Title: We Stand Alone Together

Summery: Voldemort's followers were not bound only to England. While the events of Deathly Hallows were taking place, thousands upon thousands of his Death Eaters and magical followers were beginning their world-wide conquest of the globe. Eventually, their lightening war spread to a very important province of the Middle East, where the only thing standing in their way were two hundred soldiers, determined not to give up until the last man was down.

Rated: M for language and heavy war scenes/violence.

Brought to you by: Wesker888, the author behind such works as Just One Dance, For You I Will, and Crawling Under The Surface.

Disclaimer: I own only the characters and the plot. Nothing more, nothing less.

Author's Notes: This will probably be the shortest chapter in the story, just because it's another perspectives chapter, focusing again on the characters from chapter 3. So if you're in for a quick read, this will probably cover it.

Perspectives II

Second Lieutenant Liam O'Donnell never took his job for Command's communications division lightly. It always seemed like there was something going on, big or small, and every blip on their comms needed to be reported to Major Petitt over with intelligence, who then reported it to Colonel Shepard and regiment command, if it needed to be.

Lately he and his staff had been on full alert, with the attacks on the bases and all that. They had lost contact with Delta Base two days ago, so that was three bases gone now. And, like Charlie Base, there were bodies missing, although far less than Charlie had. Twenty missing at most, if that. These were most likely to be prisoners of war, and that was never a good thing.

"Sir?"

The Irish lieutenant, tall, dark hair neatly cropped, a slight limp in his leg from an old sports injury, hobbled over to where one of his corporals sat at his communications post.

"What is it?" he asked.

"We're picking up something. Trying to clean it up," the corporal said. He was an experienced member of O'Donnell's staff, and he had no doubt the man could do it.

"Here, sir." The corporal took off his headphones and handed them to him.

O'Donnell brought the headphones to his ears. At first, he heard nothing. Then-

"-by units, this is Charlie Two-Six, we are under siege and are in need of assistance, do you read me? This is Charlie Two-Six, please respond..."

O'Donnell stared at the corporal. Two-Six, that was...

"This is Charlie Two-Six to all available units in the area, we are under attack by an unidentified force. We have sustained heavy casualties, our supplies are minimal. If you can hear me, please respond. We are in dire need of assistance, over."

The lieutenant reached over and set the radio frequency to transmit. Lord, one of them's alive out there. Someone must be watching out for us.

"This is Command. We read you, Charlie Two-Six, can you read us, over?"

There was a brief pause before the response came.

"This is Charlie Two-Six, we read you, you're choppy but we read you. Can you..."

And that was all they got out of the transmission before static took over.

"Two-Six? Say again, Two-Six, we're losing you."

No response.

"Please say that transmission was recorded," he demanded from his corporal.

"It was, sir."

"Good." He doubted Petitt would believe him otherwise. Charlie Company had been missing for almost a week at this point, but any news of them being alive was exactly what they needed.

"Get Shepherd on the phone. He's going to want to hear this."

Khalid Shiek Ali watched as the ragged line of survivors came trudging into the village. Not many, but enough. Men supporting the remains of their families, carrying their wounded on carts. Women clutching their children to their breasts in fear. On one cart was a row of children bodies covered with a blanket.

"It was bad."

He tore his eyes away from the pack as Ali Mohammad sat next to him. Ali was his friend from the neighboring village, and a fellow comrade-in-arms. Ali was shorter, more wiry, his teeth stained permanently yellow from years of chewing khat. He almost always kept his brown eyes behind a pair of sunglasses, but today they were clipped on his shirt pocket as they scanned their new audience.

"They tore right through the village," he continued, his eyes looking haunted as he relived the memory. "Homes were set on fire in seconds. Most of the militia based there were dead before they even got out of their beds."

Khalid nodded. This was the same report they had received twice already from different areas. It seemed like the whole country was under attack.

"I don't understand how the Americans could do all of this," Ali continued, disgust in his voice.

"I am not so sure they did."

He turned his head in surprise. "You don't?"

"The Americans have their faults, but they are not capable of this level of mass slaughter," was the seasoned reply. "They have their rules by which they abide by. Their morals."

"They decided to break them."

"No. They would never."

"Then whom?"

"I do not know. This pattern of attacks is not one I'm familiar with, but whatever it is, I think it wants our enemies destroyed as much as it wants us destroyed."

Ali stared at him for a moment, then stared back, shaking his head. If not the Americans, then who was responsible?

Khalid did not know. But they had to stop it soon. Before it wiped out their entire country.

"Phenix."

Begley stared at his blonde-haired leader impatiently, waiting for some form of command. Phenix said nothing. He simply twisted the sixty-inch blade in his hands, admiring all thirty-two inches of sharp steel with its handle, not acknowledging his subordinate.

