Baptism of fire: The Second Battle of Ypres
The battle started in the way they had been forewarned, with the pounding of the line with artillery. Perhaps the most shocking part of the bombardment was the reactions to it. They varied greatly, both amongst their allies and their own ranks. There was no clear way to discern who would breakdown under the barrage, and while Cell managed to hold strong it was a close thing. The constant and ceaseless booming of the shells, the knowledge that any moment could be her last, it was only through the forceful application of Occlumency that she maintained any semblance of calm. Others were not so lucky.
Alden Gamp lasted three days before he tried to take his own life, and, as much as she loathed to admit it, she could understand why he did. It was only the swift action of Carrow that prevented the tragedy. It felt as though they had been thrown into the deep end with a lead weight strapped to them, sure they had been warned about it, but words didn't do it justice. It was the stress more than anything, day after day, night after night, for days, it was maddening. Suddenly Cell understood the dead eyes of her allies and felt it would be a miracle if she didn't end up like them. (AN: I couldn't find how long the Germans bombarded the area prior to the battle so I arbitrarily picked a number. If anyone knows PM me and I'll update it)
It was on the 22nd of April when the shelling began to die down, and by five o'clock it had ended. In some ways the silence was worse than the shelling, it told of the horrors to come, the almost feral violence of both sides. Cell barged her way to the front of the trench and began waving her wand. Non-runic wards were not her strong suit, the arithmetic calculations needed to weave enchantments into the very air something she found incredibly difficult, at least when doing it without parchment, but even she could weave a simple muggle repelling ward, not that she was scared, of course. Who would fear muggles, no it was just a precaution.
It was just past five when the battle began in earnest, but it was not with a horde of Jerrys, nor was it with the crack of rifle fire. No, the battle began with a vast yellowish-green cloud encroaching on their line. The cloud was met with a general feeling of bewilderment amongst their allies. Cell lowered herself onto the sloped banks of the trench, peering down the sights, trying in vain to spot their enemy. Cell was rather confused, the cloud was indeed an effective smokescreen, but if that was all it was, why was it that vivid colour.
She got her answer in the form of racking coughs and screams, and then she felt it. The burning. Both her eyes and lugs felt as if they were aflame. It was agony, she felt as if she couldn't breathe, with tears in her eyes and black spots in her vision, Cell raised her wand and managed to wheeze out "Ventus." The blast of wind forced back the miasma, allowing her to cast a bubble head charm.
Cell gulped down the fresh air, though the coughing and burning sensation remained. It was then she saw them. Figures in the fog. There must have been hundreds, all charging towards them, and yet not a single shot rang out. Cell fumbled having dropped her rifle in panic. Pulling back the bolt, Cell struggled to load the rifle, her shaking hands causing the stripper clip to slip over the opening. Finally managing to get the clip into the groove Cell forced the bullets into the gun, closed the bolt and took aim. Despite her shaking hands and steaming eyes Cell managed to take down one of the Germans, then another, and then another. There were so many she barely had to aim and yet despite how many she hit she knew it would just be a drop in the ocean of German soldiers.
The silhouettes dove to the ground, taking shelter from her fire in shell holes and behind trees and rocks. The Germans soon began returning fire, bullets whizzing past her. Her rifle clicked empty and Cell took this moment to duck below the trench to find another clip and get a drink of water to try soothe her burning throat. Looking down the line, it was chaos. The French troops were running about, begging and screaming, their greatcoats thrown open and spitting blood, and though she couldn't speak French she understood what it was they were begging for, others were writhing around on the ground, desperately trying to suck in breath, but to no avail.
Her own section had copied her and were now sporting bubble head chams. They had taken up her position and were exchanging fire with the Krauts. Their sections medic, a half-blood volunteer by the name of Andrew Pomfrey, was doing his best to ease the suffering of the French troops, but to little success, even his years of service at St. Mungo's had not prepared him for the horrors of chemical warfare, there was little he could do but numb the pain.
Cell fumbled to replace the magazine, struggling for a good minute before the clip finally clicked into place. Looking once more down the sights of the Enfield, Cell spotted a particularly large cluster of German infantry. Pulling the trigger, Cell watched with a sort of grim satisfaction as each Kraut fell. Cell kept firing, but it seemed no matter how many she shot down, more would take their place. It was an effort in futility. The war was lost, if the Germans could fight a two-front war and still have enough troops to launch such a vast attack what hope did they have, none, none at all. Cell despaired as she watched the Hun swarm the trench. A quick flick of her wand shrunk her rifle, which was promptly placed in her pocket.
