Disclaimer: See Chapter I
Also, I'd like to thank those of you who have taken some time to read and review my work (you know who you are). Your kind words have been felt and hope the wait hasn't been too long for this next installment as I'm trying to update my work every three chapters or roughly once every ten days. One final bit of thanks to the Harry Potter Lexicon that is quite the resource for anything Harry Potter related.
Another note I feel should add is that I haven't done any orienteering for a while and since land navigation is a very perishable skill, please forgive any errors that are noticeable.
Chapter VII: Turner's Drag
The time went faster then Harry imagined it could, and as the end of the fourth week approached, he felt that he would miss the life. Almost a month had passed since he had arrived. During that time, without letters from Hermione and Ron and others to pass the time, he had noticed changes in Neville, Dudley, and even in himself. Harry and Neville both took to the soldiering life as though they were born to it, and Harry was considering Neville as good a friend as Ron. Even his relations with Dudley were better as while neither talked to each other much, Harry felt as though Dudley had a grudging respect for him. He knew that was the case with him.
The usual day for them began at 0500 when they roused out of their beds by Ghost, Rooney, and Tongue (occasionally there were other people from the platoon involved) via a blistering barrage of noise and profanity. Following a 5 minute session where they changed into Combat uniform (temperate pattern camouflage with black boots and soft caps) they began the day with a rousing hour of calisthenetics followed by a 4 kilometer (later built up to 6 and then 8 kilometers, with calisthenetics being varied from a full hour to thirty minutes depending on much they had to run) run in the mountains surrounding the base. Following this, they were given thirty minutes to wash, change into clean uniforms, and only then were they marched to breakfast.
At 0800, they were marched back to barracks where they proceeded to help police (clean or shine in other words) the barracks rooms and latrines so that by 0900, the first classes would begin. These would alternate from either marksmanship or unarmed combat, and would last for three hours. Marksmanship classes were held at the weapons ranges while unarmed combat was held at the parade ground.
On the weapons ranges, Neville and Dudley were tied on who would be the best shot with the L1A1 and SA-80 assault rifles they had been using in training while Harry had shown that he was the master of the Browning HP pistol that they were taught to use. He was also quite good with the other weapons, but the Browning seemed a natural extension of his body. Uncle Alex was so impressed he started training on Harry using techniques he said were used by police and undercover operatives, which were mostly techniques on how to accurately draw and shoot one's weapons no matter what the circumstances.
As for unarmed combat and bayonet drill, all three had shown themselves adept at fighting fast, brutally, and efficiently. Jugular vein, larynx, the subclavian artery, the heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, testicles, the ears…All three learned how to use their hands, feet, nails, teeth, and forehead to maim or kill their opponent on those areas. Dudley soon earned the nickname of Bull from the men of second platoon for his use of strength and brute force during unarmed combat training. Harry relied on dirty tricks and speed in his combat, while Neville seemed to use a combination of Harry and Dudley's styles.
Following a break for tea, they continued on land navigation, which proved to be one of the easiest to learn, yet was constantly put to the test as the afternoons consisted of a 10 kilometer road march into the mountains, hiking back using the land navigation techniques they had learned by hitting waypoints that they had been given, and then ending it all on a timed obstacle course. Throughout the course of this, Harry and the boys were wearing belt kit (140 rounds of 7.62 mm blanks in 7 20-round magazines in pouches, 2 1-liter canteens, 2 field dressings, bayonet with scabbard, compass and map, protective mask, and 4 dummy grenades), combat uniform with boots and helmet, and carrying a 5-kilo L1A1 rifle.
Afterwards, they proceed to eat dinner, followed by an hour of instruction on a military topic that was felt to be of use to the boys. Be it how to establish an ambush, call in artillery fires and air strikes, first aid, tracking (two of the men in platoon were former South African Recce Commandos, and another was a Bushman who had tagged along after Namibia received independence, and were the best tutors to the boys in the fine arts of tracking), the boys were kept busy until 1700. They then had to clean up (their rifles, then themselves, and only afterwards their laundry), and were given more instruction, this time over drill and other military topics so that by lights out at 2200 hours, the boys usually crashed out as soon as their heads touched their pillows.