He had taken the blade off a Muggle fisherman about a year ago. The man had been drunk and boasting about some foolish fight he had won, boring Phenix to death with his chatter, but the blade appealed to him. Such a simple device, so thin but deadly a blade, with such a unique T-shaped handle. He desired it. So he killed the man and stole the blade as a souvenir.

Rarely did he kill with it. It depended on the situation, as well as his mood. Mainly, it was just for show. But he put a lot of care into it. It fascinated him, this fisherman's tool. Fascinated him more than his men understood.

"Phenix."

He sighed. "Yes?"

"Those men we took in the last encounter with the Mudbloods."

"What about them?"

"In a couple of weeks, it's going to be the full moon. And the ones we caught were all bitten."

"They weren't bitten on the full moon."

"Our wolves said they tasted the blood. That should be enough."

Probably not, Phenix thought. But he was no werewolf expert, so what did he know?

"What are you suggesting?"

"That we send them out and see what they find."

Interesting suggestion. Werewolf attacks were usually the best way to soften a target up. They didn't have many werewolves on their deployment, and the ones from the last encounter would be brand new. If they actually turned. Which he was not entirely convinced of, given that it was not full moon when they were bitten.

Still, full or not, werewolves were an effective tool.

"Very well," he said. "Send them out three days early so there aren't any accidents in camp. We'll see what they find."

"Lieutenant Winters, sir?"

Winters snapped out of his daydream to look up at the man who had approached him. He was a brown haired lad, probably mid-twenties by the look, built like a wrestler. He was shirtless, and his chest showed three large scars going top left to bottom right. On his right arm was a tattoo of a red-haired, blue-eyed mermaid with a belly button piercing. His face was older, and right now was a mix of confusion and worry.

"I know you," the lieutenant said, sitting up. "You're Delta Company, aye? You pal around with Sully and that lot."

"Corporal Henry Granger, sir," the man replied, sitting down with him. "I'm with Delta's motor pool."

Winters nodded. He saw this soldier hang out with Sully and Tony and the members of Charlie Comapny's motor pool on those times where some members of Delta were flown over to their base. Sully was a friend of his from back home, they had gone to college together. Winters knew him by sight and by Sully's descriptions of him, but that was all he knew.

"Delta's wiped out too, then?" he asked grimly.

"Tore us to pieces," was the somber reply. "We were prepared and everything. Had the gun turrets manned and operating, the towers were always occupied, we had Claymores laid out at every camp entrance, Russian tanks were always on patrol. None of it mattered. They hit hard, hardly any of us were left standing. No one got away."

"Did you get any of them?"

"We got a few. I couldn't tell you how many. They moved so fast."

"Like ghosts." Hardly a surprise now. Winters was unfortunately getting used to it.

"Bloody chaos. Those men...it was magic, it was."

The lieutenant laughed. An absurd statement, and that was the truth of it. And the sad part of it was that it was a statement that he himself had been considering all too often in the last couple of days.

"Yeah, magic," he agreed. "Hocus-pocus and the like. Fun shit, aye?"

Granger laughed. There was a shine coming off his teeth from the sun, and Winters saw that one of his back molars was made of fool's gold.

"Yeah, I used to think that," the soldier admitted, shaking his head. "I used to think magic was a crock of shit, same as everyone else. Why not, right? How can you believe in magic at our age, in this day and age?"

He picked at dirt under his fingernails, and Winters then saw his expression suddenly change. His face was now deep, contemplating, no longer messing about. He was serious now.

"Yeah, I used to think like that," he said again, softer now. "And then my little cousin got a letter saying she was accepted to a school for magic."

Winters frowned. "Wait, what?"

"Aye. My little cousin, a bona fide witch. Little Hermy, she's a brilliant child, always poking through books and the like. Then she gets a letter, 'bout six or seven years ago, telling her she's a witch, and she's been accepted to this magic school to learn how to use spells and whatnot. Fun, yeah?"

The lieutenant from Ireland just stared at him, waiting for the punchline. There was none; not visibly anyway.

"Your cousin's a witch?" he asked again.

"Mhm."

"Like...magic wand, broomstick, black cat and the like?"

"Brown cat, actually." Granger snorted at the thought. "And no broomstick. My aunt, her mum, says she doesn't like flying."

"You're serious."

"I am, sir. We're not really supposed to talk about it back home, but hey, it's not like it's going to matter here, right?"

"I guess not." It did not make the idea any less absurd though. "Still not sure I believe you, but hey, if it'll help you sleep at night."

