime Minister had been very clear than their target was called “he who must not be named” for a reason.
Load of bollocks, Jackson thought, but who wanted to take chances?
The team had stood in the Prime Minister’s office as they had him very clearly explain the realities of the magic world. The Prime Minister was a very serious man who was talking to a team of very serious soldiers who were employed to do very serious things.
Jackson and his team had remained quiet out of professional courtesy and silently asked themselves the question as to when the next election was to take place.
Then the Prime Minister had invited in and introduced his secretary, who proceeded to turn a teacup into a mouse and then back into a teacup again.
The serious men remained serious, but there had been the first flicker of doubt in their eyes.
“Eyes up! Incoming!” Andrew shouted, jerking Jackson back to reality.
Jackson looked up and saw the giant green skull in the air. The jaws opened and a snake lolled out lazily. Black figures began swarming through the sky towards his team.
“Give me a bloody IED any day.” Jackson shouted as be began to squeeze shots off into the night sky.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
There was an explosion of light next to Jackson. He snapped round and stitched up a black robed figure with a burst of fire. Peter was on the ground, coughing heavily.
“About as fun as 557 round to the gut.” Peter wheezed. “Felt whatever it was bounce right off me.”
Jackson pulled him up. “Guess the hexes that witch doctor put on our armour actually work.”
Peter checked his underslung grenade launcher. “Better get him to mumbo jumbo me some anti-bullet pants then.”
Jackson barked out a laugh.
“Like shooting fish in a barrel, lads.” Ralph hissed over the radio. “These bastards are buzzing around like they’ve never seen a gun before. I’m picking them off like flies.”
Jackson looked up and could see the Death Eaters were falling like flies under Ralph’s consistent sniper fire. The chatter of automatic fire had picked up in the forest around them, evidently the rest of the team were on clean up.
“Filthy muggles! Kill them, kill them all!” A shrill voice screamed from the main gate.
Five or more men and women burst through the main gate, rushing towards Peter and Jackson. The two men crouched down and lined up their targets just as the first Death Eater tripped a claymore. Firework-like spells whirled overhead as the first two wizards were caught up by shrapnel and thrown to the ground.
The remaining Death Eaters clutched their ears in agony at the explosion. Peter used his grenade launcher for good measure, watching as the rest of the black robed ragdolls collapsed to the ground.
“This was supposed to be a bloody silent job!” Jackson shouted over the cordite and gun smoke around him.
“Tell that to Saddam, boss.”
“Hardy har-har, Ralph.” Jackson snapped. “Fall back to the nest. There’s no way we can go in there now we’ve kicked the whole nest of vipers.”
“THERE’S A BLOODY BIG SNAKE RIGHT HERE!” Ralph shouted over the radio, his fear of serpents removing all professionalism from his voice. “Got right through the bloody motion detector! Someone come and kill the bloody thing!”
Oh damn. Jackson thought. If the snake’s here…then so’s his owner.
“Regroup double time! Fall back!” Jackson shouted, reloading his SA80 as he ran. “Tall Dark and Spooky is in the house!”
The night was deadly quiet again as Jackson ran, his heart in his throat. He nervously reached inside his helmet and checked that his ear-plugs were in tight. He checked to his left and right and counted the rest of his team to be present.
“Dropping cover!” William shouted, pulling the pin on smoke and throwing it over his shoulder.
“It’s cool guys. I think my claymore got the snake.” Ralph said.
The men broke cover, stepping into an opening in the copse of tress surrounding the manor house. Ralph was up a tree and waved a hello. There was the tail of a gigantic snake sticking out of the bushes underneath him.
A black robed figure descended from the clouds above them.
“So these are the muggles who dare visit unannounced.”
His voice sent ice down Jackson’s spine.
“You think your sticks and rocks can ever match to my power?” The figure continued speaking, bathed in the glow of sudden moonlight. “What was your plan? Do the mice think to defeat the lion?”
“Counting twenty men up high, boss.” Andrew hissed.
“Answer the Dark Lord!” A female voice screeched.
The team answered as one, Jackson dropped to one knee and unloaded a clip into the imposing figure before him. Round after round cut into the figure as it jittered towards the ground. More magical fireworks fell around the team as each man began lining up targets, picking off their attackers like coconuts at the county fair.
A high shrill laugh pierced the night air once more.
“My my. How the mice try to fight.”
Jackson felt his heart clench to a sickening pace within him. The laughter offended his senses; it was tearing at his soul.
There was a crack of a high velocity round and Jackson turned to see Andrew fall, clutching at what was left of his throat. Another crack and Peter fell, his gun firing wildly into the night air.
“Ralph’s gone!” Jackson shouted, turning to shove William into movement.
“And here must be the leader of the pests.” Soulless eyes locked to meet Jackson.
It was a face with no nose, and blind fear had Jackson laugh to the thought of “but how does he smell?”
“A muggle who laughs in the face of his true rulers?” Voldemort asked, curiosity in his voice. “Does the death of your kind amuse you?”
“No, but your face is bleedin’ hilarious.” Jackson coughed, pulling his side arm from its holster.
His finger was on the trigger, the gun pressed into the abdomen of the man he had been assigned to kill. And then the man was gone. All Jackson could see were the bodies of William, Andrew and Peter. Hells bells.
Crucio.
White hot fire ripped sinew from bone. His skin felt as though a phosphor grenade were eating through his abdomen, as though no level of pain in his life could equate to the experience he was going through in this moment. He refused to crumple, squeezing random shots off as his fists involuntarily clenched against the madness that began welling up inside.
And then he was free.
Jackson gasped. He drank the air into his screaming lungs.
“My my. Look at him struggle.” The cold voice of Voldemort continued to offend, despite the quality of Jackson’s earplugs. “He thinks he can stand up against a Wizard, his better.”
“Go to hell.” Jackson spat, rising to his feet and swinging his pistol to bear.
His arms were rubber. The SA80 on its lanyard felt like a lead weight around his neck. Jackson focused on his target. Gone was Voldemort, and Ralph was in his place. The man’s eyes were glass.
“Kill him.” Voldemort hissed from behind him. “Kill him and I might let you live…or kill you to spare the pain I want to wreak upon you for daring to come here.”
Jackson dropped his gun as Ralph lifted his rifle like an automaton.
“Pitiful. The weak must always be removed from the way of the strong.” The voice was bored. “Fine. Sometimes we are lucky…and the weak simply lay down and die…”
There was more of the sickening laughter as Jackson spun, firing wildly at a target he couldn’t see. The laughter was added to by the hooded figures above him.
“I’ll kill you, you freak! Just like we slaughtered the rest of your cult tonight!” Jackson cried.
Imperio.
There was a crack and Jackson felt the bullet blow through his thigh. He fell to see Ralph turn the gun on himself.
He wept and felt his body buckle under the onslaught of another Crucio.
“Nagini. Eat.”