Now, being in such close quarters to each other, a sort of camaraderie had developed between them. Or rather had been forced on them by the men of 2nd Platoon. One time, Neville had dropped his rifle into the mud and even though Harry and Dudley had kept their weapons cleaned, they had been ordered to get out their cleaning kits as well and give their own weapons a cleaning. Then there had been the time they had been running the morning run and Neville and Harry had left Dudley gasping behind them, Fletcher had stopped them and acidly informed them that they were to go back and help their mate complete the run. Either that or they could have the option of running the course again, this time with each of them carrying the equivalent weight of Dudley and his gear. Needless to say, they had gone back and carried him back between them.
From then on, no matter what the situation was, they all looked out for each other.
* * *
Harry laced up his black combat boots and grabbed his drill cap from off his bunk. The day was a Sunday, and Tongue and Rooney had been hinting at something big happening. Whatever it was, it was important enough that instead of the usual morning conditioning, they had been allowed to sleep until 0730, wash and then brought to breakfast at 0830. They had then been told after breakfast to prepare to be gone for at least a day, which meant they would have to pack their bergens (about 18 kilograms worth of spare uniform, additional simulated ammunition, two days rations, one two-liter canteen, sleeping bag, ground pad, binoculars, night vision goggles, miscellaneous articles needed to keep a man going in the field, and an orange box that was sealed and they had been told only to open in the event of a real emergency when they were training in the field). This, together with a belt kit of another 15 kilograms, meant that they would be packing a load of 33 kilograms, about 75 lbs (the wizard world still used the older system and Harry was quite familiar with it compared with other students his age in Britain). In Harry's case this was almost three-fourths of his body weight added on and Harry expected that even though he was in splendid shape after the conditioning he had gone through, he expected that today was going to be a real bastard.
Putting on his cap, he grabbed his belt kit and bergen and ran out the door where Dudley, Neville, and himself lined up as Rooney, Fletcher, and Tongue gave inspected them on the parade ground. Alex and Dick were also out there as they waited for the inspection to be completed so they could give instructions on what the day's event was. Both were wearing British camouflage uniforms, though they also were wearing the older World War II style paratrooper smocks with their red berets.
The inspection went without a hitch as after almost a month under the training of the Paras, as well as from helpful tips offered by the veterans, had ensured that they learned much of the infantryman's trade. Loose equipment were taped, extra foam padding (like that used in their ground pad) was placed on their bergens and bergen frames to cut down and noise and provide comfort, and all three carried candy bars with their belt kits (already opened and wrapped in saran wrap to prevent noise) to provide extra energy on their road march.
After the inspection, Tongue (who, Harry had found out weeks earlier, was also the platoon armourer and head of the arms room) handed out their L1A1 rifles. Alex and Dick then walked up and told them to sit and circle around. Alex laid out a 1:50,000 scale map of the area and proceeded to explain. "Right, today you're going to go through what we in 2nd Paras call Turner's Drag. It is a 40-kilometer land navigation exercise that is to be completed with in 20 hours, or rather meaning you'll have to maintain a speed of 2 klicks an hour. Not a hard speed you're thinking right? Wrong, for during this course you are to hit a total of 8 separate checkpoints," he handed Harry a list of eight-digit coordinates, and continued, "the ground you'll be traversing will be mountainous and otherwise rough, you are NOT to abandon any of your equipment, and finally," Alex grinned feral, "sometime during the exercise you will be hunted by Army Air Corps helicopters and should you be caught, you'll have to redo the exercise. Only at that time you'll be given more weight to carry and an even shorter time complete the march in. Not to mention whatever treatment they feel like giving you as a Prisoner of War. Caught being when they land grunts on the ground and drag you down like animals."
"In other words," Dick chimed in, "Don't fucking get caught. Any questions?"
Neville raised his hand, "Why is it called Turner's Drag?"
Alex replied, "During World War II, our battalion attacked a German airfield in North Africa, and during the retreat back to friendly lines, a section of four Paras under Sergeant Jack Turner was separated and had to march back over mountainous terrain, while being hunted by German air and ground units. It was no small feat that all of them made it back as it turned out later a full brigade of Italian and German troops backed by a full air-wing of Me-109s were hunting them. Anyhow, all of them made it back and since then it has been something of a battalion tradition to have new recruits or anyone who isn't too keen on land nav to be run through our little test."
"Any other questions? Otherwise you have 10 minutes until the 1000 start time with your starting point, the base here, at coordinates…" he gave them the coordinates.
