With Extreme Prejudice
A/N: First published story. I do not own Harry Potter, or Vietnam. I am also neither a member of the armed forces or a British citizen, so apologies on any inaccuracies there. Recommended Listening: The Doors - The End
James would be the first to tell you he was not a good man. Six months in the hellhole that to him was still called Indochina does that to you. Six months fighting a war that should have ended five years ago. Six months he spent shooting, burning and stabbing his way through village after village of alleged enemy, probable outposts, and unacceptable info risks. Six months where his core values and beliefs were taken, shot in the back of the head and buried in an unmarked grave. Six months where the former pureblooded child of aristocrats was turned into another unnamed masked killer without a flag on their uniform. Six months brought about from a bored drinking binge back in Scotland and signed papers to give your life for your nation in a regiment that doesn't exist.
That doesn't matter tonight. Tonight there is a mission where he doesn't think he has to kill someone who doesn't deserve it. Tonight there is mission that takes place on known enemy territory, with a known enemy commander in a known enemy compound. It's almost a breath of fresh air, not like you could get that in this weather.
The monsoons were hitting hard tonight, which is why they picked it. The skilled pilots of the Regiment wouldn't be flying anything that would be affected. The runes carved into the sides of their American Hueys ensured that, that the rain would pass through the helicopters without hitting it, that the aluminum and fiberglass would be invisible to the naked eye and that anything inside would not show up on any Soviet-made sights.
James climbed aboard one as the airfield around him danced in a chaotic waltz. Technicians, pilots and soldiers ran circles around each other. They hopped into and out of helicopters or ground crew vehicles, carrying rifles and toolboxes. As he crossed into the Huey's wards he felt the water covering his body and soaked into his gear flush out and land on the concrete underneath the chopper. He sat on a bench facing the outside. The rest of his friends would be boarding now, but on a quick scramble like this there wouldn't be much chance they'll board the same vessel. "I'll see you on the ground, Prongs!" echoed the voice of Sirius from a few minutes earlier as he ran to grab his gear. The Helicopter began to lift off, its rotors roaring as the signal word came through every radio at the same time.
"Juniper! Juniper!" and a hundred men on a dozen gunships flew a hundred feet into the air.
It was when he felt the Invisibility Booster kick and the rotors silence in that he decided to triple check his gear again. Can't be too sure he heard a man once say before his parachute didn't deploy. His wand was in its wrist holster under the sleeve of his uniform, the magazine for his Armalite was full, and his Hi-Power was as well.
He looked to the man next to him, who was almost melting into the bench in the darkness. He had a rosary in his hands and his helmet covered his eyes as he spoke under his breath another dozen Hail Marys. Irish? he thought looking at the little flag painted on his helmet. An Irishman is who I'm going to die next to, huh? He fell into a memory.
Ireland, 7 months ago. James was on his first mission in Northern Ireland. James and another hundred men have been walking for miles. There was a Death Eater camp around somewhere here and rumor was that the IRA were involved as well. His mind's eye blinked. James' company was in a forest. Bullets and spells flew through the air and he watched a pitched battle happen around him. He saw a man in black robes run through the forest, the cloth basked in fire. He slammed his back into a tree and put out the flames with a quick Aguamenti. Right in front of James. He took aim and fired. He watched the body drop. "Nice one, James!"
An hour passed before he came to. The Irishman kept his rosary long ago and was looking through the scope of his L1A1. The rain was still there as well, somehow harder. He shook himself out of his meditation and watched the jungle below him for signs of anything. There was nothing familiar he could see, at least in this weather. He wondered why he was awoken now. Then he saw it.
Or rather, he heard it. The boosters shut off and the loud Wum-Wum of the Huey's rotors kicked in. They must be right above the target now- and the scream of rockets raced by and the jungle underneath was lit by orange fire. Someone with an M60 pointing out of a widow pulled down its trigger and his Helicopter joined the symphony of death that flew over the jungle. The Irishman also started taking potshots without visible effect. They were met with small arms fire that bounced uselessly off the shield wards.
"Looper Nine you are clear to land." he picked up over the gunfire. The 'Slick' he hitched a ride on would be first one down on the ground. He pulled on the charging handle of his CAR and watched the ground rise to meet him.
When he heard the loud noise of metal slamming against wet concrete he hopped out and hit the ground. He saw men in half dressed uniforms run into the rain with their Kalashnikovs swinging on slings or gripped tightly. The M60 was still firing continuously behind him, its bullets tearing some of the men in half before the live ones also started hitting the concrete. He braced the rifle and let his drilled instincts take control. 2 shots per prone figure as their own bullets either missed or splashed harmlessly against the Huey's wards. He felt a sick satisfaction as their muzzle flashes stopped popping out against the dark rain and the silhouettes slumped over, dead. Got them.
He heard screaming to the side. He swung his rifle over and watched a building nearby burst into flames as rocket after rocket flew into its windows. The front door swung open and he watched a man run into the rain his hands flailing in the air as fire consumed his body. He took aim and pulled the trigger, jam. No one else tried to give him the mercy of a quick death as he collapsed onto the concrete still screaming. Stray magic kept his vocal cords screaming long after he died until the fire melted that as well.
James let the CAR swing loose as he let his wand slip into his hand. He cried out- "Point Me, Commander Dang La Lu!" and the stick pointed towards a building which was surprisingly not aflame. He took aim at the front door and yelled out a spell that transfigured the door into dust.
"Tonight's target is Dang La Lu, a mean bastard who's been directing the movement of troops undetected." said the colonel to the room full of men in various states of disarray. The briefing was unannounced until five minutes ago, and D company was preparing for another good night's rest when the call came out. "He was responsible for some of the war crimes they've been blasting out in the papers. Mass shootings, torture and all that rubbish." he said with no hint of irony.
Another Slick touched down in front of him and another dozen people hopped out- "Heya Potter!" he heard Peter shout, bringing him to his senses- before rushing into the building. James watched the rest of the base burn around him as more and more Hueys flew overhead. He heard screams and yells and more gunshots and the unceasing roar of helicopter blades.
He watched the Irishman behind him finish slam another magazine into his rifle before running into the building. The cross of his rosary hanging out of his back pocket beside his holstered pistol.
James holstered the wand and picked up his rifle again. He slapped a rune near the fire selection and pulled the charging handle again, ejecting the jam before chasing after him.
"Your objective, is to terminate Dang's command… with extreme prejudice. Happy hunting, lads."