The Great Operation
The Admiral Ushakov, laying off Sula Island, was a grand and imposing sight. With two Project 1155 destroyers, a single Project 956, two Project 11353 frigates, and the Norwegian Frigate Narvik, the last survivor of the Oslo class, which had escaped to Murmansk at the start of the war, she formed the "Surface Action Squadron" of the Northern Fleet. Her two sisters were each tasked to guard one of the Northern Fleet's two carriers, so that the fleet was divided into three Task Forces; the Baltic Fleet operating from Stavanger had a single Carrier Task Force, and a single surface-action Task Force with only destroyers and frigates. In the Northern Fleet, the two Carrier groups were positioned further north, at the Trondheimsfjord, but the Surface Action Squadron had been moved south to be in position to screen the attack the Shetland Islands.
And, ultimately, to conduct the signature attack of the operation.
Which was why Bellatrix and Hermione were arriving by helicopter aboard the Admiral Ushakov. Bellatrix had been upset, there was no question about it. She wanted to have a hand in commanding the operation. However, the Russians had not wanted her to do so, and it was a reasonable consideration. While the planned invasion included two divisions of "British" troops which were under 'General Black's' command, one of actual re-formed units of the British Army, and one of Bellatrix's Black Guards, it also included a VDV paratrooper division, a VDV air assault division, a Naval Infantry Division, two divisions of the regular Russian Army, two entire fleets of the Russian Navy, two bomber regiments, four fighter regiments, two ground attack regiments, and substantial elements of the Norwegian, Swedish, Finnish, and Danish militaries.
And supreme political authority over the operation was vested in the hands of her sister, anyway, with her headquarters set up in Ålesund.
It wasn't like she was supernumerary to the operation.
They were, after all, 'only' going to be tasked with the destruction of the Channel Tunnel… And the Fortress of Azkaban.
The weather was brisk, the passenger compartment of the helicopter unheated, when they clambered down onto the helicopter pad aft on the massive battlecruiser. The anchorage around them was now filled with commandeered Ro-Ro ferries, being filled with troops and military equipment. Anti-Aircraft batteries with their radar masts up sat atop the hills on the islands all around. The high fields were blossoming with flowers, and the snow melting from the tops of the hills. The sun of spring was bright in the morning air.
With a scream of rotors, the helicopter clawed skyward as soon as the two witches had walked clear of the rotor backwash on the deck.
Darya was waiting for them, and the Air Commodore snapped off a quick salute to Bellatrix. "This way, General."
"You will not be along with us, I assume?"
"That's so. They'll give me a fighter in the second line, and I'll take it," Darya answered. "You're the spellcasters. Getting them loaded aboard and accessible was the last act." They made their way briskly up the deck. "Captain Klimov will see you as soon as I am done; I will disembark as soon as soon as we are, because the squadron is already getting ready to quit harbour and put to sea."
Both the witches looked at each other. Both felt a little uneasy around the nuke woman. But so far, she had delivered.
Going forward they finally reached the massive assembly of missile silos in the forward deck, where the huge missiles NATO called the SS-N-19 and the Russians the P-700 Granit sat. A special scaffolding was arrayed around eight of the missile tubes. It glimmered in a metallic off-white.
"Titanium aeroplane tubing, so it won't melt if the conventionally armed missiles around them need to be fired first," Darya noted, and clipped a rope at her belt to a carabiner on one of the scaffolds. "This way," she said, and dropped down.
"I don't need a fucking ring of metal to do that," Bella muttered, and followed the Indian Air Commodore down to the platform carefully built around the warhead bay of the missile. It was ridiculously narrow. The tube was not exactly designed for people to work on the missile while it was loaded.
Hermione looked down and grimaced, and then followed her girlfriend. She found herself shoved up against Bella with their breasts touching through their uniforms.
"A little less show, please!" Darya laughed as she popped a panel in front of the nuke and tapped it with a pair of electric pliers. "Here's your access to the core inside of the 'gadget'," she explained, using a common euphemism. "This is your access to the physics package on the bomb. The crews have been trained to remove the scaffolding within minutes as you're done with each device. You should—we measured and we practised with fake wands—have plenty of room for you to make all the necessary wand motions to complete the enchantment."