There were none, so Harry, Neville, and Dudley got around and plotted out the points using a military protractor and pencil (a military protractor is square piece of plastic used to plot positions on a map, and while using a GPS system is easier to learn to use and minutely more accurate, older soldiers prefer the map and compass method as it far lighter, and if used properly just as accurate and soldier-proof). Looking at the pattern, it appeared as though a horseshoe pattern had been established for them as it 20 kilometers to their farthest point, and another 20 back. The course would take them over mostly hilly terrain, though it didn't appear to be too steep as there weren't any sheer heights or depressions to be navigated.
Eight minutes later, they were at the gate at the base, getting their packs comfortable while Harry oriented the map and their group towards the first of the waypoints using the compass and the starting point on the map. Once they had oriented themselves using the start point, Harry led the group in single file with himself at point while Dudley was tail end Charlie on their patrol.
They followed the road out of the base about 1 kilometer, then it turned up a ridge as their course took them over several hills before they reached their first checkpoint a top a rock strewn spur. Checkpoint number one proved to be a covered red tin can with the emplaced a top of rock. Inside proved to be a tan envelope with the instructions labeled on it to be not opened. Reorienting themselves after a brief stop for water and a candy bar, they marched another eight kilometers for their next checkpoint, stopping every 10 minutes (or roughly 1000 meters as Harry's pace count was roughly 105 paces, or meters, per minute) to make sure they were still oriented correctly. Again, it was another red tin can though this time there were duplicate cans scattered 15 meters north, 12 east, and 18 west of the first one they had seen.
The whole purpose behind this was to ensure that the people going through the course knew what they were doing, and obviously taking the wrong envelope from the wrong can was an excellent way to test a person's knowledge of navigation. With the spacing more then 10 meters of each other (using the eight digit coordinate system, one could be accurate within 10 meters of a location), this ensured that it would be able to determine accurate location without extraordinary difficulty.
Provided of course, they had been doing their job correctly. After examining their position on the map, and double-checked after shooting back azimuths to triangulate their current position, the group picked one of the cans, found an envelope, and continued marching to their next one, and the one after that for the next 4 hours.
* * *
It happened as they were following a trail on the side of a steep, granite mountain. Dudley had slung his rifle, and by now everyone was pretty tired as they had been marching since 1000 and it was now almost 1700, with only three minutes break at most when they reached a checkpoint. All in all, they had covered 15 kilometers over broken country carrying about seventy-five pounds worth of gear when the lightest amongst them was five foot six and weighed one hundred twenty pounds sopping wet. All in all, a pretty credible achievement since none of them could barely run a mile a month earlier in boots.
They had passed their fifth checkpoint a kilometer back and were heading towards their sixth when Dudley tripped and almost fell off the mountain. If he had, it would have been a good 20-meter drop onto broken rocks that may very well have killed him had he not grabbed onto a dug-in rock at the last minute. Even still, he was fast losing his grip.
Harry heard the something behind and looked back to see only Dudley's hand ripping the side of the trail. Slinging his rifle, Harry ran, dropped over and grabbed one of Dudley's hands as it lost grip on the rock. Gasping, he tried to pull him up, but found that he too was being pulled down as Dudley's seventy-five pounds of gear, and his one hundred fifty pounds of weight were straining him.
Harry was starting to get desperate, as though he was yelling for Neville, it didn't appear as though Neville could hear him as he was a good thirty meters away (they maintained ten meter intervals as they had been taught to ensure that were they ambushed, one machine gun burst wouldn't take out the whole patrol). I'm going either going to die here with the disgusting asshole that is my cousin, or the mission will fail and all this fucking marching will for nothing, Harry thought. If he had Dudley drop equipment, they were going to lose for they had been told to bring back everything they carried. Yet if he didn't, both of them were going to die, as Harry doubted if he could just let Dudley go and fall to his death, no matter how much he hated him.
It was then Harry had an idea. Looking straight into Dudley's eyes, he said, "I'm going to ask you to trust me. Will you?" Harry was grunting and both of his hands were fast griping one of Dudley's wrists while Dudley's other hand had gripped on to the sheer edge of the trail. Dudley, his face straining like Harry's to keep from falling, nodded his head. Harry grimaced, "All right, here goes. Try to push up when I pull all right?" With that, he leaned forward and quickly threw his left hand out from Dudley's arm and around and under his bergen. Straining and pulling, Harry managed to pull Dudley up enough using this new leverage so that his mid-chest was upon the edge and Dudley was able to swing the hand that had been on the edge on to the rock and haul himself up some more.
