AN: Haha! I see a few of you caught the Bleach references in the previous chapter. Okay, I give--I'm a Bleach fan. However, the reason Sirius and Remus use the Zanpakutou-esque release incantations is different from that of Bleach, so I pray you do not assume anything until the actual explanation is given, m'kay?

Anywho, next chapter!

As reports came flooding to him from the communications officers onboard the Invincible, Harry kept a steady smile on his face as everything seemed to go according to plan. One by one, every step of his plan was being achieved with maximum efficiency. Even better, Remus had managed to take out Greyback, which would undoubtedly land a heavy blow to the Death Eaters' werewolf morale.

The next step, however, would decide everything. First, if his calculations were correct, then the enemy would…

"You did what?" demanded the dark-haired strategist of the Death Eater Armada. The man's dark ebony eyes flared up in fury as he held up his subordinate by her clothing, teeth gritted. "You kept flanking the enemy every time you encountered resistance?! Are you an idiot?" he yelled.

The young man had already figured it out, seconds after being informed. Whoever was commanding the defence of Harrisburg had forced the Death Eater vanguard to thin itself out, allowing the smaller garrison forces to deal with each flank more easily.

'Still,' he mused, 'where did they find the manpower? Our leak's information said only about a thousand soldiers were left!'

"Are there any communication channels open with our vanguard?" demanded the strategist. The threatened subordinate shakily shook her head, causing the young man to roar with fury as he drove a magically powered up arm right through her stomach.

The woman screamed as the infuriated strategist shred through her middle and then pulled back, barely conscious by the time she hit the steel floors. Her head hurting and her stomach heavily haemorrhaging, the woman had a begging arm in the air, aimed right at the strategist, who was breathing heavily as he gazed out of the reinforced windows that gave him absolute view of his front, his left arm stained and dripping with the subordinate's blood.

"M…my l-lord…" she whimpered as she lay dying on the floor, her comrades refusing to move forward to help her for fear of retribution from the Lord Strategist. "P…please…"

The strategist was silent for a moment, his contemplative eyes gazing into the battle before him, his mind rapidly making calculations as he strove for an answer to once again direct the flow of this attack.

"I…it h-hurts…"

Sighing, the strategist raised his bloodied hand and, snapping his fingers, the young woman's middle began to heal at an incredibly fast rate, until she was left panting, the backwash of pain still hitting her, on the floor.

"You did not fail me," he concluded at length as the young woman looked up in gratitude. "Fenrir did. This was his job, and he failed me," he stated. He paused for a second as the young woman got to her knees, his eyes still on the battle. "Still, you cannot go unpunished," he mused, his eyes slowly moving to his left, where she was kneeling in respect. "You should have informed me at once if anything had changed. To my rooms. Wait for me there."

"Y…Yes, my lord,"

As the girl scurried away, thankful for her life, the strategist kept his pensive look as he gazed upon the battlefield. His opponent was highly skilled, but he refused to believe that it was Potter. His latest information had his fleet hundreds of miles away, and he would be unable to arrive in time to make any difference. That meant that whoever was in charge for the Imperial troops was probably good enough to give the Field Marshall a run for his money.

The situation with Fenrir Greyback had him worried, however. As far as he knew, the vanguard could have made a breakthrough, or it could be annihilated. After the third flanking attack, their communication spells went out of range, and none of the initial flanks could be raised, making him assume that they were, in fact, dead.

What this meant was that about 10% of his land-based forces were now unaccounted for, which greatly disturbed him, considering this was supposed to be an easy operation, having scattered the Imperial Fleet and Army to the four corners of the world. To make things even better, the Japanese Emperor was on site as well, which gave them the opportunity to get rid of another enemy.

The problem, however, was getting through the four-ship barrier standing between his fleet and Harrisburg. The four Invincible-class Airships were proving to be quite worthy of their class name, as barrage after barrage of magically enhanced projectiles did little damage to the behemoths, whose own guns were remaining strangely silent. The only reason advance they'd made thus far was to dent the armour of the left-most ship, the Crown. That had been achieved after a lone MEM (Magically Enhanced Missile) had managed to go through a tiny fracture in the ship's shields (which was rapidly corrected and no longer existed) and made impact against its lower decks. The damage, however, was negligible.

