A second flare pulsed up and Sumner gave a quick nod to Professor McGonagall, who immediately started into the maze. Where she walked, the hedges parted. The Professor had wanted to start sooner, but they'd all agreed that they should wait for the red flares and sparks and Sumner was reluctant to change that. He didn't want to jump the gun and pull Miss. Delacour before she'd really given up.
Hagrid had been the one sent to retrieve Krum when Captain Gordon had found the boy unconscious. There wasn't anything over there that should have petrified the kid, but then you couldn't rule out a little spirited competition between champions. A thousand gallons, he was told, was a lot of money. Not for the first time, he wished they'd let him put cameras on all of the champions.
But, no. Karkaroff had declined the idea almost immediately. And, if he wasn't wearing it, well Madame Maxime wouldn't ask Miss. Delacour to wear one. Hell, even Professor Moody mumbled some opposition to the idea.
He didn't like sending one of his operators into a dangerous maze like this with no intel on what they would be fighting. Gordon was an excellent operator, but he'd been hobbled by a lack of intel, and that kind of shit had gotten older and more experienced men killed. His best plan had been to place QRF 1 on standby, right on-site at the maze, just in case something went down. The helmet camera was just another added layer of security, pitched as something flashy for the crowd.
When they'd watched the captain get attacked by those insanely large aco...acroma...spiders...he'd almost deployed them. He wasn't about to just let one of his operators go down. But, Gordon handled it, and Sumner was glad he hadn't stepped in.
"Go, help!" Delacour said over the speakers, and Sumner looked back up at the screen. The girl was beckoning for Captain Gordon to move, though he wasn't sure why. Judging by the faces of those around him, no one else quite knew the answer either.
The captain pushed his optics back into place and sprinted down one of the paths. Now, reflecting off of the cloud cover, Sumner could see flashes of red light in the general direction of where the Cup location. He could see the pulses of light through the screen too. A heavy battle was going on.
Sumner ran a tally through his head, a quick determination on which champions must be battling for the trophy. Krum and Delacour were both out, leaving Diggory and...the captain. It was at that same moment that he saw, through the lens on Gordon's helmet, the deadened eyes of Harry Potter.
"QRF 1, deploy, deploy!" Sumner called into the radio as Gordon took off after Harry, who was running for the cup. What in the flying fuck was Potter doing in the maze!? "Potter is in the maze, find and detain him!"
Sumner grabbed the arm of Lieutenant Knight, who was standing next to him. "Get your drone up and get me another eye!" The operator immediately pulled out his personal drone, just bulky enough to be a pain in the ass to carry and small enough to be worth it. With a buzzzzzz, the small drone lifted away from Knight and toward the center of the maze.
On the screen, Sumner watched as Captain Gordon grabbed Potter, just before a flash of light. Then, the camera blurred, as though spinning out of control. It froze for a second, showing a view of a boulder or something, and then started streaming again. It was definitely pointed at a headstone. There was a mausoleum of some kind was evident in the background.
"Spin up QRF 2 and get me a location on Captain Gordon," Sumner ordered as Knight's drone got a view of the Cup area. No one was there. They could hear some talking over the helmet microphone, but it was difficult to tell exactly what was being said.
"Got a location. Fifty four degrees, seventy three minutes, forty nine seconds north, by negative one degree, ninety eight minutes, eighty three seconds west," the technician called out, struggling to keep his voice calm.
"Get QRF 2 en route and I want an ETA." Sumner double-checked that the tech was recording everything that was going on. He was pretty sure he heard the word "master" and something about flesh and bone. There were a couple of different voices, but at least one of them was Potter. So far, nothing from Gordon, and Sumner had a sick feeling in his gut.
"QRF 2 is en route from FOB Phoenix. Pilots are pushing the airframe to its max, they say they're about an hour and a half out." The technician turned back to his work, not wanting to remain in the Colonel's line of fire.
"Goddamnit!" Sumner yelled in frustration. An hour and a half was way too long. Whatever was happening would be over by then. An anguished scream came over the speakers and it only added to his feeling of helplessness. "Do we have allied teams anywhere nearby?" Sumner asked, grabbing the tech by the shoulder to ensure he was paying attention.
"I'll get ahold of our contacts in the SAS," he replied, returning and typing furiously. The next minutes were the longest of his life. SAS reported they had a team that could be on site within thirty minutes, and that was with the squadron commander deploying prior to authorization. It was still was too long.
He also caught some more of the conversation. They heard several more voices, some of which seemed familiar. He heard the term "master" several times more, along with "Death Eater" and "risen," though the audio kept cutting in and out, leaving them without context. He could only assume that the worst was occurring.
Professor McGonagall arrived with Miss. Delacour and reported that Professor Flitwick had tried to apparate to that location from outside the castle grounds, no success. Another avenue that failed them.
"Sir, Colonel, please!" a desperate voice called from somewhere in the crowd, which was murmuring but largely remaining in its shocked silence. Sumner turned and saw Miss Granger pushing her way through the crowd, Sgt. Matthews close in tow.
