The Calm Before the Storm

Celestia Black was not happy, in fact, she was furious. If she ever saw Henry Potter again she'd kill him, and not with magic either, oh no, she'd take the Short Magazine Lee-Enfield, a rather bizarre name, the muggles had given her and beat him to death with it. Now Celestia, or Cell as she was now known, best not to draw the muggle's attention to her gender, did not particularly hate muggles, though she didn't love them either. No Cell could happily say that she was completely indifferent towards them, but right now, as her new boss, Lieutenant-Colonel William Cavendish looked down at her with contempt she could honestly say she was willing to change her views. It was almost as if he could see through the glamour she'd applied to look male. Honestly, these muggles were willing to prevent half their population from joining their military just because they were women, it was ridiculous. Cavendish gave her one last look before moving further down the line.

The ministry had sent what the muggles called a 'Battalion', honestly where did these muggles get these names from? Roughly 1000 of Wizarding Britain's best and brightest Pure-bloods, and a few miscellaneous others, were being sent to fight in this stupid war just because they happened to be related to Conservatives and Reactionaries. If that wasn't an abuse of political power Cell didn't know what was. It wouldn't have been so bad if they could use magic, but no, the Statute was to be upheld above all else. Frankly, Cell didn't see the point of sending them if they couldn't use magic, it was a ridiculous rule that she had every intention of ignoring, what were they going to do? Send her to Azkaban? She'd welcome it.

Cavendish turned to address them. "Right you lot, we've caught wind of a German offensive at Ypres so we're sending you to Belgium. Now I know your 'Government' has said you can't use your magic, but frankly, I couldn't care less what they thought. I want you to use every weapon at your disposal. Now I'm not going to lie to you and say that you'll be fine. This is war. Many of you will die, you're shock troops, the elite, you go in and get the job done, regardless of the casualties. I don't care what methods you use; I just want you to take out as many Krauts as you can." Cell found herself grinning like a madwoman at those words. Perhaps Cavendish wasn't as bad as he first seemed. It was odd really, Cell was almost looking forward to it, the chance to see just what she could do, no-holds-barred. Cavendish gestured to a large train behind them "Right then, on you get."

The journey to Ypres, while not particularly long, provided Cell with ample time to modify her equipment. Cell had always been good at enchanting, it was her passion to the point that almost every item of clothing in Black Manor was enchanted, much to the displeasure of several of her relatives. Her skill in the craft was so well known that she had been headhunted by several ministry departments, though the only ones she had shown any interest in were the Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Cell sighed, though she doubted she'd get to work in either now.

Stripping down to just her underwear, much to the pleasure of several other passengers, Cell lay out her uniform, disassembled both her Lee-Enfield, and Webley, and began enchanting. Her carriage was filled with the sound of her mutters and the crackles of her magic. Runes were carved onto almost every available surface and woven into each piece of fabric, and enchantments placed diligently onto every individual piece of equipment. She was going to make it out of this alive, even if she had to commit countless atrocities, she would survive.

More than two hours later Cell looked down at her handiwork with a look of supreme satisfaction. With a flick of her wand, she reassembled and summoned the Webley, firing three quick shots at her tunic and watched with smugness as each bullet slowed considerably as it approached, falling harmlessly as it collided with the reinforced fabric. It didn't make her invulnerable, but it would certainly keep her safer. With another lazy flick of her wand, she spelled three new bullets into the Webley. Re-equipping herself, Cell set about napping the rest of the journey away.

When they arrived at Ypres, Cell couldn't help but shudder. The air was electric, like the calm before a storm. The town itself lay mostly untouched, the land in front of it, however, bore the deep scars of modern warfare. Vast wounds were cut through the fields that writhed with horizon blue maggots. In the distance Cell could just make out a second set of wounds that marked the German lines, the lands between, no-man's land as the muggles called it, was little more than craters, very little of the original landscape remained after both sides bombarded each other with shells. To Cell it seemed like a rather pointless activity, she could understand if the enemy were advancing but what had that stretch of ground done to either of them? She would never understand muggles.

Cavendish stood before them, his voice tense "We don't know when the attack will start so I'll keep this short. You're going to separate into your sections and disperse yourselves along the line. Generally, tactics you'll face will be, charge at the enemy and hope for the best. As I said before I want you to use everything you've got to hold them back." Cavendish cast his eyes along them and smiled slightly "Now get down there and give 'em hell."

The first thing Cell noticed was the stench, an infernal mixture of bodily waste, mud, and decay. Cell could honestly say it was not something she'd ever forget. The next thing was just how cramped things were at the front, there was barely enough room for two people to walk past each other. The ground and walls were little more than mud covered in bits of wood, though there was the odd bit of corrugated iron and a few bits of sheet metal with an oval hole for a rifle. Though the sky was clear now, it was clear it had rained recently, the planks squelched and sank underfoot as Cell walked. Perhaps the worst part of the trench were the men in it, their eyes were dead, uniforms caked in mud, many of them twitching at every little sound, others sat with their heads between their legs, rocking lightly.

Her section's Corporal, a rather attractive middle-aged man by the name of Fredrick Carrow, called for them to stop. It seemed he'd found where they'd be defending, much to Cell's dismay, given the rather overpowering odour present in this part of the line. It was there that they nestled in to wait for the inevitable onslaught.

AN: Edited 02/02/21: Fixed a historical inaccuracy, and a few spelling and grammar errors. Also changed Celestia's equipment