That was when Neville came running up and grabbed Dudley's other arm by the armpit and together with Harry, they managed to drag Dudley back on to the trail.
Both Harry and Dudley were gasping for breath. It was a minute before any of them were able to speak. Dudley spoke first, and surprised Harry greatly.
"Harry?"
"What?" This was the first time Harry had been called by his name by his cousin without an insult somewhere.
"Thanks"
Harry merely waved it off as he pulled out his map and had them marching again towards checkpoint number six.
* * *
Three hours, and an additional two checkpoints later, it began to rain. High as they were in the mountains of Wales, the rain made the already cool weather (even in the summer-time) even more so, and as they were moving as fast as possible, the trio was soon soaked to the bone. By then, it was almost 2000, and while there was a half moon out, there was very little visibility as rain and fog set in. Harry had taken the earlier step of checking their bearing every 500 paces, and so it seemed to be paying off as they had hit all their checkpoints correctly.
Yet, with limited visibility with rain and fog, Harry decided to call a halt as Neville spotted a small cropping of large rocks. One of them looked big enough for them to huddle under out of the rain, so Harry made up his mind and ordered a halt for thirty minutes as his ruthless use of only a few minutes for breaks, eating on the move, and a constant pace had ensured they would have about ten hours to complete the remaining distance.
Speaking quickly, they huddled underneath the rock out of the rain as Neville dug a small hole into the ground and placed some dry kindling and bits of moss he found into it. Harry pulled out a Zippo lighter he had been given by his uncle Alex the day they got there and a small fire was lit. Not taking any chances, Harry had taken out his poncho from his bergen and rigged it over the cave so that no one could possibly see any light from their small fire.
Neville by then had taken a canteen cup out and filled it up with water, cocoa and coffee powder, sugar, and dehydrated milk. Stirring it with a pencil he had with him, Neville then placed the cup into the small fire and huddle next to Harry and Dudley to gather what warmth they could from the fire, as well as from each other as they huddled around a fire the barely the size of a tea cup in silence.
Dudley spoke first, "Why the fuck did you save back there? You could have fucking left me and no one would have said a goddamn word?"
He laughed harshly, "After the last 14 years, I can't say I blame you."
Harry looked over at him. "I did it because if I left you out there to die, me and Neville here would be fucked. Sides, you think I want you on my conscience?"
Before Dudley could answer, Harry asked, "Answer me this though, Why the fuck have you actually started treating my like a relation and not like a shit, the way you bastards have treated me 14 or 15 years?"
Dudley sighed and explained. When he had been in school the year before, it had gone on well as he apparently ruled the school with his clique of bullies. That is, until, another tougher, more ruthless bunch showed up and proceeded to beat the shit out of him. His 'friends' had promptly abandoned him, even going so far as to join in his beating and the humiliation afterwards as no one would help him as he was humiliated and embarrassed throughout the year.
"So you see, while that year was hell, I got to thinking…"
He paused, and looked at Harry, "The way those bastards treated me, I fucking deserved it. It was the same shitty way I'd treated you, the way my mum and dad treated you, and you were supposed to be family. The fact you knew something cool and I didn't merely made it worse as even when we were younger I knew you had something up your sleeve."
Dudley continued as Harry listened, seemingly stunned. "For what it is worth, I'm fucking sorry. I know it'll probably take me a bit to fix up a life's worth of shit, but…I can try."
Harry looked him straight in the eye and spoke, "All right…I've had stranger shit happen to me. Let's just get say fuck all to what happened in the past and start over fresh, make it a fresh round eh?"
He held out his hand.
Dudley grasped and shook it. "Yeah, lets."
It was then that Neville noticed that the drink they had been preparing was ready and passed it around. The mixture proved to be a strangely sweet but strong combination that warmed them up and prepared them for the next and final stage of their exercise. Dragging weighty and sodden packs back on to tired and aching shoulders, they took a moment to get their bearings, and marched off once more.
* * *
All day, they had been on the lookout for air patrols, and everyone had looked around to make sure they weren't being tracked. Now as they completed the eighth checkpoint and their thirtieth kilometer at 0100 hours, they became even more paranoid. Harry was especially so as with a mere ten kilometers to go before they sleep and rest (it was getting close to the 24 hour mark since he had last slept), anything could happen. Anything could go wrong as ever since checkpoint six he had had to rely on pace count and hoping that he was using the compass correctly, for if he wasn't then he wasn't even too sure if the last two checkpoints he had hit were correct.