The strategist had begun chewing his nails at that point. He had a good idea as to why the Imperial craftsmanship had increased so exponentially, but if he was right, then the Death Eaters were in deeper trouble than he'd estimated. Only one race had ever managed to build such resilient armour, and indeed still did, deep in their underground, cavernous forges.

Goblins.

Not for the last time, the strategist cursed his masters' ridiculous obsession over committing genocide against anything not pureblood. Only werewolves, Dementors, and Vampires had escaped that decree, but only because they were useful, and the second had been decimated by the Imperial forces anyway, a mere year into the war.

Vampires, for their part, were limited in their deployment capabilities, and many had deserted after the Northern Duke had lured them into a tunnel complex in a mountainside, sealed it, and had it razed to the ground by Assault Ship bombardment, leaving their race in shambles.

Therefore, only Werewolves, and the Terracotta soldiers were of any use, and the former was, as far as he knew, all gone as well, considering Fenrir Greyback's lack of communication with him. Whatever werewolves the Death Eaters had left would undoubtedly flee from service once word of the battle's results got out.

The strategist slammed a fist against a nearby railing. How could this have happened? He was perfect—his plans were perfect. They accounted for everything. Counters and counter-counters—everything was looked into as a possibility and prepared for carefully.

And yet, they were losing. Losing to someone he did not know. He refused to believe that the Iron Duke was to blame for this. After all, he did fall for the strategist's previous ploy in London. There was no way he had seen through the meticulous planning put into the invasion of New Britannia.

The young man began to pace in front of the reinforced window, his eyes planted to the floor beneath him as his mind went on overdrive in an attempt to reason out who the commanding officer of the enemy fleet was, and how to beat him. From his spy's information, there weren't any remarkable commanders of note that could be credited with such a remarkable defence. In fact, the only real candidate for that position was, in the end, the Iron Duke—the man he'd already duped once, and was sure he'd done so again.

"Radar Report!" the voice broke his thoughts. The strategist looked up to see another assistant come running up to him, also female. He liked to look, and possibly do more, at his assistants. It relaxed him to have beautiful women around him at his fingertips. Thus, partly why he joined the Death Eaters.

"Anything new?" he asked crisply.

The young woman nodded once before reading from the report. "The wizards on call report that their spells have detected approximately twelve to sixteen Retaliation-class Air Ships coming this way from the south-east!"

"Markings?"

The young woman flipped the front page and looked through the second page. "They appear to have the markings of the Carib Lord, my lord."

That caught the strategist's attention. Though not alarmed, he was intrigued by the presence of the pirate lord of the Caribbean. "Truly? What are his fleet's bearings?"

"Directly towards us, my lord. Our empaths have determined that they seem to hold hostile intent, and our dragon scouts have affirmed that they have accelerated to attack speed."

The strategist nodded, pleased. He allowed his eyes to linger a moment longer on the pretty blonde's curvaceous body before turning his attention back to the window before him. "Send half of our southern-facing flank to deal with him and his fleet. Have the northern flank reinforce the southern."

"Yes, my lord," the young assistant said deferentially with a bow, before leaving. The strategist kept his eyes on her bum as it swayed while the woman walked until it was finally out of sight, and he returned his focus to the battle on hand.

'So the Carib Lord's turned…' he mused to himself. 'No matter. The man's fleet is harmless to the great armada under my command.'

The strategist puffed up his chest in sheer arrogance at that thought. After all, it was the single largest display of Death Eater power since Cairo, when his numerically smaller fleet had decimated the rag-tag African Imperialist Fleet.

What he'd forgotten, however, was that the battle at Cairo had also given birth to one of the Empire's legendary field commanders, John Sulu.

"The Armada's southern flank is breaking off!"

