Chapter 62: Going Home
The destruction wrought on the enemy had been awful. The destruction wrought on all of civilisation along the North Sea by this terrible prodigy had been just as awful. Their foe's casualties were heavy, their North Sea fleet had been destroyed, dozens of aeroplanes had either been shot down or destroyed on the ground by the tsunamis. Furthermore, the sheer staggering scale of what they had done was almost unfathomable. They had washed at least an entire division worth of enemy troops into the sea, it seemed. Still, they were debating whether or not to proceed with the invasion. If a great victory seemed an odd time to consider calling off a decisive strategic stroke, the realities of what had taken place did, legitimately, require some thought.
Aboard the Mitrofan Moskalenko, Narcissa sat in the command conference room. Satcom was fully back up and they were linked in with staff in Norway and in the CIS. In front of them, staff officers were filling in the details of what had been discerned. While the satellite network had been destroyed in the nuclear exchange, some of the missile tubes on the Project 941 SSBNs actually carried small reconnaissance and communications satellites to support targeting of nuclear weapons during the 'broken-backed' phase of nuclear war, and the reserve stocks on shore had been used to support this important offensive.
They showed the basic contours of a land irrevocably changed. The scientists allowed to speak, described the approximate contours of the shore representing those of circa 6,500 BCE. Before the Storegga Slide. As magic has wrought, so magic has undone, Narcissa thought idly of a world turned outside down. The Storegga Slide had been caused by a witch, the legend went. Now a witch of the same family, unleashing magic on the highest point of Doggerland, had brought it to the surface again, with all the hellish energy and strength of nuclear weapons, funnelled through enchantments used for the first time.
Bellatrix would be acquiring quite the reputation for that. But it remained quite true that with these events having come to pass, that quite simply, the waters off the coast of Britain were now unknown. An island of 34,000 sq. km. had surfaced in the middle of the North Sea. A substantial region of land had also surfaced, including the Well Bank, northerly of Norfolk. Several other, lesser islands had also appeared. The intersection between the two events had driven the "three sisters" tsunami—which fortunately was not as high as had been predicted, or else it might have caused the utter ruination of the east coast of Britain. As it was, the destruction, and fatalities, were heavy.
More to the point, all of their maps were wrong. The officers on the ship were hand drawing in new land based on the satellite images, in a state of mild incredulity. The debate was over whether or not to risk a landing, when the landing craft might get hung up on new sands, and thousands of men could be picked off, while their ships couldn't get close enough to shore to land them.
Narcissa raised her tea and drank, as calmly and deliberately as she ever would. She was running out the clock, so to speak. The ongoing debate over whether or not to continue to carry out the invasion despite the loss of accurate maps and the risk of the landing force being hung up was something she intended to deal with shortly enough.
She just needed the evidence that there was no turning back.
At length, Tonks arrived with a letter, and she tensed as she took it. It was written in Gobbledegook, and a brief scan of the contents told her everything she needed to know. A great sense of peace and certainty washed over her. The deck of the ship below rolled with the fury of still churning seas, but it did not give her pause as she stood. "Mister President," she addressed the Satcom feed's image of the line from Astana, showing Nursultan Nazarbayev and several members of Stavka. "I have received important information from Britain."
"Madame Prime Minister, by all means, inform us."
Narcissa raised the letter. "Gentlemen, I have received confirmation from my allies that they have launched a rising in the city of London. Buckingham Palace and substantial parts of Whitehall are under their control, and they have parties fighting for control of the Tower, and several of the bridges across the Thames. To refuse to continue the invasion at this point would be to condemn them to defeat, and utter ruination."
The Actual State Councillor for MinKol—Anton Vikhrov—looked sharply at her. "Madame Prime Minister, you are quite aware that we had already agreed the risk of the operation being uncovered was too great if we arranged for an uprising of the muggleborns in the United Kingdom."
