Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Offensive.
Larissa finished cinching the belt over her greatcoat, and then pulled her gloves on. With a cigarette dangling from her lips, she looked every inch the diffident and bold officer that she was, with a somewhat rakish air on account of the big pair of silvered sunglasses, very dark, she wore to protect her eyes from the snow glare. Ginny sat with her on the back of the roaring ex-Janissary Chally II, now painted with a homemade version of Bellatrix's family crest, which had been instantly adopted as the symbol of the Black Guards.
"I don't understand at all how the two of you stand those muggle cancer-sticks," Ginny said with a sigh.
"Cancer-stick? What the hell?" Larissa shrugged and looked at her with a questioning expression that interrupted her devil-may-care act.
"It's what my father called them," Ginny shook her head, looking glum for a moment.
"Sorry, Ginny," Larissa answered with a sigh. Hermione really was the glue that held them together. She was cordial with the English redheaded witch, but it was Hermione who made them all friends. And Hermione was gone, her fate unknown, in the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. They wouldn't know until their own date with destiny was over.
And it w as about to begin. Ahead of them, the hills and ridges around the city of Stavropol rose. They were about to storm it.
"Time?" Ginny asked, all business now, her face scrunching up with a look of determination worthy of battle or the Quidditch field.
Larissa raised her hand, wand firmly gripped, in the air. "TIME!" She gave the incantation and signalled everyone in the unit – and a moment later, the better part of the Wizard Protection Battalion as well as seventy Witches and Wizards apparated from the vehicles which had brought them close straight into the heart of Stavropol, more than seven hundred troops covering them.
Outside of the city, the ex-Janissary Division they were now fighting with—Now informally First Division, Black's Guards—charged in with another twenty wizards who had followed Bellatrix's turn, providing them cover.
Larissa's target was the central train station. She apparated at once into the roundabout in front of the elegant old station which fronted Karl Marx Prospect. With Ginny at her side, she didn't hesitate in unleashing Bombarda directly into the building to the northwest across the boulevard, shattering the café to deny any cover, while groups of wizards and troops rushed inside of the Station.
There were a few sharp bursts of gunfire and a flare of magical flame inside, quickly dampened lest it burn the structure down. Outside, Larissa peeled off with her squad and stormed the youth hostel to the south, encountering only light resistance from a couple of patrols of ensorcelled troops that they quickly dispatched, the usual rear-area forces that put up no real resistance.
In fact, there was very little resistance at all, because Larissa had intentionally attacked a weakly defended target. She waited for one of her wizards to get to the top of the station, where from an open window he sent the Bombarda Maxima ploughing into the industrial complex across the tracks from the passenger station.
That quickly got the attention of the defenders, as again, and again, magical blasts flew across the muggle city openly, in a way unfathomable only five years before. Yes, she could have attacked the Morsmordre Wizards in their strength as the beginning of her assault, but Larissa hadn't wanted to let them dictate the terms of the engagement. Now, they would come to her instead, trying to control the situation, cautious and uncertain about why she had demurred from going on the offensive to start the duel.
There was, in fact, no reason for them to be cautious. But it let Larissa playing the long game, the division's troops flooding into the city with no wizards to stop them. And that was precisely what she had wanted.
She cast a speaking spell from her wand, to carry her voice to all the wizards in the force, and Major Lukachenko. "Alright, in about one minute, fifty of these shits are going to be showing up to duel us, and we're going to catch them between two fires—train station and hostel. We're going to pin them in place long enough for the First to take the city, that's all. Questions? Of course not!"
Tossing the cigarette butt to the ground and grinning to Ginny, she spun back to the northwest, covered by a lean-to off the hostel, the low sun at her right shoulder, and faced the first of her attackers as they began to arrive , fighting personally at the head of the troops who she led in Hermione's absence. For all her devil-may-care attitude, it was a very practical, patient plan.
If only Hermione had the luck to be with someone who could similarly separate her persona and reality.
When Hermione came to again, she was back in her bed, in the suite that Bellatrix had been given, in the Hotel Taurica. For a moment, fear stabbed her, that she had dreamed all of it, that the operation had not yet begun. She struggled for a moment against bonds which were no longer on her, until it made her realise they were gone, and the tightness, and pressure, was from the bandages swaddling and wrapping her left shoulder. There was a tautness in the skin, but nothing more. And she was in a rude sort of hospital gown, probably made from sheets. Awkward. Such was the times, however.
