Don't worry these guys are going to destroy the Harry Potter universe, they just gotta meet up and get over the shock. HP universe by chap 4, but I highly recommend you read until then.

The Craig Brothers: The Beginning

Chapter 2: The Other Brother

Scott Alexander Craig received first wind of his brother's death under the scorching African sun in South Sudan. It was a simple message detailing the circumstances, listing a classified mission with a merciful death, heroic action and heartfelt condolences. Scott hadn't cared about any of it. To him a letter of condolence was just another way the military said fuck you for your service. That was one of the reasons he had left, a small one.

What Scott cared about more was the date of transmission did not match the time of death. According to the letter Nate had passed some three weeks ago. And yet Scott was receiving the word now? With all his backwater contacts in the US Army he expected to be notified the moment the letter was drafted. The US Military may be wrapped in a thousand rolls of red tape but they were definitely efficient in sending out death letters.

Scott glanced once more over the letter before he turned off the Sat phone and let his head roll back with a sigh. A lump of grief welled in his throat and threatened to take over. Scott ruthlessly quashed it and shoved the greasy ball into an unused compartment. That's what you did on jobs like these; compartmentalize.

Raul Mbutu Walked over to him and nudged Scott with the muzzle of his rifle. Scott's hand shot out and grabbed the AK at it's gas piston, shoving the weapon away from him. He glared at the other man.

"How many times have I told you not to do that?" Scott sneered at him. Mbutu laughed.

"Too many, Friend." He said in broken, yet passable English. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine. My brother died on a mission, I just got word." Scott replied. He shoved the phone into a pocket of his BDUs and snatched up his FAL. Mbutu stilled at Scott's pronouncement. He waited for a beat and then spoke, as having observed a moment of silence.

"He was a good warrior? Good as you?" he asked. Scott snorted.

"Better than me, Mbutu. Far better. Hows the principle?" Scott asked, changing the subject. He was referring to the man the two mercenaries were charged with guarding a one Bailij Dhekonda, a secretary to the new governmental ministry set up during South Sudan's civil war with the north. Dhekonda was seen as the third most important man in the South, and as such he needed to be protected for the stability of the region.

"Being stupid," Mbutu muttered under his breath. He gestured behind him. Scott groaned as he saw his principle, standing tall on a sandstone wall, giving a heartfelt speech to a dozen rebel soldiers. This was but one stop in a long chain of speeches to bolster the flagging lines. The accumulated value of Dhekonda's suit, shoes, and jewelry could buy every rebel around him a good AK and another thousand rounds of ammo. The disparity was as humorous as it was pathetic.

"Get him down from there before a sniper nails him," Scott ordered. Mbutu and two other contractors immediately moved towards the secretary, shouldering their way through the crowd of rebels. Scott's radio squawked, he grabbed his mike and gave his name almost without conscious thought.

"Craig here,"

"Sherlock, we got Intel." That was Alex "Sherlock" Barnaby, a fellow contractor and excellent front line scout.

"Trouble?" Scott asked.

"Big time. Front is shifting, a lot of fucking shit is about to drop." Sherlock said sarcasm dripping from his voice, even over the radio.

"Trouble for us?"

"I'd say, you have a batch of T-55s and a couple companies of SPLA advancing on your sector. Six miles out ETA twenty minutes."

"Thanks, bug out to station three. Principle will be along shortly,"

"Roger,"

Scott waved Mbutu over and sent the African to get their trucks warmed up. He sent an advisory to his team over the radio while checking each of their trucks for fuel supplies. Station three was a good forty miles to their south in very friendly territory. Scott hated running from a fight, but his first and final objective was to ensure the safety of his principle.

The Sudanese People's Liberation Army, or SPLA for short, did not worry Scott in the slightest. Despite their numbers, the SPLA were poor shots and composed entirely of an undisciplined rabble. With no combat tactics, or official training of any kind, Scott felt sure enough that his team could handle most problems. But those T-55s gave him pause. Despite being forty years old, their 100mm main guns could pack a wallop. And Scott had nothing in his compliment that could penetrate tank armor.

