Chapter fourteen: march of the Death Eaters

Turkey was warmer than Cho had grown accustomed too. A bit warmer than she liked as well. Still, it was a necessary discomfort, and one she could live with.

She sat, alone at a table, in the corner of a stone courtyard, open to the sun. She was not sure quite what the building was, other than that it had something to do with the nations government. Equally vital to the government were the men they were meeting with.

They were a party of four, herself, Vogol, and two Death Eater escorts. Both were sulking in the courtyards shadows. Vogol, however, stood in its center speaking animatedly to a company of sharply dressed dignitaries.

Slughorn had opted to stay at the hotel, while they squared things with the muggle government, who, despite their considerable handicap, would notice and make a fuss about such massive troop movements through the surrounding desert.

Cho wished she had joined him. She was hot. She was thirsty, and she was bored. She kept thinking of the previous night, in Germany. Harry. He hated her, hated what she had become, and so did she.

But, as she kept reminding herself, this wasn't he-who-must-not-be-named; the Death Eaters were simply a tool with which she would save the world.

She glanced up as Vogol crossed the courtyard to her, the discussion ended. As she got up, he grabbed her by the shoulders, grinning wildly. She shrank away from his touch, surprised by the childish gleam in his eyes.

"So, you were successful, I assume," she said.

"Very," he answered, beaming. "Not surprisingly, they are happy to help. A little unforgivable cursing goes a long way, as they say. We have their complete permission to travel in and out of the country as we please. They shall even provide us with muggle transportation, which will make the travel through the desert all the more enjoyable.

"And miss Chang," he smiled all the more, like a boy on Christmas morning. "We even get a tank."

The trip too Iskenduran was uneventful, from the point of their crash landing by the Mediterranean Sea on, though it took longer than Harry would have liked. Ron was waiting for them in Iskenduran, but there was no time for heart-felt reunions.

As Harry had dreaded, losing the zeppelin had cost them precious time. Vogol, along with a small army of Death Eaters, had already departed into the desert.

"I'm sure they took, Neville with them," Ron said. "But, Harry, there's at least a hundred of them, there's no way we can fight our way through that many Death Eaters."

"We shouldn't need too," said Hermione. "We just need to beat them to the canyon. With that many men, they'll be slow. We can pass them up, and be gone before they arrive."

"But what about Neville," said Ron, "As soon as they find the Grail, they'll kill him; no doubt."

"Leave that to me," said Harry. The others could see the fire in his eyes as he said this. One way or another, Vogol was going to regret having crossed the chosen one.

The convoy was very impressive. It was also, as Hermione had predicted, very slow. Made all the slower by the fact that there was no set road, and they were forced to drive across dunes of sun-bleached sand.

Neville gazed around him at the scenery, bemused. He felt only slightly interested. He had no doubt that Harry would come for him. Harry always came, even back from the dead. It was only a matter of when.

The Death Eaters, however, were certainly a formidable force. The convoy was made up of several troop transports, trucks painted to blend in with the desert sand. It was in one of these that Neville sat, bound by black cords, produced from someone's wand. Across from him was Horace Slughorn, and beside the potions expert, Cho Chang. Neville had been just as surprised as Harry to discover she was a part of this.

The trucks were not alone. The convoy was flanked by Death Eaters on horseback. At its head was the tank. It could only be described as a monster. The sun glinted off its areas left uncovered by a coat of brown camo paint. Two tons of heavily armored metal, trundling foreward on twin mechanical treads. The main cannon was several feet long, and discharged a shell the size of Neville's head. As if that weren't enough, there were also two smaller guns set into the sides of the tank, slightly less powerful, but still deadly. To add to muggle perfection, as he had said, Vogol had made sure the tank had also been charmed to repel spell damage. It was amazing what the muggles would come up with to kill each other. Neville thought the tank had to be the most evil looking object he had ever seen. And right now it was entering a wide canyon, leading them ever closer to the Grail.