Hermione's attempt to reposition herself just shoved her hips into Bella's. Gahh. "Alright, got it," Hermione said hastily, showing off a flush in front of a relative stranger. "We've trained and practised together on all the enchantments. It will just be a matter of getting down into each tube and doing them in turn?"
"Yes, that's it." Darya sniffed lightly at the two. "Well, if that's all…"
"Yes, yes, quite enough!" Bellatrix exclaimed. "We'll show you off." Bella immediately apparated with Hermione back to the deck, leaving the Indian-not-Indian woman to haul herself to the deck—which she did in seconds flat in an impressive display of strength.
"...Are you checking her out, Bella?"
"Shh!"
Darya stared at both of them as she got to the top, and then shrugged and saluted. "Good luck, General." There was a casual grin as her salute was acknowledged. The two went to the edge to watch her go, descending into a small launch via the boarding off the side, and then casting off. Further forward, the anchors were already coming up, having held fast amidst the rock of the bottom of the Fjord, the cascade of water and the rattling of metal promising the operation to come.
"...Was she grinning at us?"
"I think she's as gay as we are," Bella hrmphed. "I could see it in her eyes. Impertinent muggle."
"You actually just used the word gay to describe yourself? I never thought you would! Also, I'm not sure she's a muggle." Hermione felt a bit of her girlfriend's mania was contagious in the moment, as they faced what they faced on the ship.
"Whatever, Granger. We were packed in there like sardines. Eight missiles. It's going to take time. And of course she's a muggle, she doesn't have a wand!" The elder witch tossed her hair back, and turned to find a way up to the bridge. Hermione had to make haste to keep up, even with her longer legs.
"Still, pretty fit."
"Granger, you're MY girlfriend."
"You were checking her out," Hermione answered, deadpan, just for Bellatrix to whip around and hit her with a mild stinging hex.
Oh fuck you, Hermione's temper flared, but also a wicked sense of humour as she rubbed her face. There was nobody around as they ducked up through an internal passageway, and she reached out and… Pinched Bella's butt.
"GRANGER!"
"Stinging hex! It's fair!"
The two paused at the top of the ladder, and both started laughing—and gave each other a quick hug. How much of it was the stress? Hermione didn't know, and she didn't care. She was alive, and all in the moment.
The crew of the Admiral Ushakov didn't know why the two Army witches were laughing as they came to the bridge, and grinning, but it was good for morale. Captain Klimov offered a salute, proud of his Northern Fleet battlecruiser. "General Black, Colonel Granger."
"Captain Klimov," Bellatrix acknowledged for the both of them. Hermione fell in beside her, and noted they had just gotten underway, engines at 'Ahead Slow'. Klimov was a trim man, with hair that had once been sandy brown but now the last vestiges were being lost to grey. She had briefly read his file the night before and it had shown he had been something of a rabble rouser and discipline problem before proving himself on polar operations; a thirty-plus year veteran of the service, he had certainly earned his place as Captain First Rank in command of the Ushakov.
"Welcome aboard the Admiral Ushakov. I understand you've already inspected the arrangements for the warheads?"
"Yes, we have, and they'll be satisfactory!" Bellatrix exclaimed, rather than go into details. "And I, for my part, see that we're underway."
"The Great Operation begins," he chuckled and agreed, before adding, "The Indian Air Commodore, she departed?"
"Oh yes, she did."
"Strange woman…" Shaking his head he turned to look ahead on the bridge of the massive nuclear battlecruiser. This was said, apparently without any irony at all, to a woman who had once been Voldemort's Lieutenant. They were pulling out of the channel toward the sea. "Admiral Leonov will be with you shortly. He's making some final arrangements with Stavka. Quarters have been arranged near his. You're welcome to the tea and to review anything you like in the chart room. We'll be proceeding to the southwest as planned to support the first phase of the operation at the Shetlands, and then turning south for our speed run into the North Sea. The entire crew understands that your presence and this mission is of the utmost importance for our success."