Scott glanced back towards the armored truck, the principle's Land Rover and did a double take when he saw the vehicle was empty. He looked around frantically before settling on Dhekonda shaking hands and handing out cheap cigarette packs to the morose rebels. Scott shook his head.

"Mbutu?" The African looked up at the call.

"Why the fuck isn't he on board?" Scott pointed viciously at his principle.

"I asked, he won't go."

"Tell him again! In twenty minutes tanks and infantry are going to fuck this position. I want his fat ass in the car in three minutes!" Scott shouted. In a more subdued tone he spoke into his mike. "Convoy give me a sitrep,"

"Car one, ready to go."

"Car two, up."

"Car three, awaiting principle."

"Car four, ready."

Scott sighed. At least his team was ready to go. All nine members of the personal detail were loaded up and awaiting orders. The only ones still waiting around were Mbutu, Dhekonda and Scott. Scott's radio cut in with a lot of hash and then muffled gunfire. There was a scream of pain that made Scott's blood run cold.

"Alex? Sherlock, report?"

"Bug out now! SPLA units behind friendly lines!" Sherlock's answer blared over their frequencies. He wasn't using a scrambler on his communications. That meant his entire team just got the broadcast.

"Sherlock, where—

"Primary highway blocked," More gunfire, " My buggy's down, facing two-zero probable targets. I have been shot." That was all Scott could catch as the connection was abruptly severed. He was moving immediately not sparing the transmission a second thought.

"Convoy, oscar mike in thirty secs." Scott reported. He ran full tilt towards the cheering crowd of rebels. Mbutu was closer and able to reach the principle first. The big African shoved three soldiers out of the way and roughly grabbed Dhekonda around his upper arms. Scott tackled his way through the soldiers and grabbed the front of Dhekonda's jacket. The two contractors shoved the dignitary towards the waiting vehicles.

The moment Scott's hand touched the door on Car three, Car 2 exploded. The shock wave slapped the three men to the ground and rattled their eardrums with the concussion. A second later the confused mass of South Sudanese soldiers were shredded by machinegun fire. Scott struggled to pick himself up. He forced open the vehicle door and tossed Dhekonda inside.

"We're oscar mike! Shoot anything that moves!" Scott yelled. He jumped in the passenger seat as the convoy slowly got underway. Scott shoved his FAL out the window and jammed his finger down on the trigger. The rifle belted out half a magazine ripping into the surrounding structures. Scott didn't really care if there were enemies in them or not, though it seemed the most logical conclusion.

"Mbutu! Get in the car and lets go! Mbutu!"

Scott risked a glance out the window behind them. He saw the big African mercenary face down in the sands, a ragged hole sawed through his skull. The pool of blood around his body seeped into the ground. Scott cursed at the sight.

Wade, their driver, was already pulling away from the action, smoothly pulling into a convoy with Car one and car four.

"Boss we got air!" Scott gave one last fleeting look to Mbutu's body before he spun around. The view through the front window wasn't much better.

"Dragonflies! Where the fuck did Sudan get Dragonfly attack choppers?" Scott raged. Wade didn't answer he yanked the radio off its cradle and told car one to slam on the gas. Scott leaned out of his window and emptied the FAL's magazine at the three hovering attack shoppers. As the black rifle hammered against his shoulder Scott could only shake his head and wonder at what he was seeing.

The Dragonfly Attack Chopper was a brand new invention of the US military. It was faster and more maneuverable than ninety percent of the competition. Sporting a weapons package much like the Comanche, the Dragonfly had silent running rotors and could literally creep up on a target from behind. In testing, one of the pilots landed a dragonfly on the White House roof, while Secret Service's backs were turned. Dragonfly was also a stealth chopper and completely invisible to all forms of radar and electronic scanners, even those employed by US troops.

So how in sacred fuck did the Sudanese get their hands on three?

The short and dirty answer scared Scott to the core: They didn't, this is America fucking me up!