Every 500 meters, he checked his compass and made a mark on the route he had plotted Harry felt he was at. This was becoming harder and harder to accurately as all of them were chilled to the bone from the rain, and nearly exhausted after about 19 hours without sleep. Only the thought of failing in front of each other made, and the fact that who knew what sort of reward was waiting for them if they made it, kept them pushing on wards to the end. Each of them were had retreated into an inner shell, thinking beyond the pain, thinking of things that gave them that little extra energy and spirit to keep on going.
Five kilometers passed, Harry calling a break on a rocky spur that had enough large rocks and vegetation around it to provide cover should they have to hid as they had heard helicopters earlier in the fog and night. Now, it 0330 in the morning, and they had five kilometers left to go. Harry took out his map, and used his compass to orient it towards the south, and what he hoped was the base. There were too few landmarks to shoot azimuths and using back azimuths to triangulate their location, so Harry was going to have trust in his pace count and compass bearing.
Harry sighed as he shut off his red-filtered flashlight and put it back into his pants pocket. It was then he heard it as Neville frantically waved at him to get down into the crevice of a rock nearby. Neville and Dudley had already hid and were staying as still as possible. Harry watched as overhead two Westland Scout and two Lynx helicopters flew in a staggered, two by two formation. They were flying lights out and Harry was only able to identify them after the Scouts fired out two, parachute flares overhead.
Huddling, Harry prayed that they wouldn't be seen. He prayed that he was huddled down in the shadows enough, and that the vegetation around him was enough to break up his outline and not be noticed by someone flying above him, hunting him. He prayed because he didn't want to go through this damn test another goddamn time.
For once, it seemed someone was actually listening to Harry's prayers as after dropping the flares and what was a quick look at valley beneath them, the choppers moved on. As soon as the sound diminished, Harry stood and motioned for Dudley and Neville to follow him as they moved on. Moving even faster then they had before, the went up the spur and over the side, and continued on for three more kilometers and another hour until they reached the top of a high hill and saw the base below them.
Harry was tempted to relax, until he heard the same noise of the helicopters. Sure enough, it was the same choppers, though this time, Harry saw in the morning gloom and dawn, the Lynxes were landing on the far side of valley across from Harry's patrol.
"Oh fuck," Harry muttered. Time was of the essence so he motioned for them to follow him as he started a fast jog down the hill. With a mere two kilometers left to go, Harry hoped they could make it running. Rather, he was going to make sure they made it or they died trying.
Going downhill, with about 75% of one's body's weight added on while running and holding an 11 pound loaded rifle isn't fun. Things became unglued as just as Harry's feet reached flat ground, Neville tripped and slammed into the ground, with Dudley tripping too as he followed too closely behind him. Both of them rolled to the ground as Harry turned and saw the mess.
Neville, whose clumsiness had obviously proven to be an advantage in this case, got up but Dudley looked stunned. Harry didn't have the time to waste so he merely slung one of Dudley's arms around his shoulders, lifted him up and started marching. Neville took up Dudley's position of tail end Charlie of their patrol and carried Dudley's rifle.
They continued marching, though not as fast as before. Dawn was fast approaching as it became increasingly light. Harry kept on thinking of the end that was fast approaching…
1.8 kilometers. 1.7 kilometers. 1.6 kilometers
Harry could see the end fast approaching and he didn't dare look at his watch. Dudley was starting to moan, and speak. "Leave me, I quit…"
"Don't fucking speak like that, Dudley, we're almost there."
"I'm a fucking worthless sod, you'll…"
"Be fucked if we leave one of our mates behind. Won't we, Neville?"
Neville joined in, "Yeah, Duds, just another klick and we'll be there. Gear, body and all."
"You heard him, Dudley. Come on, tough it out. Think of…" Harry thought a moment, then replied, "I heard you talking once of this one girl back at your school, Julie wasn't it? You said she had a pair of tits to die for?"
Dudley moaned, "Yeah, she had a set big enough that you could make out the nipples even when she wore a T-shirt."
"Well, those tits will be waiting for you when we reach the base, all right? Think of those tits, and they will get you home."