"Can I help you?" he asked as they finally arrived. Just behind them, Professor Moody was waddling over to watch the screen.
"I think I know of a way to get to them!" she cried out a little too forcefully, partly in excitement and also a little out of breath.
"Go on," Sumner said curtly, and she seemed to pull back from the force of his gaze, but only for a moment.
"House elves don't follow the same magical rules as the rest of us," she said, easily transitioning from nervous teenager to excited teacher. "I mean, if they did then there would be no way for them to get around Hogwarts, or any other major location where apparition was restricted! Getting to the markets or-"
"You said something about a solution?" Sumner cut in, not needing a full history lesson. She looked abashed, but only for a split second. Matthews put a hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to go on, and she did.
"We could send a house elf to go retrieve Brad and Harry," she said. Sumner didn't need a minute to weigh it. He was willing to give anything a shot. The colonel turned to Dumbledore, who had until then been silent, listening to the audio from Gordon's helmet.
"Sir," Sumner started, but Dumbledore waved a hand, turning his ear to the speakers to continue trying to listen.
"By all means," Dumbledore said. Sumner didn't hesitate. He turned directly to Sgt. Matthews.
"Do it," he ordered.
"Roger that," Mike said, nodding his head in agreement. He gave Hermione one last appreciative glance, then turned and sprinted to the castle, off to fetch a house elf.
Vibrant greens and reds flashed among a sea of black. For what seemed like an eternity, he was focused solely on them. The beautiful amoeba danced together, pulsing in and out of view, sometimes in recognizable shapes, other times as formless masses.
Too soon, Brad became aware of other things. The smell of fresh grass didn't bother him, but something else was there, metallic and nauseating. A pressure building along the side of his head that steadily became firmer and firmer, finally growing painful. Then, all at once, his senses were under attack.
His head felt as though it was splitting open. He winced, trying to open his eyes, but the flashes of green and red were bright and painful. A feral scream erupted from somewhere nearby that was simultaneously terrifying and anchoring. It brought a sense of clarity to him.
"No!" the voice cried out, sounding raspy and unhealthy, but absolute in its authority. "The boy is mine!" Brad rolled onto his abdomen and pushed himself up, forcing his eyes open. His hand slid in the wet, muddy grass and his vision was too blurry to make anything out. As he brought his knees underneath himself, he tried to shake his head for clarity.
It was a mistake he paid for as pain shot through his head. He forced the pain to the back of his mind, trying to concentrate through it with marginal success. He rubbed his eyes, hoping to clear them as he tried to remember what was going on.
Brad tenderly opened his eyes again and was relieved that the majority of the blurring had subsided. In front of him was a headstone with a streak of blood on it. He touched the side of his head and felt deformed tissue, wet and sticky. His helmet was gone. Cursing silently, he pushed himself upright, using the headstone as cover from whatever was going on nearby.
He had been falling...spinning out of control. The first thought that came to mind was a helicopter crash or a parachuting accident, but neither of those felt right. He was spinning and Harry was fighting to get him off for some reason...Harry!
Brad peeked over the headstone and, through his hazed vision, he saw Harry dueling with a dark form in flowing black robes. A long streak of red shot from Harry's wand, green from the other. In a semicircle around the two of them were a dozen men, masked and robed exactly like the ones who attacked the Quidditch Cup.
He had been charged with Harry's protection, he had competed in Harry's place during the Triwizard Cup specifically to keep him out of harm's way, and yet here they were. Harry was in the middle of a life or death struggle. Best laid plans and all.
As another wave of clarity crashed over him, he sprung into action, grabbing for his rifle. It wasn't slung to his chest harness like he'd thought, though. He looked around himself and was relieved to see it sitting nearby.
He snatched it off the ground and a cursory check showed no major damage. With smooth precision, he slid the magazine out, and pulled one of his two plain magazines from the chest harness, gently racking the slide to chamber the new munitions. As part of his load-out, he had decided to carry two magazines of 5.56 full metal jackets. Unlike the plastic enchanted ones, these were designed for one thing only, to kill.
Brad crouched up onto his feet and fought off a wave of dizzying nausea, focusing solely on the world through his ACOG sight, anchoring himself to the job that needed doing. He centered the reticle in the middle of the crowd of onlookers, all of whom held their wands at the ready, just in case their compatriot started losing. He was going to push the element of surprise to its max.
As he flicked the selector switch from his preferred single shot to automatic, he called out.
"Harry, run!" Brad shouted, and as soon as he had, he pulled the trigger. The rifle kicked against his shoulder and the steady cra-cra-cra-crack of his rifle fire sent his brain into a pounding fury. There was a split second of confusion among the men but as the first target slumped to the ground, the others scattered. He downed one more and caught a third in the leg before everyone was under cover.
The concentration of both dueling opponents evaporated in an instant and the vibrant green and red that had previously illuminated the graveyard disappeared. In the flashes of his rifle fire, he could see Harry running to him and felt a quickly dissipating relief. They were still very outnumbered.