Scott saw two white plumes of smoke puff out from the sides of the right Dragonfly. He could only watch as two Hellfire missiles streaked at their targets.

"Right! Right, right, right! Fucking right!" Scott shouted, he leaned across the cab and grabbed the wheel yanking it towards him and out of Wade's hands. Their car veered right and bounced as it drove across the sands.

Car One and Three were pulverized. Obliterated into a thousand pieces of burnt metal and cooked flesh. The double explosions rattled Scott's car as it bounced across the African plain. Dhekonda started screaming in the back seat. He had seen the whole thing. Scott yelled at the idiot to shut up. He hastily reloaded his FAL and glanced back in the rear window. The choppers were still hovering over the wreckage of Scott's convoy.

Suddenly three chain guns dropped from the nose of each chopper. They unleashed a torrent of heavy 20mm rounds, eating through the burnt wrecks of the vehicles.

"Oh fuck." Wade stated. He was looking through the rear view mirror. "They want us dead!"

Scott could only nod, it was overkill in the extreme.

One of the Dragonfly choppers turned towards them and powered forward. It's engines easily surpassing the speed of their armored car. The rotors were silent, creating an eery ghost to their rear.

"We need to run!" Scott yelled at Wade.

"What about him?" Wade shouted back. He stuck a thumb back at their principle. Scott promptly drew his Glock 21 and put a .45 slug through Dhekonda's head. The 230 grain bullet splashed a thick red paint over the back seat of the car.

"Fuck him! Not worth dying for. When you hit those trees up there we're going to bail! Got it?" Scott pointed out he small copse with his arm. Wade nodded and jammed his foot down on the accelerator. As he looked back at the Dragonfly, Scott knew immediately they weren't going to make it.

A small puff of air was the only warning he received.

"Fuck!" Scott rammed the door open with his shoulder and jumped, leaving a gaping Wade in his wake. Scott his the sandy plain and rolled, rifle and assault pack biting into his body at every bounce and turn. Finally his body tumbled to a stop, and the pain of a dozen bruises filled his senses.

He looked up just in time to see Wade and car three get fragged by a tracking Hellfire. The burning hulk starting it's own tumble as the momentum played out. Scott cursed again under his breath. His hands roved his remaining gear locating the FAL still hanging on by its two point sling. He slapped dirt off the weapon and shoved the butt to his shoulder. Still prone, Scott watched disgusted as the Dragonfly opened up on the wreckage with its 20mm chain gun.

Satisfied it had done the job the Dragonfly began a slow ark towards Scott's position. The 20mm chain gun lowered and Scott knew it was pointed right between his eyes. The dragonfly lowered until it was close enough that Scott could make out the pilot in the cockpit.

Shooting the thing would do no good, as it was armored almost as much as a tank.

Scott shook his head in disgust and stood up. He showed the chopper two middle digits and spat into the dust at his feet.

Then the rocket hit. It had no smoke trail, instead arcing gracefully over the plain to strike just forward of the tail rotor of the chopper. The explosion was short and small compared to the Hellfire missiles but the effect was perfect. Knocking the rotor to the side the nose of the chopper spun off target. A line of 20mm rounds ate at the dirt mere feet from Scott's legs. He jumped to the side and unloaded his second to last FAL magazine at the cockpit. Sparks and star bust flew around the glass, further distracting the pilot.

Scott slammed his last FAL magazine home. He dived behind a large piece of brush for the concealment. A stuttering staccato of noise caused him to look up at the chopper. Tiny explosions cratered off of the Dragonfly's armor, etching a line from tail to nose. The cockpit shattered under the fire. Gouts of misty blood exploded from the pilot and gunner. The whole chopper lifted up in the air, flying twenty meters past Scott before crashing into the ground. The resulting fireball warmed his back as he stood to locate his savior.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder.

"One would think You'd take better care of yourself out here, bro!"

Scott shook his head in disbelief.

"One would think you'd be dead … brother." Scott said he turned slowly to look a smiling Nathan Craig dead in the eyes.

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