Sulu grinned widely at the news as he held on to the steel railing above him, the whole transport shuttle trembling as turbulence hit the convoy. Reportedly at Army HQ in Harrisburg, Sulu had in fact left the building early on, as per his received instructions from Harry, minutes after the battle had begun.

He had been extremely surprised to know of the Empire's actual military dispositions, considering he had just attended a briefing that had put their numbers at less than a hundred ships. Though not a little outraged at the fact that this had been kept secret from him, the dark-skinned general and Commander in Chief of the British Armed Forces was glad that he had been included in Harry's little plan; thrilled to be back in the midst of the action, having too long rotted away behind a desk.

His men's target was right in front of them—the Death Eater lead ship in the northern flank, the Lestrange, named after, of course, the dynamic, psychotic trio that formed part of the Death Eaters' elite circle. Thought the head of the invasion was not within the Lestrange, Sulu had no doubt that taking care of this ship would ultimately foil the invasion even more than it already had.

The transport once again rattled as turbulence hit them in full force, but the young general merely kept a toothy, excited grin on his face as most of his men grabbed onto something to avoid getting flung off their seats.

"Approaching Action Section. Hold on to something, lads!" came the pilot's voice over the intercom, seconds before the transport rattled violently, having been brushed by the force of a nearby explosion. A few surprised troopers gave a yelp as they were flung off their seats by the intensity of the shake. The others quickly laughed at their plight.

Up at the front, however, their commander laughed not. Instead, his excited eyes seemed to enjoy the view of the cockpit's windows. It was utter chaos around the assault transports. Dragons zoomed around their view ports, chased shortly after by Lambda fighters, courtesy of the Invincible-class ships.

That alone was sufficient grounds to be shocked for Sulu, had he not been briefed earlier as to the Imperial dispositions. After all, as far as he had known, the Invincible-class Airships were barely out of fabrication, so most of their garrison detail and systems were understaffed and inoperative, respectively speaking. So to see Lambda fighters scream past, hot on the tails of their foes, was a real shocker to those who had been under the impression that Harrisburg was, to be blunt, screwed.

Sulu watched excitedly as their target grew bigger as they neared the Death Eater Airship, a random dragon exploding into small, gory pieces as a Lambda fighter scored a direct missile hit. The very same Lambda fighter jetted through the fiery exposition of combustible physics, followed shortly by its wingman. That same scene kept repeating itself over and over as the fourteen transports, in total carrying about 500 men, came ever nearer to their target, the black hull of the large Airship looming sinisterly in the cockpit's window. From his position at the open doorway to the cockpit, Sulu could see the view ports of the ship slowly increasing in size, and could even make out a figure or two rushing past them.

"Get me a status check on the other transports," ordered the general. A nod from the ship's co-pilot was all the response he got (which he didn't take offense over, considering how busy they were trying to not get shot down) before a report was then summarily given to him.

"All thirteen transports are still flying with us, General," reported the co-pilot. "Transport Five got dinged up pretty bad, though, sir. Bloody dragon rammed into it after it got killed by one of our lads."

Sulu nodded at the report. That meant that they had to land quickly, or else they would possibly lose Transport Five. "Time to land?" he asked crisply, smoothly getting into his General persona.

"Five minutes, sir," replied the pilot as he pushed down the yoke, dropping the transport a good meter as a dragon flew right overhead, and exploded into a gory death shortly thereafter.

Sulu nodded once again, and made a motion to be passed the communications transmitter. Once he had it in hand, and the co-pilot had patched it through to the other transports, Sulu began his announcement.

"Alright, maggots!" he declared, jolting any slouching soldier into an erect sitting position. "We've got five minutes before we touch down in the Lestrange's docking bay. Check your gear, and ammo, and make sure that the moron next to you does so too!" he barked into the transmitter. "We are outnumbered, out gunned, and storming a ship whose layout we do not know," he reminded them seriously. "So no monkeying around, got that?"

"Sir, Yes, Sir!" came the resounding shout from his men in his transport. Undoubtedly the men and women in the other transports had shouted the same.