"Pursuant to the decisions already made by the Council of War," Narcissa answered, "I did not distribute wands to the muggleborn population in detention." She let that statement hang for a moment. "Since you would not permit me to do this, I arranged for my agents to distribute the wands to London's Goblin population instead. They already had cells that were organised against the Ministry, and readily took to wands and distributed them among the general population. And they kept the secret, for indeed, the Dark Lord's security services were expecting an attempt to arm the muggleborn population with wands, but they were not expecting the armament of the Goblin population. And so strategic surprise was obtained and we now stand on the cusp of absolute victory."
She looked directly to the President of the CIS. The others' opinions ultimately did not matter, and as for the muttering of wizards, horrified at the idea that one of their own had distributed wands to Goblins, she addressed the muggle, the wily man who had held this war effort together for so long. "Mister President, it is a plain fact that half-measures are the greatest enemy in War. In fact, the Goblins were long an oppressed nation, after their defeat in the last war, more than two hundred years ago, and were eager to revolt, as the Dark Lord's regime had placed them in a position of absolute subjection. The utmost secrecy was required to accomplish this without the enemy finding out, and so I make no apologies for the failure to brief this body, or any other. I disobeyed no instruction, and acted by my prerogative as the Head of Government of my country, to arm a body within it, and encourage them to action, against our mutual foe."
"What will you do, Madame Malfoy, when they turn those wands upon you?" One of the wizards in Norway asked, in accusing tones.
"Would that I had only such problems," Narcissa answered serenely. "When we are still in a general war against the most powerful practitioner of the Dark Arts that the world has known. My ancestors fought in, and won, Goblin Wars. I will gladly risk another, as the price for placing two thousand wands into powerfully magical arms, ready and willing to use them, in the heart of the Dark Lord's Capital. But, certainly, I have already taken measures to conciliate them, promising them a privileged place in finance, of this world of both muggle and magic that we have found ourselves in. I will be plain with you all—I despise that class of financiers and London capital, who sold their country to the Dark Lord for a pathetic mess of pottage! There is no way that we would see the tanks of our enemies on the Volga and in the Zagros Mountains of Iran, at the Red Cliffs of the Yangtze, or before Uluru in the heart of Australia, as we did over these past years, and only by desperate actions, and millions slain, have thrown them back; were it not for such a parcel of rogues in a nation as should debase and sell themselves for privilege and favour to a regime that held them to be animals, and enable them in every way to learn the ken of and make command over a modern war-machine! Goblinkind, who honourably acquitted themselves in many even contests of strength with wizarding-kind in Britain and other nations, have never once violated their trusted position in the handling of money, shall have the privilege of the City henceforth, and representation in the Lords and the Wizengamot. If they still choose to abuse the privilege of wands, then I shall make terrible war upon them, for I possess now an Army and Navy of veterans, with many wizards experienced in fighting, and when the sword hath built up a province, it may also quickly tear it down. However, that is all idle talk, for now, in this hour, we are allies. We have been wounded by the Dark Lord, and they have been wounded by the Dark Lord. That is enough. Mister President, though the risk of the invasion being undone by the great magic that has been wrought in the North Sea is real, the disruption to the enemy defences from this Goblin uprising is real, too. I say it is enough to accept one risk balanced with another, and with courage, cast the die. I will remind all of you who fear the nation of the Goblins in arms, to keep well in mind that to abandon the Goblins of London at this juncture would be to earn the enmity and hatred and mistrust of Goblins worldwide. It is not merely honour, but common sense too, to carry on the invasion."
Narcissa sat back down. She had said everything she needed to. Out of the corner of her, she could see Tonks look at her with respect. In fact, it was young Hermione who gave me the idea, Narcissa mused. She looked up at the image of Nursultan Nazarbayev.
The President cleared his throat. "Fate and circumstance have left this decision to me. We will not have another opportunity to seize the industrial heartland of the enemy. The loss of four divisions is an acceptable risk when measured against the advantages we accrue from victory in this operation. I have made my decision. Continue the attack."