Bottles of water and vials of potion sat on the night-stand by the bed. There was a surgical pad under where her shoulder had been, to keep the sheets clean. Hermione sighed with a ragged sense of relief, and sagged back into the blankets and pillows. It was feeling a little bit like she was in the medical ward at Hogwarts again, and with a wry expression on her face at the none-too-fond memories, Hermione rolled over and read the instructions on the vials, and seeing that she could take one, did so promptly, and then greedily gulped down one of the bottles of water, and then looked for her wand. It was there on the night-stand, too, so she wasn't a prisoner.
The last memory of Bellatrix had very much suggested that wouldn't be the case, however. Unfortunately, Hermione hadn't the faintest idea of when it was, so she stretched out and tried to find something to do. This wasn't Britain, though, and the Salvos hadn't left a Bible in a drawer of the night-stand, so she couldn't even read that. The television had the forgotten air of something which hadn't worked in almost five years; broadcast TV had mostly died on the day the nukes flew, and never come back. And, the power was flickering intermittently, which suggested magic was in use extensively nearby. Something more sophisticated like a television would have just blown up if it was turned on, anyway.
With nothing to distract her, Hermione couldn't help it. Within a few minutes, she was thinking of the night she had shared with Bellatrix. For all that she felt better afterwards, the memory wouldn't escape her. She might have expatiated the memory of being held down on the floor of the Malfoy Manor, but there was a new memory: Passionate, intense, pleasurable, with a Bella surprisingly tolerant of awkwardness and her inexperience.
And for some reason, Hermione was recuperating in Bella's suite. There was arguably no need for this, but here she was. For whatever reason, Bella had kept her close. Bella, too, had stayed her hand when Hermione had asked her to. That, in particular, was almost shocking. Any of Hermione's friends would have had that decency—she liked to think it was something of a prerequisite to friendship with her—and she wouldn't have anticipated it from Bellatrix Black, but the woman had restrained herself.
There was a thrill that shot through her, unbidden and unwelcome, at the prospect that maybe Bellatrix wanted something out of this. She wasn't sure how think about the way she even felt, but then there was a knock on the door.
"Come in," Hermione replied automatically, expecting the mediwitch.
It was Bellatrix. "Granger, you're awake. Good." Her voice was curt, and again she used Hermione's surname.
The younger witch couldn't hide a small sigh, but Bellatrix ignored it, and tossed a pile of clothes down on her bed. "A fresh uniform for you."
"We're in contact with Russian forces again…?"
"We are, but Sevastopol hardly had uniforms to spare, Granger," Bellatrix said, and Hermione couldn't tell if she were being mocked or not by the tone in Bellatrix's voice. "Admiral Sobolev is coming to meet with us shortly, however, and I wanted you there for it. The mediwitch said you should have recovered enough for that. So do try to get up and get dressed, especially since I made the uniform for you with a quick spell." Bella laughed, then. "We've already shocked the world, now we just have to finish the job. I'm gonna have fun, mud—Granger." A sigh at her own mistake. "Or not."
Hermione grimaced. Bellatrix hadn't even gotten the point of not using slurs yet, let alone made a sincere effort to stop, though at least the older witch had regretted it after she'd started to say it. Or pretended to. Hermione pushed herself to her feet in a defiant show of her ability, though she favoured her left shoulder… It wasn't important in combat for a right-handed witch.
"Do you want to stay in the room while I change my clothes, Bella? Check out your mudblood?" Hermione shot the word with particular vehemence, and watched Bellatrix stiffen as if she were caught out. "Do you remember where your tongue was?"
"Oh, fuck off, Granger," Bellatrix dramatically rolled her eyes. "I'm not the first and I won't be the last pureblood to roll in the mud."
Hermione stepped closer to the shorter woman. "But in the end, all of them were hypocrites."
"Hypocrisy is the tribute that vice pays to virtue," Bellatrix shrugged, and turned away to step out of the room.
"So I'm already your vice, then, Bella? What if I choose to take that as a compliment!"
The door closing quickly turned into a particularly hard slam as Bellatrix left. Hermione looked at the scar on her arm. Mudblood.
You put it there, but your lust didn't know the difference. If I choose to take pride in it, what will you do then? That was a feeling of sickening intensity, but it seemed to be something Bellatrix was completely unprepared for: Throwing it back in her face. Still, it scared Hermione. She hurt. That word hurt. It took effort to ignore it, to use it to refer to herself, to throw it back at Bellatrix. She wanted to curl away and wince when it was used instead, and most of all, considering what had passed between them, she wanted Bellatrix to just stop.