Harry paused as he moved through a pile of marshy heather and spoke as they passed through the knee-high mud. " I want you to think of every little detail of each one of those breasts. Keep thinking of them. Fuck the pain, fuck the cold, fuck all else that is out there and think of those tits and keep fucking moving, you hear me, Dudley?"
Dudley only grunted and kept up with Harry and Neville.
Another kilometer passed and Harry could see the front gate with its guardhouse slowly rise ahead of them as they reached the paved road. By now, Dudley was able to move without anyone helping him, so Harry took a look at the cheap watch he had strapped to his wrist. It was 0515, and they had half a kilometer to go. In other words, they had 45 minutes to cover a 15-minute distance. Then Harry felt his hopes dashed as he saw a platoon of paras start gathering around the sides of the roads. For a moment, Harry wanted to give it up, pack it in.
Yet something about the paras made him keep pushing on even though Neville was muttering foully under his breath and Dudley looked like he was about to cry. Look, not glance, Harry. Those were the words his uncle Alex had told him when they were about to start. Look closely but quickly at everything and anything around you. Glancing is useful only when you wish to reconnoiter a woman, and if you use it enough, glancing will get you killed.
Harry noticed that the faces were smiling, and one of the paras was a short black man. All it seemed were grinning broadly. Harry knew then it was 2nd Platoon, and it was then they all heard the shouting.
"Come on lads, just a wee bit farther!"
"Tough it out, boyos, you're almost there."
"I got a cold keg of Guinness and a willing woman here boys! Just a bit further!"
Dudley and Neville and Harry grimaced as they kept running. Neville, who had been looking back to see their chasers going down the hill which they had just come off, didn't even bother looking back anymore as they began sprinting, or sprinting as much as one can when you you're packing about 75 pounds worth of rifle and bergen and belt kit.
Even though they were suffering from blistered and battered feet, lack of sleep, and not having had a decent meal in almost 20 hours, they pushed on. The people chasing them were nothing as the end of their ordeal was in sight.
They came barreling down up the hill and through the gate. As they passed through the gate, the men of 2nd Platoon started clapping and telling to keep it up to the parade ground. A few more meters and they were there as the trio halted in a ragged line in front of Uncle Alex, Dick Longbottom, and Ghost Fletcher. The men of second platoon had followed them and cheered as they came to halt. Fletcher, Longbottom and Alex stepped forward, and even though they were all shaking from exhaustion, they cleared the actions of their weapons, put them on safe and turned them in.
After the weapons were turned in, Alex put on his trademark lazy grin and spoke, "Lads, you look uncomfortable, so why don't you ditch those bergens, your jackets and shirts, and boots?" Paras from second platoon helped them ease off their bergens and belt kit. Harry started feeling immensely better as one of the paras who had taught him how to track, a short South African named Denys Malan, helped him take off his boots. Soon, all three were standing bare foot and bare-chested on the parade ground.
"You've marched 40 klicks in about," quick glance at his watch, " 19 hours and 28 minutes. You had to complete it in 20 hours or less. You did splendid, lads. Now, I'm sure you need to cool off a bit, what? And get cleaned up after your march, eh?" At that three pairs of paras, each holding a metal trashcan filled with cold water walked up and dumped the contents on them.
All three bellowed in shock, though Harry thought it felt good as well since it got rid of the layer of sweat he had had since they had been marching. Smaller buckets of cold water were thrown on their pained feet. After the shock, Harry wiped his hair back and looked around and at himself. All three had gained muscle and stamina, but whereas it looked like Harry still was slim, Dudley and Neville had lost much weight and filled out it back out with muscle while Harry had gained some muscle as well. Running a hand along his chin, Harry felt a stubble, and realized that only now he was becoming older, almost a man.
His train of thought was disrupted as Rooney, Fletcher, and Tongue stepped forwarded and draped parachute smocks around their shoulders. Alex continued his speech, "You've gone through a damn hard test, and passed with flying colors. Since you haven't made five parachute jumps, we can't give you the jump wings. But we can give you these smocks for toughing it out with the best of us. Also, judging by the letters we removed from your belt kits, you hit all the points correctly on the course. All in all, a good bit of work. Now, go hit the showers."
At that, the men of second platoon carried Dudley, Neville and Harry back into the barracks where they had hot tea, a hot meal, and (most importantly) cushioned sandals for them to wear after they washed up.