Under their feet, the Ushakov very gently shuddered. They were passing out of the protected waters off Sula, and into the open sea, where the swell worked on even a ship the size of the battlecruiser. Bellatrix laughed at Captain Klimov's words. "Thank you, Captain. Let me assure you and your crew that I have a great personal interest in doing everything within my ability to insure the success of this mission, in fact, I doubt you can imagine how much."
But Hermione knew exactly what she meant.
Azkaban.
Blaise Zabini stepped up onto the bridge of the Inflexible. The main fleet was now laying at Scapa Flow, where it could get underway quickly but still had operational flexibility of where it would go. Two former American nuclear cruisers of the California -class, which had survived the nuclear exchange intact from their decommissioning anchorage, had been supplied to reinforce their escort, and the first of the new carriers of the Relentless class had joined the fleet, but Blaise had elected to retain command from the Inflexible. Relentless had not yet fully worked up and he preferred a veteran ship… Even though both had crews he had selected.
After all, he could not afford mistakes in the next few days. Everything hinged on making the timing right. If they didn't successfully execute this operation, while it would be a very great blow to the reputation of his friends, it would be his life, and likely his mother's and everyone he had slept with for the past five years as well—certainly, there would be other consequences, but Blaise was not so worried about those. He wouldn't be around to regret them.
No, it was very much win or die. Around him, then, the expanded fleet was finalising its preparations to put to sea. This was officially on the basis of HUMINT that the enemy were about to begin their operation. From a very strict and limited point of view, that was even true.
Of course, there was still a debate about whether or not the operation was a flanking manoeuvre against Jutland in support of a major offensive by the Russian Army into Poland, or if it was directed against Britain (a few fantasists insisted it would be an operation against Iceland to allow the Russian forces to strike against the commerce between Britain and American, but it was an enormous concentration of forces for such a secondary theatre). That debate would end soon enough.
Blaise, of course, already knew what was going to happen. "Captain Palliser, could you come with me, please?"
"Of course, M'lord." The veteran turned back, his uniform crisp. He had another officer of the watch preparing to take the Inflexible out, so it was no matter. The two men walked back together to the chart-room.
Blaise closed the door, and stepped over to the chart. Then he turned, and decided to be kind, within reason. He faced Arthur Palliser sharply. "I am going to give you the opportunity, Captain, to go along with this while not under the Imperious Curse. I did select you carefully for this role, and also make sure we didn't have an Admiral aboard, for a reason. You, of course, know that being under the Imperious Curse would not help you if we fail."
Palliser was perfectly silent. He admitted nothing, he said nothing. He stood and looked at Blaise, and tried to find a level at which they were man to man, instead of muggle to wizard. It was all he could do to keep his dignity together.
Blaise was in total control of the meeting. One wizard, one muggle, there was no contest. On the field of battle, a hundred, two hundred muggles, trained and ready; that was a threat. Inside of a room, a muggle was simply someone a Wizard could control at Will. But Blaise knew too that having a thinking man, a capable officer, would be much better at his side for the days to come, than the passive, detached figure of someone under the control of the Imperious Curse. After all, they all made jokes about Pius Thicknesse, who had been under the Imperious Curse for what was running on close to a decade. In fact, his pliant passivity was an important part of this plan.
"You've told me I'm a dead man," Palliser finally said. "And given me a chance to die with dignity, or not. Well, I'll take that, thank you. What are you planning?"
"I am going to bring the fleet over to the Duchess of Lancaster's service."
Palliser was silent for a moment, and then smiled and quoted a line of verse. "No gospel can guide it, No law can decide it, In Church or State, till the sword Has sanctified it."
Blaise snorted, and grinned in bemusement. "I did not think you a man of poetry, Captain. But you are right. By the sword the Dark Lord built his power, and by the sword, it will fall."
"The Wizards in the fleet?"