Still in pain, and with limited use of her left shoulder, Hermione nonetheless fully dressed in the crisp uniform that had been magically prepared for her, and then settled her wand into the holster, and stepped out.
Bella was standing in front of the windows which gave the suite a view of the Lenina Embankment and the harbour, nursing a cup of tea. As usual, the engageantes and gloves served to completely cover her arms, made it impossible to see any scars, or the way her left arm was now enchanted, finely wrought gold. Someone like Moody might have gladly showed off what was missing, but Bella shrouded it as much as she could.
"Can I have a cuppa before we go, Bella?"
"I guess," the older woman answered with a hint of petulance. "I don't mind keeping Generals waiting. Or Admirals. Or whatever the muggles call themselves today."
Hermione poured herself a cup from the pot and walked up to Bellatrix's side by the windows. "We did win," she offered graciously, feeling hesitant and out-of-sorts. "Worth celebrating?"
"Like Hell we have. I promised them the Dnepr." Bellatrix looked almost livid—but the anger was directed at herself, Hermione realised. It was relieving, in a way. "So we'll be moving out very soon. We're supposed to be going down to a briefing. Just bring your tea. Everyone will be drinking something to keep them awake." She turned away, and refilled her own tea. "He knows, now. The whole world knows."
Hermione could see that Bellatrix had pulled in on herself. She stood there like a tree in a hurricane, looking out over the harbour, her whole world uprooted, but standing firm, and now it was time to get back to business. The strength was alluring, even as Hermione felt compassion, compassion? She's upset over the fact she betrayed Voldemort. She doesn't deserve compassion for that! She needs to get over it and be thankful.
But the world never was that simple, was it?
"Come on, Granger, let's go," Bellatrix shrugged, and the elder witch carried on through the halls and down the stairs to the headquarters room, Hermione trailing in her wake. Discipline kept her a half step to the left and two steps behind.
Then she found a place to hid her teacup and followed Bellatrix in to come to attention. "Admiral," she addressed, keeping herself composed. But it was hard. Even the commander of the Sevastopol garrison had nearly starved. His uniform was in good shape, one he had saved in hopes of this moment, doubtlessly, but he was a scarecrow inside of it. The other Russian and Ukrainian officers—both countries, which had a long-running dispute over the fleet and city, had been required to put aside their differences to fight Voldemort—Army, Navy, Air Forces, were similarly thin. It was a sign of their need for sustenance that the usual military decorum of such a serious meeting was marred by the fact that the Hotel Taurica's kitchens had served up finger food to them.
"Councillor. We had been told … Madame Black had assistance from our forces," Admiral Sobolev acknowledged. "The situation is in good hands?"
"In good hands, Sir," Hermione answered. "I'm confident she's in full operational control and aligned with our interests."
"Good, good." Admiral Sobolev's eyes were weary, he looked exhausted, but he was also defiant, and triumphant. He had defended Sevastopol for twelve months, half again as long as it had been defended during the Great Patriotic War, and as long as it had been defended during the Crimean War. And he had been successfully relieved, even if the circumstances almost beggared belief.
Bellatrix stepped up to the Admiral and nodded politely. She didn't extend her hand for a moment, but when Sobolev extended his own, took it in her gloved hand for a modest shake.
"Madame Black," he addressed her. "I assure you that within our continued power of endurance, our forces are already moving, and will support your offensive to the utmost."
"I understand, Admiral, that you are being modest," she answered, and Hermione was relieved that she was being gracious toward the man. "My officers tell me that it was your troops that took Yevpatoriya the day before yesterday."
"They did," he smiled. "I understand, in turn, we are already converging on Krasnoperekopsk."
"That "You would be correct. Just as my right column is approaching Medvedivka. We will soon have a break-out from the Peninsula." She stepped forward, and if nothing else, Bellatrix could still command a crowd. That she was so short and so ragged, mattered not at all. She was still fantastically beautiful despite her imperfections, and had an almost unnatural charisma. "My officers, and my allies of the Confederation of Independent States, we now stand on the cusp of the first great blow of our project to reclaim the Ukraine from our enemy's hands."
Nobody, of course, said a thing about how two weeks beforehand, Bellatrix Black had been one of those enemies. She grinned, and nodded to her subordinate. "General Dodson, the briefing."