Slughorn paused to mop his brow, before taking a long swig from a bottle of lukewarm water. The heat was taking its toll on the old man. He had dressed, unwisely, in a forest green suit. While perfectly reasonable for teaching in the depths of an ancient castle, it was not practical for long desert journeys.

Beside him, Cho Chang was dressed more fittingly. In blue jeans, and a red tank top, Neville could see beads of sweat running down her arms.

"We can't be far now," said Slughorn, as if reading his Neville's mind. "Ten more miles and we're off the map."

"Exactly, old man," cried Vogol, vaulting into the truck and surprising all it's occupants. "After the canyon opens out, there's a step decent, and the valley below is where we believe the Grail to be."

"That's very nice, Mr. Vogol," Slughorn, spluttered, obviously flustered. "But what causes you to barge in on us."

"Oh that," the Death Eater replied. "Potter escaped the retrieval team we sent for him, and he's sure too make a move. And if were Potter, I'd do it right about here. So, I thought, why don't we move the prisoner into the tank, just to make it that much more interesting."

"Well, that's logical," said Slughorn, "do what you see fit with the poor lad." Even though it was obvious his opinion didn't matter one bit to Vogol.

As two men, clothed in the Death Eaters simple, dark uniforms, dragged Neville out of sight, Cho found herself thinking of Harry once again, willing him to stay away.

"There's Neville, he looks alive. Wait, no, no, they're putting him in the tank. That's not good, not good at all."

"Ron, you don't have to tell us everything," said Hermione, rolling her eyes, "We're watching the same thing."

The trio were stationed just over the rise, peering down around an outcropping at the Death Eater's below. Behind them was a black land rover, Ron's car.

They watched Neville dragged into the tank by the two Death Eaters. Vogol climbed out of the hatch on it's top, peering around at the ridges, as if he could see them. Though he knew how far away they were, Harry still held his breath instinctively. Until the sand shifted beneath his feet, he lost his balance, slipping outside the cover of the rock as he grunted.

Vogol, standing atop the tank, saw a small glint of light in the corner of his vision. It issued from the ridge above, not unlike that of sunlight reflecting off a pair of glasses…

Hermione watched as Vogol took a running leap of the tank, landing in a crouch, and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was well founded.

The main barrel of the tank swung around toward them, there was a flash, and then she heard the crack of its discharge. The shell flew over her head, rippling her hair in its wake, to collide with the side of the land rover. In the resulting explosion, the car was blown in half, its burning metal carcass flung into the air.

"Aw, no," Ron shouted, "No. That car was a rental."

And then all hell broke loose.

As if on cue, some fifty men appeared in the canyon, loud cracks signifying their apparition. They wore white robes, and had primarily dark skin. Without delay, they attacked the caravan. The canyon floor quickly became a battlefield as the Death Eaters engaged the newcomers, spells flying everywhere, explosions hurling vehicles and men into the air.

"Who the hell are they?" Hermione shouted over the roar of the battle, as the three of them crept down into the canyon, under cover of the ledges and outcroppings.

"Haven't the slightest idea," Ron replied, "but I like them."

"Ron," Harry ordered, "Stay here with Hermione. I'm going to get us some new transportation." With that he jumped, and landed ten feet below in a crouch, sinking into the soft sand.

Through the rain of spells, Harry saw a Death Eater leading a couple of agitated horses through the fray. Perfect.

"Stupefy!"

Harry was running before the spell connected. The Death Eater tumbled back into the sand. Harry stumbled as an explosion beside him blew a geyser of sand into the air. Two of the white-robed men were hurled through the air, slamming into the cliff.

As Harry reached the horses, another Death Eater appeared in front of him. Without thinking, Harry reacted. A nonverbal spell hit his attacker. Harry sprinted past the man, who could barely keep his balance as his lower half danced wildly, kicking up sand.

Above, Ron looked away from Harry, to see that Hermione was already gone. With a sigh, he dropped the last few feet, and joined the melee, exchanging curses with a large Death Eater.