Before Harry could reach Brad's headstone, the rifle ran dry. With practiced ease, Brad ducked, ejected the spent magazine and in a fit of dizzied nausea, bounced the fresh magazine off of the side of the rifle. He grimaced, corrected the mistake, set the rifle back to single shot and popped back up. Harry slid next to him and a streak of green light hurtling toward him sent Brad back down into cover before he could get more than a few shots off.
"I thought you were dead!" Harry shouted. Brad ducked sideways from behind the headstone, firing a quartet of rounds into the general direction of the aggressors.
"We need to get you safe," Brad said tightly. He looked Harry over and the boy had seen better days. He was grimy and his arm had a long gash down it that didn't appear to be bleeding as much as it should. A pair of green streaks and a vibrant orange one shot over the top of the headstone and they both instinctively ducked lower.
Brad, keeping as low a profile as he could, pulled a fragmentation grenade from his chest harness, pulled the pin and threw it over. As soon as the thump sounded, someone screamed and Brad poked his head and rifle up over the headstone, sending several rounds out before ducking back down. At least one more dropped to the ground, wounded or dead.
He looked around the headstone as Harry sent a few spells toward their attackers and, in the light of Harry's wand-fire, saw their salvation. The Triwizard cup was sitting in the grass not more than a few feet away.
"Harry, the cup!" Brad shouted, tugging on Harry's arm to get him moving the right direction.
"Go!" the sickly voice called from the darkness, "Get them you fools!" Brad jumped up and fired the remainder of his magazine, and with it the last of his lethal ammunition. Brad could see shadows leaping up and rushing toward them as he ducked back down and Harry, who had been working his way toward the cup, stopped.
"Come on," Harry said, waiting there for Brad to follow. There wasn't going to be time. Brad slid a fresh magazine in, stunning munitions, and planted a kick square into Harry's ass, sending the boy sprawling into the cup. In a flash, Harry and the cup disappeared.
He used the momentum to propel himself up and to the side of his headstone, working his way to a new one and firing at any shadow that moved. One dropped to a slump, then another, but before he could transition to a third, a formless shadow smashed into his chest and knocked him to the ground, his rifle clattering uselessly out of reach.
The first thing he saw was his helmet staring directly at him. He grabbed for his handgun, not wanting to go down without a fight, but his muscles locked up as white hot pain lanced through every nerve in his body. In the distance, what felt like a million miles away, he was vaguely aware of a furious, raging scream.
"Goddammit, can't that QRF pick up the pace!?" Colonel Sumner called out into the silence. "Where the fuck is that elf!?"
"Sir, Echo 1 reported that they are still almost an hour away," one of the communications sergeants replied solemnly. "SAS is twenty out. I think that the girl's plan is going to be quickest."
Professor Moody gently broke the silence, saying he was going to help Matthews and excusing himself. A few moments later, Sumner heard Captain Gordon, between gunshots, shout something about a cup. A second after that, Harry Potter landed in the grass just before the entrance to the maze.
"Get him up!" Sumner ordered two of the soldiers from QRF 1, who had been recalled from the maze to assist however they could. Sumner was considering sending a few troopers with the elf just to get some damned back-up in place.
"Help him!" Harry cried out, surprising Sumner by being up and standing before the QRF 1 guys could get to him. "You have to get him help!"
At that same moment, a blood curdling scream erupted from the screen. He looked up and saw Captain Gordon, or the majority of his body. His back was arched up, locked in that position position.
"Where the fuck is that elf!?" Sumner cried out in frustration as another scream tore from his operator. Seconds ticked to minutes and between screams of agony, he heard his operator berated for helping Potter escape. One of his communication specialists relayed between the screams that SAS was less than five minutes out.
Finally, he watched as a small figure appeared on the screen for a split second, then Captain Gordon was gone. The raspy voiced torturer screamed in rage. There was a pop and then, the only sound over the speakers was the distant thump of helicopter rotors.
"Right away, master Mike!" Dobby nodded his head furiously, acknowledging that he understood what was being asked of him. The elf raised his fingers and snapped, disappearing in a wisp of smoke. It had taken Mike a maddeningly long time to get to the kitchen from the pitch and he hoped the elf would arrive in time to get those two from whatever shitbox they had been placed in.
Now that the elf was on the way, Mike turned and started back out of the castle. He had made it almost through the great doors when he noticed Professor Moody ahead of him, holding a bundle of cloth under one arm and struggling to waddle down the path toward Hogsmeade.
"Professor, need a hand?" Mike called out as the man struggled. It took Mike a second to see that the peg leg was being shaken loose, a regular leg growing in its place. "You okay?"
"Well," Moody said, coming to a stop and allowing Mike to catch up. "I guess you could help." The Professor looked too thin as Mike got close and a sinking feeling developed in his gut. He grabbed his sidearm, but the Professor wheeled around too quickly.
"Imperio!" Mike felt himself shoved into a small box in his mind, acutely aware of everything around himself and equally incapable of doing anything about it. "Follow me," the imposter said, and Mike felt his legs obeying the command. He tried to stop, to call out to anyone, but he couldn't get his body to cooperate.