The former Janissary officer stepped up to the table with a long pointer in hand. "Madame Black, Officers of the Confederation. Today our forces are on the cusp of breaking out on two lines of advance from the Crimean Peninsula. To the west we will proceed through Chaplynka Raion – Direction Kakhovka. Because the dam at Kakhovka cannot be easily destroyed, it's the first objective of the Tenth Janissary Division to seize Kakhovka. We have been in communication Astana, and the plan is for Long Range Aviation assets to drop the bridges at Kherson with guided weapons. If this does not take place, we will have to accept the risk of shifting one brigade toward Kherson."
Dodson marked on the positions systematically on the map as he spoke. While he did, Bellatrix shifted a few feet over, to stand by Hermione. The younger witch tensed a bit, but said nothing, listening to the briefing.
"Their job is to secure Kherson beyond the Dnepr. In doing so they secure our left flank. That will allow the remaining three divisions to advance toward Melitopol, with the Confederal forces. Melitopol is inadequate, however. The enemy does not have extensive forces in the Donbass, except a police presence against guerrilla resistance and to keep order in the mines. So we will continue north to Zaporizhia. We must obtain the city on the east bank within three days—an advance of three hundred and twenty kilometres. This advance will continue toward Zaporizhia with the Fourteenth and Sixteenth divisions. The Ninth will turn east at Melitopol and advance direction Marioupol. The confederal forces will follow to the north as the reserve – you must reach Zaporizhia one day later." This was a practical matter, because their exhausted, starved men could not be expected to maintain the punishing pace of a veteran tank Army charging forward against its foe. The men of the Sevastopol garrison understood this, even if they did not like leaving the liberation of the Eastern Ukraine to these men who had been their enemies only days before.
"On the fourth day, we must take Novomoskovsk. Again, Long Range Aviation will be tasked with the destruction of the bridges at Zaporizhia and Dnepropetrovsk. Without the destruction of these bridges we must expect to be heavily attacked in the left flank and drawn into city fighting in one of the two cities." He paused for a moment. "So, we will expect Long Range Aviation to do their job."
"If they do not, we will have to clear and destroy the bridges with sorcery, and we can expect that they will have some contingent of morons in fancy dress trying to keep us from doing so, but I will take it," Bellatrix interjected with a bemused look. "Still, it will slow down our timetable."
Nobody decided to bring up that Bellatrix was also in 'fancy dress'.
"What will our own forces be doing at the same time?" Sobolev asked. "The broader strategic picture?"
"Yes, Admiral," Dodson stepped forward again. "A major offensive will be launched from Lipetsk, direction Oryol-Bryansk. It will consist of the Fifth and Seventh Armies and the Belarusian Corps. As the forces reach Oryol, the Fifth Army is to turn south and drive for Sumy. The objective is to create a cauldron of the enemy forces around Kursk. Eighth Army in Voronezh will have the southwest horn of the attack to complete the Cauldron. Ultimately, it is our own duty to continue to advance north from Dnepropetrovsk and complete a second cauldron with Eighth Army around Kharkov. Eleventh Army will start from Voronezh and strike south to disrupt the retreat of enemy forces along the southern course of the Volga toward Kharkov and buy us time to complete the strategic operation."
Thirty-one divisions. Hermione wondered at it. Their own forces added another ten. Forty-one, then. Even considering that many of them were understrength, there would be close to three quarters of a million troops involved in the operation on their side. And in the Caucasus where her friends were fighting, still more troops were involved. So really there were at least a million allied soldiers in action for their offensive. There would be thousands of wizards and witches with them, spearheading their operations and defending them from magical attack. Hermione knew that they had roughly two and a half million troops in the entire CIS, including those supporting in Scandinavia and those supporting the Chinese People's Liberation Army. Though the Soviet Union had supported 6.5 million troops in the field in 1945, the nuclear war had made raising more than 2.5 million impossible.
It was two-fifths of the entire armed forces. Her mind flashed through the thoughts of the logistics difficulty, through burnt-out cities and wrecked bridges...
Then Hermione lost her train of thought. An electric arc seemed to shoot through her as she realised that Bellatrix leaned up to her and whispered, "enough with the boring part. Now I explain what we're going to do."
The older woman ambled up to the front of the table again, and this time, all the eyes were fixed on her. Hermione just hoped nobody really noticed how her's were more interested in the way Bellatrix's hips swayed as she walked.