In scale a brutality, violence, and overall impact, this was the second worst battle Cho had ever been in. As she blocked a stray jinx, she wished she had stayed with Slughorn. Through the sea of combatants, she spied Vogol, dueling with three enemies at once. He looked to be enjoying himself. Well, that made one of them.

A jet of purple energy hit Cho in the shoulder, scorching into her flesh. She screamed, as she collapsed to her knees. She found herself looking down on one of the fallen attackers. His white-robe was stained with blood, and his breathing was shallow, his eyes nearly closed.

It was Kazim.

"So, it's the Brotherhood," Cho whispered to herself, as she knelt over him.

"Miss Chang…" Kazim whispered. "I always knew you were an enemy to God."

Cho put the point of her wand under his neck, her hand shaking, "I could kill you so easily."

"Could you, are you really a murderer, would you commit the unpardonable sin, have you slipped so far? Even now I go to meet my father. I know I will be rewarded, but you… For the unrighteous, the cup of Christ holds eternal damnation."

And, leaving these haunting words echoing in Cho's ears, Kazim died.

The tank trundled through the battle, crushing the dead and dying under its treads, Death Eater and brotherhood alike. Spells collided with its iron surface, and were absorbed by it's protective charms. Inside, it's masters sent destructive blasts out into the battle, killing wherever they impacted. They took no notice of the unarmed woman weaving through the battle toward them.

Hermione knew that most would view her actions, especially without a wand, as a form of suicide, but then again, this was what she was trained to do. A Death Eater collapsed in front of her, burned beyond recognition. She leapt over his corpse and vaulted onto the back of the tank.

There was a net on the rear of the tank, carrying vital supplies and equipment. Hermione used it to hasten her climb up to the main gun turret. The hatch was unlocked, and, easing it open, she dropped through into the main body of the tank.

It was dark inside, illuminated only slightly by the glimmer of displays, relating fuel levels, damage, and radio frequencies. There were only three occupants, other than her, though there was room for many more. Two Death Eaters, one the driver, the other taking the role of gunner, paid no attention to the newcomer.

Neville sat, bound, in the corner of the tank, resting against a box of ammunition for the tank's three guns. Hermione was grateful he didn't call out upon seeing her, but she could tell how relieved he was. She crossed to him quietly, and began working at the tight black ropes binding him.

"So I'm guessing Harry found you," he whispered.

"Yeah, that he did. He's here, just, well, not right here."

"Good, was that him, the men apperating?"

"No, we don't know who they are."

"The Brotherhood of the Cruciform sword," came a man's voice from behind Hermione, Vogol. "A most irritating group indeed, though nothing compared to yourselves."

The Death Eater's diminutive leader hopped down into the tank, followed by two other Death Eaters. One of them seized Hermione from behind, yanking her to her feet, pressing the tip of his wand into her throat. The other gave Neville a kick in the ribs, before searching Hermione. He produced the Grail diary, and handed Vogol the slim notebook.

"So, the journal of your search for the Grail," said Vogol. "One wonder's why it's so popular," he mused. Without warning, he hit Hermione across the face. The blow stung, and she felt a bruise forming on her cheek.

"You sent the map here, so why get the book from Berlin? What's so important about it?" Vogol hit her again; her head was thrown to the side from the force of the blow.

"What are you not telling us? What's waiting in the Grail's resting place? What else do you know?" He made to hit her again, but despite the wand at her throat, Hermione caught the blow in an open palm.

"I know that Harry Potter will stop you."

"He's outnumbered, out-"

"It doesn't make an ounce of difference, not when you're the chosen one."

"Sir," the gunner spoke up, twisting around in his seat, "Potter is getting away. Breaking off from the convoy."

"That sounds unlike him." Vogol mused. "Well, follow him," he stared into Hermione's eyes as he said, "It's time to kill the bloody fool, once and for all."