"Good. You know the mission. Get in, bomb the crap out of the Lestrange, get out. No more, no less. Now then, ladies and gentlemen," he finished, as he felt the ship finally touch base in the Lestrange's docking bay, "Lock and load! It's go time!"

With a cheer, the soldiers pumped up their rifles into the air as the boarding ramp hissed open and finally touched ground. Before even that, however, Sulu had already pre-empted the ramp by jumping off and, taking advantage of the Death Eaters' incredulity, shot one cleanly in the forehead.

As the downed Death Eater's comrades barely began to register what had just occurred, several more of the transports touched ground around Sulu's own, just as his men came running down the ramps. Some of the newly arrived transports didn't even wait for their landing gear to hit ground before opening the boarding ramp, allowing many a soldier to jump down and get straight into the action.

Almost seconds after having fired his first shot, Sulu and his men had already managed to capture a section of the hangar bay, and were using the cover of several many boxes to keep themselves out of harm's way as they shot back with as much ferocity as the spells coming their way.

The men and women of the Empire were fighting with the ferocity they had become well known for, their olive-green, ankle-length coats clouding the enemy's judgement as to the location of their limbs. The British copper helmets barely peeked over or from around the crates they hid behind as the highly trained soldiers of Sulu's detachment kept themselves well clear of danger until they were ready to make a killing shot.

Even so, the British slowly advanced, the five hundred troopers slowly going forward by deploying into two-man groups which laid down expert sniper fire as the main body pressed on behind them. Sulu, for his part, had been practically forced back to lead the main body by his worried men. At the forefront, instead, was one of Sulu's handpicked Majors, a fellow South African by the name of Fenyang Volker. An expert shooter, the ebony-skinned man was probably one of the best in the Army, and leading this sort of operation was probably the simplest thing for him to do.

Tapping his partner's shoulder, Volker motioned for him to move forward while he would provide covering fire. Unhesitating, the soldier nodded and, giving himself a second to take a deep breath, hurtled towards the other side of the corridor that led out of the hangar bay, which they had fully captured now. Hiding behind a steel beam, the soldier peeked out from behind the beam and nodded to Volker, giving him the all clear sign.

Volker nodded in turn and, looking back at the other two pairs, nudged his head forward as an indication that they would be moving together now. The four men (and two women) slowly crept forward, their rifles pointed straight forward as they expected more Death Eaters to appear, the ship probably being on high alert status due to the British breach.

It was weird, then, that they hadn't heard any alarms ringing. Of course, that could simply be because the Death Eaters' overconfidence had made them neglect the installation of such devices, and were the British omnipotent, they would have known that this was correct.

As it stood, then, the British vanguard moved forward down the corridor towards what they expected were either the stairs, or the elevators. Since they knew Death Eaters to be quite lazy, they naturally assumed there to be elevators, although it took them ten rooms to find them. In each of these ten rooms, the British vanguard swiftly and efficiently killed all inhabitants. Of course, by the second such room, the rest of the Death Eaters within the other rooms had come out and begun exchanging fire with the British troops. However, their haphazard defence was no match for the superior skill and training of the British troops, and so the resistance collapsed quickly.

Eventually, the six-man group reached the elevator doors and, pressing the button to call the elevator, they got into position to open fire the moment the doors opened, were anyone to be inside. Luckily, no one was, and so Volker turned and, giving a loud, deep shout of "Clear!" turned to his men and gave a congratulatory thumbs-up.

Sulu, for his part, was advancing ominously through the corridor, elegantly sidestepping the bodies on the floor that the vanguard had killed on their way to the elevator. Behind him, 494 soldiers trailed behind, having completely abandoned the hangar bay now that it was secured by the transports' belly-mounted machine guns.

At the elevator doors, Sulu pulled out a map from his backpack. Or more precisely, a diagram. It was the schematics of the Lestrange, with the ship's bridge circled in red. That was their target. Showing it to his lieutenants and sergeants, he pointed out the route they were to take.

"Volker, Guinness, you two take your men to the armoury on level ten and place the explosives," he ordered, then pointing at Volker. "Volker, you take point."