"Alright, so, that's the plan. My troops in the Caucasus are advancing toward Rostov-na-Donu, they'll get there eventually, General Diaz has a perfect handle on the situation." She spun around and grinned. "Our problem is that we're all fucked if those bridges aren't blown. So let's speed this up a bit. I propose that I take all the witches and wizards remaining in Yalta, you do the same for your forces, Admiral—you can be covered by our sorcerers attached to the 10th Division-and we apparate immediately to Melitopol with each of us who can do so taking as many troops as possible. We'll storm into the city centre," she waved her wand, and dramatically flung up the large scale map and sent another map, showing the city, fluttering down neatly from the map rack onto the table, instead.
".. And once we do, we'll occupy the government buildings off the M18 on Kirova street and smash the military airfield. Otherwise, they'll use it to fly in a blocking force which will hold us off for long enough to get proper field forces into Dnepropetrovsk at least. Bridges can be rebuilt. So, Admiral Sobolev, I'm going to pull the force together and go right now."
"Madame Black, that's a hundred and thirty kilometres by road from the forward position of your Corps." Sobolev spoke with a measured voice, like he was not quite opposing it, but he was still gaining the estimate of the woman in front of him.
"Well," she grinned, her wickedly ruined teeth showing, "it won't be once I'm there. And we'll get to Zaporizhia a day early. So we're going to do it." It was not a request, but a statement of fact by a predator. Hermione shivered. It was also nuts.
Hermione was not really sure what had possessed Bellatrix to decide that apparating with a hundred and twenty wizards and a battalion of troops to a position a hundred klicks in front of their lines (during the hours they had assembled the force in, their troops had, granted, gotten closer to Melitopol) was going to be a grand strategy for her to execute, but of course she had, and she had brooked no dissent.
One thing had been clear, though, whether or not Hermione thought it was crazy. Despite her wounds, Hermione was going with Bellatrix. She couldn't risk Bellatrix, not considering the terms of the unbreakable oath, so as she saw it, she simply didn't have a choice. So she got herself ready, ate a good meal, took more potions for the shoulder, and prepared herself for battle. With a squad of men linking their hands to her, a familiar enough experience, she followed the magically generated signal, though Bellatrix was right next to her and she could see the woman disapparate, the only one of their number who wasn't taking a squad with her.
It meant that the moment Hermione arrived, she was standing in the middle of Kirova street with Bellatrix's wand already in action in front of her. The guards on the government buildings flanking both sides of the streets were dropped even before the magnitude of the attack came in, with sectumsempra tearing the undefended muggles literally to pieces. The bloody end of the men seemed to bring a savage look of relief to Bellatrix's eyes.
With a shiver, Hermione tossed her left hand up in a universal gesture, urging the men behind her onwards, and rushed the city hall, keeping Protego totalum up to cover the troops coming in behind her. The shoulder reminded her that she shouldn't have done that, but she carried on with urgent haste.
Then the machine-gun nest inside of the city hall opened fire on her—with Protego up, no problem. Then there was another, and another… Three of them, pinning her and her team in three fields of fire as she had to keep the shield defending all of them. With hundreds of bullets ricocheting off her shields directly in front and around of her, Hermione had never felt more like she was literally pinned down.
Then little zipping red lights, like glowing angry bees, tore past her and all around; she flinched, but carried on to the steps. They passed through the windows into the city hall—and then exploded them outwards, shattering the windows away cleaning, and sending bodies of defenders flying.
Pausing for a moment to regroup, Hermione glanced back to see Bellatrix give a bemused wink to her, before turning to scream orders at another one of the teams that was charging up into the Raion's office-building across the street, the building tall enough that they could command the military airfield from it.
Hermione felt herself smiling in spite of herself, and tossed a jaunty wave in Bellatrix's direction before turning back toward the city hall. "Forward!"
The former Janissary troops that she led knew exactly what to do, as Bellatrix's glorious insanity unfolded around them. Unlike her, they were veterans to it.
A massive explosion blew out windows and defenders on the fifth floor, raining debris down on the street, even as Hermione threw herself into the city hall behind a brace of hurled grenades, adrenaline suppressing the pain in her shoulder that was definitely not healed yet.
Another explosion echoed from the sixth floor, and this time, Hermione didn't bother to look. She knew what it was: Bellatrix, leading from the front, because that was the only kind of conflict that she knew.
Notes:
- In 1998 both Ukrainian and Russian military forces would be present on the Crimean peninsula, and because of the war, this situation became permanent.
- Long Range Aviation was the strategic bomber force of the Soviet Union and Russia; it was disbanded in 1998 historically.