"We have lists of those who are with us. As for the others? We will come within range of the enemy to apparate aboard, and take them out. That's why, even though they are not a strategic target and are well defended, the enemy will assault the Shetland Islands first. It will both prevent wizards in the Army in Scotland from repaying us the favour, by putting us out of the range of apparation of all but the most powerful wizards, and it will give the Russians a base for their own MinKol personnel to apparate aboard our ships."
"So we will be going north then, Sir, like we were to seek close action with the Russian Northern Fleet?"
"Yes, that's it."
"How will it be justified, when it will let the Baltic Fleet elements and the forward squadron the recon birds have seen at Ålesund operate unimpeded in the North Sea?"
"Most of the transport assets are in the Trondheimsfjord. They will not leave harbour, which gives them an opportunity to be destroyed by us… Which will disrupt the main invasion of Britain, I will explain. The forward operating forces may win some victories, but without troops to land, it is meaningless, as the Fortress of Azkaban commands the North Sea beyond the Firth of Forth."
"How will they deal with Azkaban?" Palliser looked neutrally at the map, squinting for a moment.
"They have a plan. The Duchess of Lancaster did not share it with me, and I accept that and think it sensible."
"All right, M'lord. One part of this doesn't make sense to me. If the enemy's amphibious assets aren't going to leave the Trondheimsfjord until we are in position in the Norwegian Sea, how are they going to invade the Shetland Islands?"
"A special VDV Air Assault division will hit them using helicopters."
Palliser measured the distance, ticking it off the map, with a good old map calliper that had been in his family for quite some time. "That's two hundred and twenty miles. The range of the Mi-24 is two hundred and forty miles with a full load. Mi-8, three hundred and eight miles. Etcetera."
"I don't worry myself with the risks the Russians have chosen to take, Captain."
Palliser looked sharply at him for a moment, and then shrugged. "Brave men, M'lord," he remarked. "It will be an unrefuelled operation, you see, M'lord. They will conquer, or die. So one more thing."
"Go on."
"The Americans."
"At a certain point in this operation, we will receive a signal, before we have formally defected. That signal will tell me whether or not we should launch a direct attack on the two American carrier groups, and hit them hard, and fast, and first, or if other arrangements have been made."
"We've got thirty-two fixed wing aeroplanes on the Inflexible, M'lord. Forty on the Relentless. The main strike group on each of the American carriers will be more than fifty, and they have the E-2s, the tankers, the S-3s for ASW coverage—I assume the Russians have submarines out for this—anyway, I'm not saying it can't be done, M'lord. But. We'll get one chance at this. We'll have to use everything except the Harriers on the Invincibles, and if the Americans hit us with a strike back, they will provide limited air defence for it, at best. It won't be pretty."
Blaise turned toward the door, laughing. "Then don't fuck it up, Captain."
But for all the uncaring style of his commander, Palliser was smiling. "It will be a pleasure, M'lord."
As Blaise reached the door, Palliser spoke again. "One personal request, M'lord. Since we can't ship the proper flags, will you transfigure the Morsmordre when we turn our coats?"
"Yes Captain, you'll have your White Ensigns." With that, he stepped out.
Narcissa Malfoy stood with Draco at the staff headquarters in Ålesund, watching the teams work. The men and women of the staff were busy with their effort. The MinKol headquarters were in the next building over, with radiological isolation gear between the two to provide electronics shielding—allowing the magical and electrical communications to be separated by only the quick movement of a runner, and a bridge of low-voltage telephone wiring.
She was always as cold as ice, but right now, Narcissa was such a frozen statue that even Draco was uncomfortable around her, and had taken the opportunity to step away to talk with Larissa Sergeivna, who was also at headquarters and would be accompanying Narcissa when she boarded the amphibious forces flagship the next day. Sometimes, Narcissa looked out the windows to the hills, at the air defence emplacements, the troops outside in the street, and shook her head, and looked back to the status boards which were showing the position of naval and air assets. The operation had begun.
Andromeda stepped up to her side, and showed no fear at the ice in her younger sister's heart. "I'm sure she'll be fine, Cissy. The details of their part of the plan were reviewed again, and again, at every level of multiple ministries."