Silent nods from Volker and Guinness, the only Irishman in the group, was all the reply he got.

"Smithson, Vaulk, and Herrman," he then said, pointing to the mentioned men. "You get to the ME Generators and rig them to explode at the same time as the explosives. The rest, with me."

Grunts of assent were given as two of Volker's men pulled the elevator door open, thereby breaking its auto-closing mechanism, revealing the elevator within. One of Volker's female snipers then got a boost as she made her way through the roof grill on the elevator, and once she was on top, fired an escalating cable directly upwards. Once it hooked onto the roof (very, very high up) she then called a warning to the men below as she brought out a small electric shredder.

Loudly, the specialized machine cut through the metal wiring without much effort, and the elevator was sent toppling down the shaft, while the woman hung quite comfortably from her own wire. Nodding to the others, she was passed several more rappelling guns and, shooting up each of them, thereby set up ten wires through which to make one's way up the shaft.

Slowly, the designated groups reached their appropriate floors, and each forced the doors to open, overriding the security locks. At level ten, Volker and Guinness had their men open fire the moment the door was opened, instantly killing off the guards in the elevator antechamber. Quickly moving into the corridor to reach their target, they barely noticed their fellow soldiers keep going up within the shaft.

At level fifteen, the MEG groups also got out, and although they met stiffer resistance, it was nothing a grenade couldn't handle.

For his part, Sulu and his remaining soldiers kept speeding upwards, using the grafts attached to the metallic rappelling coils to mechanically be pulled upwards. Only once they reached the final floor did the dark-skinned general bring up a fist—the classic sign of a halt. Over 70 men were with him, and each had their weapons primed and pointing at the doors as two of their comrades pulled open the elevator doors.

Inside, the on-duty guards were playing cards when they heard the doors creak open and, curious, they abandoned their game to go take a look.

Moments later, Sulu and his team were in the antechamber, the two guards on the floor with bullet holes in their foreheads, courtesy of the silenced, Muggle pistol that Sulu had brought.

"Everyone here?" asked the general as he pulled on the slide of his pistol, releasing the spent cartridge he'd used to kill the second guard. A murmur of assent answered him. "Good. You know the drill. No prisoners. We're not interested in anyone on this ship."

It was an easy job, overall.

The deck crew of the Lestrange were caught completely unprepared as the 70-strong group of British soldiers burst in and opened fire on everything and everyone in sight. Man and woman fell to the ground as the British carried out their orders with diligence and brutality. In the case that a Death Eater was not killed in the initial volley, soldiers paced around the fallen bodies and fired more shots into those of the living. The rest, for their part, were busy carrying out the second part of their mission.

Slowly, the British soldiers redirected the Lestrange towards the rear flank of the Death Eater Armada. As the main ship attempted to hail the Lestrange, Sulu and his men pulled back the thrust and were nearly catapulted off their feet as the ME Generators gave the engines a massive boost. Not massive enough to get them there in ten minutes, but enough that within ten minutes, changing course would be nigh impossible.

Knowing this, the group quickly made their way back to the elevator shaft. Sulu, his communicator in hand, could be heard screaming, "Volker, Guinness, Situation Report! Over!"

A crackle answered him for a split second before Volker's voice came through. "All set, general. Moving back to the hangar. Over."

Sulu had a look of grim satisfaction as he heard those words, and immediately asked the same of the second group, who reported the same thing. All were heading back to the hangar right now for evacuation. Around them, they could feel the ship shudder as the other ships, realizing something was wrong, began to open fire on their former comrades.

The team quickly reached the hangar bay and, grappling onto their grafts, began the quick descent down, intent on getting the hell out of the doomed ship before they went down with it. When the team finally reached the bottom, Sulu's group met up with Volker, Guinness, and the rest. All commanders threw up a salute at the sight of Sulu, who waved it away.

"Lost five while we were setting the charges, sir," reported Volker in his deep voice. "Missed a few Death Eaters when we first cleared the room."