Narcissa settled back faintly. She remained completely composed. Orders were transmitted, the satellite links went down. The revolutions of the screws underwater increased, and they turned to the southwest, toward the Moray Firth. They were carrying home the attack. There would be no time to relax; all of her work still depended on keeping the Americans out. After a moment, she rose and went to her map room; it was time to talk to Blaise again.
For the moment, the Americans had not responded—perhaps, in fact, Blaise's seizure of his own fleet had escaped unnoticed. The night closed in around them with a powerful, inky blackness. British and Russians on the same ship drank the same tea. In the immediate vicinity of the Taskgroup, the Slytherin wizard could make out the distant running lights of the Invincible, the oldest of her class, and the Victorious, one of the new and improved models laid down during the war. Their Kestrels were standing by to cover the taskgroup.
On the Inflexible's deck, the bombed up Buccaneers and the Typhoons fitted with droptanks set with their engines idling. There were no recovery operations—both catapults had aeroplanes set at them, ready to launch and cycle through a full deck strike as fast as they could. Other smaller sets of distant lights marked the rest of the taskgroup, from the old Belfast and the ex-American California to the two Type-22 frigates which stood closest in to the Inflexible, their Sea Wolf ready to provide supplemental point defence to the big carrier.
The sea was rough from the disturbances to the east. Bellatrix Black, the brilliant madwoman. From time to time, growing up and hearing the stories of the past war, he had been derisive of her title as the Brightest Witch of Her Age. If she had been, she wouldn't have been caught and sent to Azkaban, after all.
He was steadily revising that estimate of her capability back upwards. He'd have some competition as the most successful traitor in history.
The telecaster whirred. "Your Grace," he addressed Narcissa.
"Lord Zabini," she acknowledged. "The Northern Fleet is in position. The Admiral Kuznetsov is standing as a Stalking Horse south of Thule, and the Admiral Gorshkov is one hundred nautical miles northeast of Fugloy in the Faeroes."
"The Admiral Kornilov?"
"One hundred miles due east of Lerwick on Shetland."
"There's only one Shetland island now, isn't there?" Blaise looked down at his tea.
"Yes, there rather is. But we can deal with all the consequences of what's been wrought, later. You are within short range radio comms of the Americans, and you've spoken with the Wizards in command there before, when they arrived to supplement your command. I've been sending messages to New York, but I have not received a reply yet. Will you attempt to reach out directly to the fleet commander yourself?"
"Of course, Your Grace. They may, of course, simply respond by triangulating our communications and attacking. I intend to order my strike groups airborne against this risk."
"If you launch and you don't attack while we continue to negotiate, you will risk being hideously vulnerable when you have to land the aeroplanes to refuel and rearm," Narcissa frowned. "It will create an incentive to commit to the attack, if they take too long to decide."
"In fact, I may be able to use it to my advantage. By your leave, Your Grace?"
"As you wish," she acknowledged, and the image swirled away.
Blaise grabbed the handset for the intercom to the bridge. "Captain Palliser, you may begin to launch the strike. Taskgroup Four may commence as well."
"M'lord. It's my pleasure."
Before Palliser signed off the line, Blaise continued: "And, link me through to the long-range radio on the American Talk Between Ships frequency."
"Sir?" The formality was lost, and for a moment, Blaise didn't care. "They'll know our position."
Blaise decided to allow the muggle offer the indulgence of an explanation. "We can still lose everything by fighting them. They don't really want to be here fighting for the Dark Lord. I will give them a way out. We'll take the risk, Captain."
"Well then, Sir. Patching you through now." There was a moment of silence on the line, though no more than a moment.
"Admiral Hollis, I am trying to raise Admiral Hollis. This is Lord Zabini…"
Instead of inventing extravagant titles, the Americans had just made wizards into Admirals of what remained of their once great Navy. In a somewhat calculated insult, the man was a mudblood, too, which had caused plenty of grit teeth and fake smiles when his fleet arrived at Lough Swilly those months before. Now, Blaise wondered if Narcissa had perhaps been scheming to this end all along. It would certainly be fitting.