They looked up and were silent as a group of the dark-cloaked men walked past. Thankfully they had stopped torturing Winters days ago, after they finally figured he had no idea where the others were, so mostly now they left him alone. Mostly. There were still times where he'd get a rock thrown his way, or get a painful kick to his rear. Still, he had food given to him, as terrible as the food was. He had a cot, as thin and uncomfortable as it was. So all in all, it could have been worse.

"They treat you alright here?" he asked the corporal.

Granger shrugged. "Well enough, I suppose. Me and the other boys from Delta have our own tent that they keep us in. They don't beat us or anything."

"Well, that's good." There was probably no need to torture them. Unlike his men, Delta had not had the same lucky chance for escape.

"Did anyone from your company get away?"

Winters nodded. "A good number, from the sounds of it. They weren't happy about that."

"Sully? Tony? Any of those guys?"

"I couldn't tell you. I lost track of everyone once the shooting started. Maybe they got out." Or maybe they were lying among the dead back at base, he didn't have to say.

Granger finished picking the dirt under his nails. He looked over at the dark-cloaked men, his expression lost in thought. Then he turned to the lieutenant again.

"I think they're planning to do something with us," he said.

"Like what?"

"I don't know...the night we lost the base, me and the ones they took were all attacked by these giant...I don't know, it looked like a man, but he was all...furry."

"Furry?"

"Furry."

"Furry like a raccoon?"

"No, more furry like a dog. His teeth were wicked sharp and his nails were long, way too long for a man. He did this." And he showed off the scars again.

"Yikes." Winters looked at the scars that trailed diagonally right down his chest. It looked like someone had raked four massive blades like a cat-o-nine-tails down his chest. At least they were healing properly, they looked a lot better than they must have before.

Come to think of it...they looked months old...

"When did this happen?" he asked.

"Three, four nights ago."

"These wounds looks like they healed weeks ago."

"Exactly." There was worry in his eyes now. "I woke up the first morning we were here and they were closed over and healing. These were huge bloody gashes. My staff sergeant thought I wasn't going to survive the night. And then I'm up and at 'em the next day like nothing's happened."

Winters just stared. There was no way something like this could heal overnight. It looked like it could have been fatal.

"Anyone else get something like this?"

"Everyone they took got scratched or cut up. One guy even got bit."

"The furry bloke bit him?"

"Aye. Took a chunk right out of his shoulder. But it was completely healed over the next day."

Bloody hell, the lieutenant thought. What kind of miracle workers did they have for medics where wounds healed like that?

"These people said we were going to have a job to do..." Granger rocked back and forth, his fearful eyes on the officer's face. "I don't want to do anything for them, but I don't know if I have a choice. I don't know what they've done to me."

A shiver went down Winters' spine. Despite it being ninety-two degrees today, he suddenly felt very cold. Not for the first time in the week since his capture, he was wondering if they were all in over their heads. And if what Granger said was true, and there really was magic in the world, then how did you beat that?

How do you fight magic?

He had that dream again.

Phenix sat up in his bed, his face drenched in a cold sweat. Wiping his hand down his face, he waved his wand at the glass on his bedside table.

"Aguamenti." he muttered.

A jet of water shot from his wand and filled up the glass. He took it and swigged it all down in three gulps. Taking a deep breath, he looked at himself in the mirror, checking out his facial features. Same blonde hair, albeit messed up due to sleep. Same gray eyes, tired from his interrupted sleep. Same soul patch on his chin.

And no scar. Definitely no scar. He exhaled in relief.

The details of his dream was still vivid in his mind. Every night for a month he had had the same nightmare. The first night he was confused, because he never dreamed and if he did, he never remembered them. The second night he was unnerved that it had happened twice in a row. The third time, he had a small panic attack and spent the day in his own solitude, staring up at the tent roof. Now, he was used to it, but the dream still haunted him, every night, as soon as he was asleep.

In the dream, he was alone. He was in one of these backwater village towns, only it was entirely on fire. Presumably his forces had just raided another village. There were bodies everywhere; his men, villagers, and those soldiers they were looking for. A massive battle, the winner unknown.

Then suddenly he was looking at himself from another perspective, and even though he knew what he was seeing, the sight was still a shock. He was covered in soot, a bleeding cut on the side of his head, his robes torn from battle. But the most disturbing feature- to him- was the large bloody gash cut diagonally across his face, with blood trailing from it down his chin.

And then, before he could even react, he saw his chest explode in blood and torn skin. Once, twice, three more times after that, then one more time to finish it off. What was doing it, he did not know, but he watched in horror as his body fell in slow motion onto its back, a look of pained confusion on his face as he hit the ground.

And then he would wake up.

He felt along his face where the scar was in his dreams. What did it mean? Was he seeing the future? He had never been very good at Divination, he had no idea how to read the stars or examine tea leaves or any of that nonsense. He did not know if any of his men could either. He supposed it could mean anything. It could be reflecting inner doubts, fears. Or it could just be the terrible food they had out here giving him indigestion.