"Three for us, sir," reported Vaulk. "Death Eater threw an Explosion Hex before we got him."

Sulu nodded grimly, noticing the mentioned bodies of his men being carried into the transport ships. "It's a shame, but we all knew the risks," he commented gravely. "Get everyone on board the transports. The other Death Munchers have noticed that something's off and are firing on us. We need to get the hell out of here before it clears the safe zone."

The men nodded and quickly ordered their men onto the ships, which the soldiers gladly obeyed. However, a single hitch in their plans halted the mass evacuation.

Having noticed that something was wrong the moment the rest of the fleet started firing at them, the Death Eaters on board the Lestrange had also moved towards the hangar bay, arriving only as the British soldiers were halfway done with their boarding. Sulu, determined to be one of the last to board, was the first one to notice the enemy troops, and instantly brought up his rifle, opening fire on the mass of Death Eaters desperate to evacuate.

The general's shot instantly alerted the rest of the evacuating British troops, who also brought up their weapons and began firing at the slowly retaliating group of enemies. However, despite being slow on the uptake, the Death Eaters were rapidly giving back as much as they were taking, and Sulu found himself, and his men, slowly backing towards the transports, who couldn't deliver any support fire due to the British soldiers blocking the way.

"Get on the damn transports!" yelled Sulu over the chaotic noise. "We need to get out of here, NOW!"

Slowly abiding by Sulu's orders, the soldiers began backing down from the fight, instead opting to fling grenades into the crowd of enemies, in a move to scatter them.

All in all, seventeen more British servicemen had to die before the transports were able to lay down support fire, and the rest of the group managed to board. In the boarding action itself, six more died. Even the take-off was marred by the transports getting shot at by the Death Eaters, and one transport went spiralling down towards the sea as a glancing shot by an Explosion Hex tore away its aft directional flaps.

Sulu cursed wildly as he watched Transport Six go down, taking with it 35 good men. The dark-skinned general slammed his fist against the bulkhead as the transport eventually exploded into a ball of flames midway down—its fuel line no doubt having ignited.

All in all, while the mission was a success, he had suffered 66 casualties out of 500 men, and he blamed himself for every one. Still, he had to report his mission status to the commander in charge of the battle. So, swallowing his guilt, he moved towards the cockpit, ignoring his silent men who all seemed to share the same grief over the recent loss of 35 of their comrades.

'Sometimes,' Sulu mused as he reached the cockpit. 'Victory doesn't…feel like victory.'

"Yes…mmhmm…I see…very well, General. I shall tell him right away."

Acting Captain McNamara put down the phone-like receiver, sighing. He had just received the mission report from Sulu, and he could tell the General was not at all pleased with the results, even if they had achieved their objective.

Straightening himself and clasping his hands behind his back, the fair-haired Captain turned around on his heel and elegantly walked over to the Commanding Officer of the Imperial Air Fleet, Air Field Marshall Harry Potter, the living legend himself.

"General Sulu's regards, sir. They've successfully redirected the Lestrange and rigged its MEG, Armoury, and bridge," he reported primly.

Harry nodded at the report, pleased. He could tell, however, that this was not the entirety of the report, and would have to question Sulu about it later. For now, however, he had to sever the final thread in the Death Eater's plan.

"What is the status of Harrisburg?" he asked.

"The Dragon Lancers report that all air hostiles are eliminated, and the Texan Dismounted Lancers report that all but one island has been recuperated, sir," answered McNamara promptly.

"Brown?"

"Air Admiral Brown reports that Montreal and Regina have both fallen. They are asking whether to press on towards Ontario."

"No. Have them hold their position for now."

"Very well, sir."

"Marshall?"

"HMIS Unity reports that, in tandem with the Sixth Legion, they have captured New Orleans. Air Admiral Marshall further reports that the local rebel cells also had a major part in the liberation of the city, and others have sprung up throughout the region—even above our estimates."

"What about the European offensive?"

McNamara paused for a moment here as he flipped through his notepad. "Field Generals Cummings and Winters indicate that they have broken through the Paris Line. Our attaché also reports that the Russian troops have won their battle at the Volga."