In the silence and static finally came a voice, with a Midwest American accent. "Lord Zabini, Admiral Hollis here. My officers say that telemetry from both your taskgroups hasn't been available for the past few hours. The reports out of Britain are … Wild, to say the least. Do you have any clarification for us?"
The roar of the jets taking off was howling in the background, one could easily hear it wash over the line even from a feed inside of the Inflexible's chart-room. "Lord Zabini. You're launching your flight wing," Hollis added. His voice was clearly inflected with stress.
"I am," Blaise acknowledged. "The reports from the North Sea are real, Admiral Hollis. An island corresponding to the Doggerbank has surfaced in the middle of the North Sea, after the destruction of Azkaban. A powerful tsunami caused extensive damage to the defences."
"Thank you, Lord Zabini." There was a pause. "Do you know the location of the enemy, then?"
"I do, though I wish that there should be no enemies at all; I have the positions of your taskforces, Admiral. So, I will put it to you plainly. I am in the Duchess Narcissa's service now, and with me, both taskgroups of the Home Fleet. It's five on two, and you're the two, Admiral. I know you don't want to be here, and neither does most of your government. If you monitor the open lines from Britain, you will hear that there is a major uprising in London. Our amphibious forces will be landing soon. The Dark Lord's power is broken. MACUSA and America has nothing to fear from him now."
That was a lie, of course. Voldemort still possessed enormous forces and reserves of strength in Europe and elsewhere. But it was a convenient lie, which could be believed within this moment. "Admiral, for the moment, there has been no attack on the allied forces by MACUSA. Nor is there any dishonour in retreating at odds of five to two. Our nations are not yet at war. Turn around, while time still remains for us to enjoy peace."
An uncertain air hung over the waves of the North Atlantic.
The Admiral Ushakov was listing hard to starboard by this point. Her bow, with the damage concentrated aft, was high up in the air. The sonar dome was partly awash, so that only a few metres of the bow was still below water. Conversely, salt water was sloshing around the fantail to starboard, with her list. The fires were out, but the helicopter hangar had floated, and a quarter of the after superstructure was burned.
Hermione had found Draco, holding a sleeping Larissa propped up on a mattress dragged out of some abandoned berthing area, in anticipation of an order to abandon ship which had never come. They had doggedly fought on through the night, fighting not against an enemy, but to save the ship. Only the first step had been the rudder, which in the end, Hermione had suggested a third option for that she'd managed to implement with Larissa and Draco-an immaterium charm, so the water would just pass through it.
At the same time, the crew had worked themselves to the bone with the pumps and temporary repairs. A few sailors were standing, maybe twenty paces away down the deck, smoking. The little firefly pinpricks of their cigarettes flared and fell with each puff. Hermione didn't feel the need to join them, and they looked hollowed out, empty with exhaustion, having doubtless spent forty-eight hours or more on their feet without a wink of sleep, part of it, in the midst of superhuman feats of damage control to keep the Ushakov from sleeping. That cigarette was the only mercy or pleasure they must have had in days. She stepped past them, trying not to trouble them, and presented a thermos to Draco. "Come on, hot tea."
"Thank you, 'Mione." He looked up for a moment, his face lit with the pain and uncertainty of what he had just been through. "Larissa works herself too hard. It's very difficult to keep up."
"Yeah, I know," Hermione smiled wryly, and dropped down next to Draco, bracing herself against part of the superstructure, and pouring out tin cups filled with tea for both of them. "She really hurt herself channelling Bella's electric magic, didn't she?"
"She did. I'm not sure at all how it works, Aunt Bella… Mother never even really explained this to me," Draco shrugged glumly. "She needs a mediwitch, but for the moment, the ship's Doctor said she seems fine. We decided not to risk apparating her, though. More application of magic might hurt worse than just a good night's sleep, out here on the open deck." Before letting Larissa drift off, Draco had fitted her with a life preserver.
"Just in case we have to go. Well, I've got some good news there," Hermione smiled faintly.