Her muggle repelling ward was doing its job as Fritz swarmed in either side. Cell raised her wand, her hand shaking, and whispered a quiet "Bombarda." The blasting curse had a devastating effect, practically obliterating the Jerrys in a shower of blood and viscera. Cell felt sick, this was not how magic was supposed to be used. It left her feeling as if she had performed some great sin, as if she spat in the very face of magic itself. She wanted to stop, but she knew she couldn't, firing off more and more blasting curses. Not only were the Germans obliterated but the trench itself was blown apart by the force of her spell.
If Cell could say one good thing about this war, it was that she was learning a lot of interesting things, though perhaps the most pressing revelation was that the Muggle repelling ward did not in fact repel muggles, but rather deflected their interest away from the area, creating what was, in essence, a blind spot. This, however, could be overcome should some pressing and/or life-threatening event occurred that drew attention to the warded area, and was how her section found itself under fire from outside the ward. Cell dove to the ground, watching in interest as the bullets went high and wide. The muggles knew something was there but were unable to pinpoint it exactly, many of the shots hitting their countrymen on the other side.
They were pinned. The second any of them left the ward they'd die, there was no escape, they had to hold their ground. Cell sighed, well that wasn't quite true, the others could leave but she was stuck, as she lay there in the mud, Cell despaired over not getting her Apparition licence.
Flicking her wand a few more times, Cell cast several more blasting curses into the writhing field grey mass, flinching at the way the magic tore them apart. Cell had grown up amongst magic, practically lived and breathed it, was brought up on tales of Dark Lords, and yet, Cell sighed, and yet she never realised just how, how vicious magic could be, how it could rip apart muggles like parchment, shatter them like glass. Perhaps the wonders of magical medicine had desensitised her to the damage she could cause, or perhaps mages had some innate resistance to magic, she'd used blasting curses in duels and never had they had such a devastating effect.
Over the sound of gunfire Cell could just make out Carrow's voice "Right, we're leaving. I want you all to Apparate to the train station and we'll see if we can find where the French have run off to."
There were eleven cracks and Cell found herself alone and surrounded by people who wanted nothing more than her death. Cell pulled herself up to lean against the earthen wall of the trench, watching as the muggles killed each other. Waving her wand, Celestia dispelled her glamour. If she were going to die, she'd die as herself, as Celestia Aurora Black, daughter of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, though sat as she was in mud and filth, she didn't feel particularly noble.
The gunfire died down as the Jerrys deemed whatever had hit them dead. The trench was a hive of activity as the Germans prepared it to repel a counterattack. Celestia watched as they moved sandbags and set up machine-gun positions, watched as they threw corpses onto no-man's land, watched as they put the suffering French soldiers out of their misery.
Celestia started making her own preparations, pulling stones out of the ground, she began to carve runestones, she would turn her little section of the trench into a fortress. If there was going to be a counterattack, Celestia didn't want to be killed in the crossfire. Arithmancy, when applied to runes and spell crafting, and runes itself had always been something she was skilled at, not as skilled as she was at enchanting but it was a close second, and as she waved her wand and muttered under her breath, she vowed to show them just how skilled she was.
Celestia had always been overlooked, both by her family and at Hogwarts, she was often viewed as little more than an annoyance, and as much as she loathed to admit it, she could see why, she had always been rather… uncouth. Never quite following the Pure-blood etiquette, and as such relegated to the fringes of the family, despite being the daughter of the family head. At Hogwarts her position was similar, her skills overlooked by both her peers and teachers in favour of more conventional talents, and with any achievement made being overshadowed by the likes of Albus Dumbledore, she had spent her life feeling inadequate, and, and now she was going to die in a filthy hole in the middle of fucking Belgium, and all because some Muggle loving bastard wanted to get rid of his political opposition. Now that wouldn't have been so bad if she were actually important to the Black family, but she wasn't. Barring some catastrophe where the entire family died, Celestia would never have any form of political power, she would never have been a threat to Potter and his friends and her death wouldn't have the slightest impact on the family, so why?
Celestia slumped to the ground, tears streaming from her eyes, why her? She'd never done anything to deserve this. She'd been sent off to war without a chance to argue. All she wanted was a quiet life doing what she loved, she wanted nothing more than to spend her days enchanting, she'd even spied a townhouse in London she wanted to save up and buy, but now, now she'd never be able to do any of that. Celestia drew a shaky breath, closed her eyes, and leant against the trench wall, slowly drifting into unconsciousness.
AN: I'm going to try to keep events as historically accurate as possible, with battles taking place when and where they did in real life, but if I mess up, or you notice a historical inaccuracy that seems unintentional, please let me know. AN: Edited 03/02/21: Fixed the mistake where I repeated this chapter twice...