"Impressive. Wolf?"

"Admiral Wolf is standing by on the enemy's planned escape route, sir. He is merely waiting for the order to be given."

"Malan?"

"The Air Admiral has begun her offensive on Cairo. Initial reports indicate that she is winning, sir, and the Eulogy reports no casualties as of yet."

"Good. Staples?"

"The Admiral has begun his strike against McDonald's forces, sir. He reports that the assassination of McDonald seems to have been carried out flawlessly, and several factions have begun fighting amongst themselves for power."

Harry nodded. "Excellent. O'Connor?"

McNamara bristled slightly at the name of the turncoat pirate. "The…newly reinstated Admiral has reported initiating hostilities against the enemy's southern flank, as planned, sir. As expected, the Death Eaters are in disarray due to the Lestrange's change of direction."

Harry smiled at the distaste shown by McNamara towards O'Connor. Truth be told, he too had felt a slightly odious taste in his mouth when he'd convinced O'Connor to turn on McDonald and rejoin the Empire in return for a commission as Admiral.

"What of the Emperor?"

McNamara looked down at his notepad, which he'd pulled out the moment the Duke had begun his questioning. "His Imperial Highness is in the Palace, sir. He seems to be taking some amusement from the whole situation."

Harry chuckled. "He would," he agreed. "and our Queen?"

"Her Majesty is also in the Palace, sir. Notably much less amused at the situation."

Harry nodded. "Good. Then it's time to give our nation a new hero, and to sever the threads of the Death Eaters. Commence the thirtieth step."

"Yes, Your Grace," acquiesced McNamara with a slight bow.

"Oh, and prepare my transport. I shall be participating in the event."

"Yes, Your Grace."

As it turned out, the Thirtieth Step was a multi-task step in Harry's planning—one that the Death Eater strategist never saw coming until it was too late.

First, the Lestrange rammed the lead ship in the Armada's rear flank, the Purity II, and, powered up by the explosives in the Armoury and ME Generator room, the resulting explosion wiped out the rear flank, and a took with it a decent portion of the rear-most central fleet.

The second part came when, in the wake of the explosion, O'Connor's ships managed to bring down the Riddle, which sunk towards the ocean below with flames and black smoke billowing out of several holes in its hull.

Then came the arrival of the Dragon Lancers, who took over for the tired-out Lambda fighters. Their arrival completely demoralized the Death Eater dragon riders, who quickly tried to escape the wrath of the newcomers, with little success.

As for the four Invincible-class Airships, they began powering up their weapons, their enemies having failed to scored a significant hit for all this while. In a massive barrage, several of the Death Eaters' Airships exploded when the high-powered cannons on the British ships tore through the bridge of the ships.

Within the command ship, the Prophecy, the strategist was screaming in frustration as he watched his fleet, and by extension, his plan, fall apart at the seams. At his feet was the corpse of one of his assistants, who had given him the bad news about the Lestrange and the Purity colliding. He had been completely played throughout this entire battle, and he knew, for a fact now, that the commanding officer could only be Harry Potter. No one else possessed the foresight and skill that man had.

But he swore to have his revenge on the Duke. Determined to save himself from destruction, as a good 4/5 of his fleet was gone, the strategist ran down the hallways, ignoring his fellow comrades who were running in every direction in widespread panic. As he did so, he called up the final trick he had up his sleeve, and ordered it to deploy, but not without him.

He wanted his revenge. And he would get it, if it was the last thing he did. But first, he had to survive this wretched battle.

And yet, even as both the Strategist ran away, and the Imperials celebrated the conclusion of the Thirtieth Step, none realized that much, much more was about to happen, and that Harry had planned for all of it.

The war, he knew was still not over, and even as he walked towards his transport in the Invincible's hangar bay, cheered at by his men, Harry steeled his resolve to end the conflict once and for all. Everything was in place; everything had gone according to plan. Now, only two more things had to happen, and the war would be over.

Two more events until the final, bloody conclusion of his plan.