"Yeah?" Draco didn't look up, from where he was gazing at Larissa's sleeping face.
"Yeah. We just finished dewatering Engine Room Two. The bulkhead's holding. The turbines are still working, even though they were underwater for a while, so for the moment…"
"Do you need some help trying to dewater the steering gear?"
"I admit, it would be good, but you can see, she's starting to come up already." Hermione gestured, and Draco followed her gaze, to where the deck was starting to poke back up from the choppy sea as the pumps continued to gain on the flooding.
"Alright." He began to drink his tea faster. "It's funny to think we could all apparate to shore, leave these men to fight for the ship on their own. Really, you and Aunt Bella could have fled earlier."
"We never would have," Hermione shrugged. "I couldn't have imagined leaving Captain Klimov and his men to die."
"No, and Larissa would never let me leave now. But I would have, once. And that's all changed."
Hermione smiled and looked out over the dark chop. "Well, you know you're a better man for it, Draco. One I'm proud to call my friend."
"Thank you, 'Mione." They were both silent for a little while.
Then they saw Bellatrix picking her way down the deck, looking ridiculous with her greatcoat having been draped over her dressing robe, corset over her uniform, hair making her look for all the world like a fuzzy rat thanks to the massive spray of salt-water she'd taken—though Hermione, admittedly, was probably just as bad.
Klimov was with her, the two of them making their way aft, both drinking tea, and a knot of sailors with SCBA gear following behind. He hadn't slept in days, Hermione imagined, so the caffeine was a matter of life and death as much as anything else.
"Colonel Granger," he nodded. "We're going to make our attempt to dewater the steering gear, now."
"Do we have a minute to finish our tea, Captain?"
"Yes," he agreed—a few of the man also drank, some others pulled out cigarettes and passed around a lighter. "We're talking more water forward, the bow is starting to trim down again; which is not bad for keeping our forward progress, we're still at ten knots. But the pumps have been losing ground in the tank bottoms." The ship's hull had been dished in at several points forward, from impacting the newly risen bottom of the North Sea in the midst of the tsunami. But, the damage from the bombs aft had been much more serious initially. The longer they were at sea, the longer the damaged seams had a chance to work open in the rough waves, the more likely that was to change. Klimov clearly wanted the situation brought under control aft, in anticipation of the possibility that they might be down by the head later in the day.
They'd had to turn to face refracted waves a few times early on, and stopped several times to make emergency repairs. So, they were still about twelve hours out of Stavanger. A few marginal air defence capabilities had been restored, but once it was clear that they were flooding forward as well as aft, Captain Klimov had bowed to the inevitable and started to head for safe harbour.
"The General's nephew, isn't he?" Klimov asked her abruptly, at barely more than a whisper, gesturing to Draco where he was now engaged in conversation with Bellatrix a few paces away.
"Yes," Hermione nodded and spoke hoarsely. If he had been going to say anything else, it didn't matter, as Bellatrix turned back to her.
"Hermione, we should be good now." Her eyes still had the manic energy, even as the rest of her was more and more haggard and exhausted from the events of the past days. "Let's finish this, and get home."
"Home's west for us," she said, feeling stilted as she added "General," with a smile; she had desperately wanted to say Bella, but she was standing in front of Klimov and a bunch of others.
Bellatrix laughed. "Come now. Home's wherever the boat doesn't sink." Her statement made the men grin, and Hermione smiled at the irrepressible spirit.
No, Bella, she thought fondly— home is wherever the hell you are next.
The sun pierced the sky over the Moray Firth. Narcissa used her wand to magnify the scene. Eight massive Project 1232.2 Zubr-class hovercraft were leading the storm across the sands which the rising of the North Sea bed had revealed, and the tsunamis had then cheerfully carved up and redistributed, thousands of years of shoreline change in hours. They had been moved to the Baltic to concentrate them for this operation, with six Aist-class LCACs as well and some smaller ones. This morning, they had been called to charge directly across the sea from Norway at 70kts. They were the first wave, and their objective was to simply get ashore as quickly as possible, carrying two companies of MBTs, a company of APCs, and two battalions of infantry.