"Something could still go wrong. Something could still be unexpected. Nobody has ever attempted this before. And even when you neglect that part, this operation is at the strategic limit of our forces," Narcissa murmured, turning away, and pulling Andy with her, that they couldn't be overhead by others who might be demoralised by the frank conversation. That left Larissa and Draco to wander off by themselves, talking.
"I grant the point," Andy acknowledged. "Still, Bella and Hermione are fine witches, on one of the finest warships afloat, at least of what I understand of such things. And they drilled this plan extensively."
"It's not that part. It's the part," Cissy hissed, "Where we can't test it beforehand."
"...Wasn't that my complaint a month ago?" Andy blinked.
Cissy sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yes it was."
"And you calmed me down," Andromeda continued, matter-of-factly.
"Yes, I did." Cissy had this suspicion that her elder sister had her in a corner.
"So… What changed?" She did.
"It's happening tomorrow," Cissy admitted with a shrug. She hated admitting weakness, even to Bella, because Bella had gone mad, and was unpredictable, and a threat to her son, and… Admitting weakness to her middle sister, that had been unthinkable, as unthinkable as talking to her for decades. Now they were putting their relationships back together.
But Narcissa had the grace and dignity to admit she still had a problem with this. So she hesitantly reached out, and was rewarded with a hug from Andy.
"It is happening tomorrow, and that is scary. But you won't be far behind, on the Mitrofan Moskalenko. You're quite capable of apparating far enough to help Bella personally if you need to."
"I am the leader," Cissy frowned. "It's risky enough that I'm going to be travelling personally with the second wave. And you're needed here with the children."
"Draco will be with you, won't he?"
"Yes, but.." Narcissa closed her eyes. "Draco, I brought him back to my side to be safe."
"If he had the chance to help his Aunt Bella, would he refuse? I don't know what he was like growing up, Cissy. I will be honest. You didn't give me that chance. But that's also a blessing in disguise. You worry so much, but I see the man standing there, who is respected by his fellow MinKol officers, who bears a medal you don't earn for staff work. And he gained it twice. Your son, Cissy, is a man among men. And he chafes at being away from the feats that Bella and Hermione do. Not because he isn't afraid or because he lusts for blood, because he is afraid, and he'll never lust for blood. But because he knows he's capable, and he's learned how to swallow his fear, and do what must be done. He won't take chances, and he will do what is right. Take him with you, and if the situation demands it, let him go—I know he can apparate that far as well. Don't stifle him."
Cissy sighed, shivering at her older sister's words. She didn't want to admit it, but they rang true. "Alright, Andy… Alright. I will."
A distant rumble grew around them, abruptly, echoing off the hills and the islands around the city. The two witches, pulled together, stepped to the window to look out and up. It looked like fifty jet fighters were passing overhead at once, before breaking up by squadron to go to their assigned targets, still climbing into the sky, so many contrails that they were like the bristles of a broom.
Andy looked to her sister, and smiled with a savage ferocity which surprised Cissy, though it really shouldn't have. "Come on, Cissy. I want to go home."
Notes:
1. Captain First Rank Klimov is none other than Lt. Pavel Sergeevich Klimov from the film "Правда лейтенанта Климова" or "The Truth of Lieutenant Klimov" from 1982. Even if retired, at the start of the war, he would be recalled to active service. Past nuclear experience would be important for commanding a Project 1144.
2. The Mitrofan Moskalenko is of Project 1174 Nosorog, the only ship of that class assigned to the Northern Fleet.
3. The Relentless is a somewhat larger CATOBAR derivative of the CVF design, begun in response to the war in the Morsmordre controlled yards of Britain.
4. The S-3 Viking is a dedicated ASW aeroplane for carrier operations, subsequently retired in the USN; the E-2 is a still-active AEW (Airborne Early Warning) design.
5. HUMINT stands for HUMan INTelligence-intelligence on enemy activities derived from human sources of spying, rather than spying on electronics (SIGINT, SIGnals INTelligence).