The battle between Vogol's men and the Brotherhood of the Cruciform Sword was drawing to an end. The Brotherhood had fought valiantly, but they had finally been smashed by the Death Eater's superior defenses. As the dark wizards combed the wreckage of the convoy, killing all the remaining Brotherhood operatives, a single dark-haired man galloped past atop a dark brown mare.

In his time, Harry had ridden more than his share of magical creatures, from the powerful Hippogriff, to the majestic Phoenix, but a horse was very different. It was obvious who was in control, and for once it was not the animal. The horse had been trained well, and it didn't take long for Harry to grasp the basics of controlling her. As the valley widened, he left the convoy far behind.

Harry looked back to see the tank accelerating, leaving the bulk of the Death eater forces behind, following him. Just where he wanted it. Behind the tank, a few troop transports crept foreward, those still in condition to follow.

There was a loud boom as the tank's main cannon fired toward Harry. The shell overshot Harry, impacting into a sand dune in a flash of flame. They had missed, but it meant that he was in range. The tank had superior firepower, but what about its maneuverability.

Harry turned the horse around, and galloped directly at the tank, speeding past it. The main gun tracked him, trying to get a fix on the rapidly moving target, and the tank swung about, making a sharp 180-degree turn.

It was a move that could have been better thought out, as the tank sped straight toward the remnants of the convoy. It slammed into a military-issue truck, and the main gun became stuck in the truck's canopy, the tank's frontal veiwports were completely covered.

Partially blinded, the tank spun away from the approaching trucks. The main gun fired again, and the truck was blasted off it. The tank didn't bother to skirt the burning truck, and simply barreled over it, flattening the vehicle.

Harry felt a sinking in his stomach. Not only had his plan been unsuccessful, but also he had seen how little Vogol cared about his followers. How many men had been in that truck? Whatever the number, they were certainly all dead. And the metal monster hadn't received a single scratch.

Inside of the tank, Vogol and the men had forgotten their prisoners, absorbed in the chase. Neville was constrained from action, but Hermione crept to the view port at the tank's right side. She could see Harry, on the horse, slowing as he watched the tank destroy the truck. She watched the gunner maneuver the side cannon, until he was directly in its sights.

"Harry!" she shouted, willing him to notice the danger. Angry at her outburst, the gunner shoved her away. Hermione fell back to the floor of the tank, beside Neville.

Her cry was not in vain however, Harry heard her shout. Hermione was in the tank, he realized, and was suddenly glad it hadn't been destroyed. Then he saw the side gun fire.

There was no time to move, no time to dodge. The shell hit, in another explosion of flame. But when the smoke cleared, Harry and his mount were untouched.

A plan forming in his head, Harry urged his mount alongside the tank, directly in sight of its side cannon. With a shot nearly too good to be true, and a shell waiting to be let loose, the gunner's finger tightened on the trigger.

"Protego!"

The shield charm did not simply engulf Harry and his horse, as it had before, but formed a dome over the tank's side cannon, as it fired. There was an explosion as the cannon backfired, killing the gunner instantly. His head ringing from the noise, Harry saw that the side cannon had been torn apart, now resembling nothing more than a few strands of twisted metal. Harry urged his horse onward, circling behind the tank.

Inside the tank, the Death Eaters and prisoners coughed as the interior filled with choking black smoke. In search of fresh air, and disgusted with the muggle artillery, Vogol opened the top hatch, smoke billowing out around him.

"Sectumsempra!"

"Protego!"

Vogol was surprised when Harry knocked his spell out of the air. He ducked back behind the turret as a jet of red light shot straight toward him, absorbed by the tank's armor.

Harry knew he wouldn't be able to duel from horseback for long. He also knew that there was no way he could bring down the tank from where he was, not without killing Hermione and Neville in the process. And so, trying on to think about what he was planning to attempt, he urged the horse forward.

As the animal came alongside the tank, Harry stood in the saddle, judging the distances. He clutched his wand, took a deep breath, and leapt.