Waiting ashore for them was the VDV paratroop division which had been detailed to conduct conventional desant from the heavy jet transport airlift assets. The 7th Guards Mountain Air Assault Division had put the first allied boots down on British soil. They had landed on the flat, open ground by Lossiemouth AB and Elgin, where Narcissa could make out tsunami debris across the runway.
Now, wizards and witches on the hovercraft engaged, laying down a line of Bombarda Maxima attacks on the heights beyond, and then turning to shield the hovercraft, which easily made it ashore. The landing proceeded apace, now with a VDV Air Assault Division and what was essentially a Regiment of Naval Infantry have gained the shore. The defenders were firing artillery, but they had pulled back into the heights of land, probably in response to the tsunami, and the open beaches east of Lossiemouth were free and clear for the hovercraft to land.
Narcissa wondered if, considering the bulk of the defenders were from units raised by the Scottish Nationalist government, they were also consciously trying to avoid a fight over Culloden, for fear of the morale and propaganda influence. Even the wizarding world knew about that battle, though mostly because Scotch wizards couldn't stop complaining about it.
As the Mitrofan Moskalenko waited out in the Moray Firth, the hovercraft completed landing the first wave, and then fell back. They travelled more slowly at that point, sounding the sands for positions which were deep enough to get the conventional landing craft in close. The divers were already surveying and marking routes.
And, onboard the heavier landing ships, the crews of the tanks were fitting their fording gear. It was not necessary for them to be landed directly on shore—only to be brought close enough that their fording gear and the bottom conditions (no soft mud, for one) would let them finish the job themselves. Each step was synchronised, like the steps in a spell, and Narcissa appreciated it for being clever and inventive, to be sure.
But there was a kind of confidence in the back of her head, too, about how this had just shown the world what the true power of magic was. All of these contrivances were muggle forces trying to work their way around the consequences of magic. The witches and wizards supporting them were giving them enough time to figure out what that outcome would be. But it was necessary because, in a single day, as Atlantis had sunk below the waves, so had Doggerland risen up. Or, indeed, as Doggerland had sunk beneath the waves once itself.
The Free British, Russian and Norwegian forces involved in this operation collectively were here on the backs of wonders. And Narcissa clearly saw her path forward, in just what her sister had wrought. After years of petty tricks and magic bent to the service of a police station, did you wake up, Britain, and comprehend what power we sorcerous breed are?
Tonks stepped up to her side on the deck. "It won't be long now until we go forward."
"Go home, you mean, Tonks?"
"Go home," Tonks agreed. She looked hard up at the cliffs, flecked with smoke and flashes of light from the bombardment, and the roiling, snapping sound of the bombardment that reached them from across the waves. "Hogwarts is, what, about a hundred miles to the southwest, aunt?"
"About that," Narcissa agreed. The reminder made her see Lucius' face in the mountains flecked with fire, and she quietly shook her head. I will do your house proud, Lucius, she thought quietly, and turned away to face her niece. "Thinking of Remus?"
"Aren't you thinking of Lucius?"
Narcissa sniffed faintly, but nodded. "I am going to bury him… With the bones of his enemies." She spun back around, then, and the loudspeakers on the deck, called out in Russian:
"Land the Landing Force, Land the Landing Force!" as the klaxons began to blare.
Home.
And with it, another campaign for them to fight.
Notes:
1. LCAC - Landing Craft Air Cushion.
2. Bulkhead - the internal watertight walls built to a similar strength as the hull of the ship, for retaining water and "subdividing" the hull into different watertight sections. For context, for example, the "watertight doors" on the Titanic were doors in bulkheads.
3. Goblins, of course, once had their own rulers and governments, but were subjugated after the Goblin Wars, ending in the 18th century, and Voldemort's regime, even during the main books, began to oppress them and prompted some to flee his power. They had many justified resentments.