He could not be allowed to dwell on it. He had a force to lead. The Dark Lord had trusted him with this journey, him alone, and he would see it through. His fears and doubts would be cast aside, must be cast aside, in order to do so.

The black centaurs had reported in the other day. These were centaurs that had fallen heavily into the Dark Arts, and had become corrupted by its influence. The former laws of the centaurs meant nothing to them, as they would mean nothing when the Dark Lord took over. The head centaur reported that they had found the enemy camp and reported that there were a considerable amount of them still alive. And they were still fighting; far fewer dark centaurs came back than had left.

No word on how many of the Mudbloods were left alive. The leader was not even sure if they had killed any of them. Concerning, given their advantage.

Phenix was fully awake now, and there was no point in going back to sleep. Today he would inspect his soldiers and be sure they were alright. Then they would set their target for today. Another backwater village. The Mudbloods of this region were so pitiful, lived in such poverty. Their defenses were low, lower than the soldiers they were chasing. Wiping them out was almost being kind to them.

He cracked his neck and stood. The worry of the dream was fading, as it always did come morning. Enough mindless worry. There was work to do.

Colonel Shepherd listened to the audio, puffing concernedly on his cigar. It was a short recording, and when it ended he sat back in his seat, his face drawn in concentration.

"And you couldn't regain contact after that?" he asked Major Petitt.

"No, sir," was the reply. "Although we are still trying."

"It might not mean anything, sir," Lieutenant Colonel Hastings, ever the pessimist, retorted. "It might just be an outpost unit."

"They said Charlie Two-Six, that's the unit designation," argued Chaplin McMillan.

"And how do we know it's not a trap? Could be a rebel. Or whatever is attacking our lot in the first place."

"You said it sounded like one of theirs?" Shepherd asked Petitt.

"Lieutenant O'Donnell said it sounded like their communications technician, sir," confirmed Petitt. "It was full of static, but it sounded similar."

"Sir, we need to send a rescue force out there," McMillan demanded. "We need to get them out."

"Can we get a location off this?" the colonel asked.

"No, sir. Not from this."

"So we search the desert, comb every inch-"

"Captain," Hastings interrupted McMillan. "The entire country is in a state of war. Every inch of it is a danger zone. We cannot afford to send more men and resources in when we have no idea where to look."

"You're condemning them do death!"

"We are doing no such thing." Shepherd interrupted the argument, taking control again. "We will not send our forces out to search locations without a clear fixated point. But we are not going to leave our men out there. Once we get the proper coordinates we will send help to them. As soon as we know where they are, we will get them out."

The fighting stopped. Hastings sit back, mumbling something incoherent. McMillan glared at him.

Shepherd sat back, puffing his cigar. He had to act soon. Reports were rising of villages being ravaged in the same manner as his bases. Whatever this force was, it was spreading, and it was not taking sides in the conflict. Everything and everyone was fair game to them. And when they were done here, what was stopping them from moving onwards, to other countries?

What was stopping a global conflict from arising?

Nothing, as far as he could see. And that was what worried him.

The storm was coming.

Khalid peered through his window at the black cloud off in the distance. But it was no storm cloud. There was something moving in the cloud, something fierce. It almost looked like parts of the cloud were branching off and moving ahead of them.

He was expecting this. Night after night he had lay in bed, waiting for the sound of war to come to take them next. Knowing that the chances of them winning would be slim. But still he knew he would try. For his people. For his family.

Outside he could see the local militia scrambling. At least sixty militia, all with small arms and RPGs. He knew his friend Ali was out there among them, probably waiting for him.

He grabbed his AK-74 rifle and a belt of ammunition. They would need every able bodied man to get their village through the night.

In the distance, the dark cloud grew closer.

Yup. Short chapter.

As usual, I take a few liberties. Introducing a family member of Hermione when, as far as I know, either the only family she has are her parents or she rarely if ever sees extended family, seems like a bit of a risky move, but I decided to go with it to sort of interweave storylines (you'll see more of why later). And I doubt the rules of keeping the secret really matters to him since, again, he probably rarely sees her, and also that the situation is already so close to what he knows about her. Also describing the centaurs from the last chapter in a bit more detail in a way that I don't feel like it's complete treason.

The next chapter will be up within this next week. I can already hear the groans "Oh, by this week he means six months from now, hurr." No. It WILL be up within the week. It's already written. I just want this chapter to be seen and read first before I upload that one.

And the next two and a half chapters have already been drafted in all their entirety (well, except for the half one), so the next few chapters should be uploaded fairly quickly.

Well, that's all for now. Peasoup.