AN: Shorter chapter, I know. Still, there was no reason to prolong it, I found, so here you go.

Hogwarts Second Gate…

Neville got up from the ground with his ears ringing. Hell, even his vision was a bit blurry, following the aftermath of the world being set on fire. The same could be said about most of his men, who were in varying positions on the ground, what with that last blast having knocked them to the ground properly. Thankfully, the stone walls of the gate had held, as had the barricade, but he wondered about anything beyond them. First things first, however, he had to figure out if there had been any wounded or casualties following the mass bombardment. There probably weren't, but he still had to make sure.

"SITREP!" he yelled as he got to his feet.

At first, no one answered him, but he knew this was mostly due to the fact that the others were also feeling a bit woozy following that amazingly danger-close bombardment. Neville decided to make things easier for the confused troops.

"ROTATION TEAMS, SOUND OFF!" he called out again.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, he got answers back from the men.

"Team One, all green!"

"Team Two, green!"

"Team Three, green!"

"Team Four, green!"

"Team Five, green!"

Neville nodded, pleased with the results. "Teams One, Three, and Five stay down here and shore up gate defences!" he ordered. "Teams Two and Four, on me! We're manning the walls!"

Neville's orders seemed to breathe life back into the small detachment. The NCOs and officers alike began to shout out the appropriate orders as the men regained their balance and got to their feet. Soon enough, the groups had been divided once again into their corresponding teams, while Neville made his way up the stairway, a little anxious in regards to what he might find once he got to the top. After that heavy of a bombardment, he doubted anything on the field would survive. Hell, the sky itself was still tinged with a reddish-orange hue!

Neville was not disappointed when he reached the parapets and took a good, hard look at the situation beyond his gate. The field between the Second Gate and the Imperial lines had been decimated by the bombardment. Even then, the word didn't seem appropriate enough to describe what had happened there. It was as though the ground had been sucked into the earth for several meters, leaving nothing but a gaping hole between the two Imperial detachments, with the only way across being the crater itself. Ironic, considering that the damage had been such that the water from the Black Lake had begun filtering in, which could soon give the Imperial forces another obstacle to deal with if it filled up the crater.

"Fuck me sideways," he heard a soldier breathe next to him.

Neville nodded absently at the profanity. It certainly matched what he was thinking, anyway. The sheer magnitude of the destruction before his eyes was both breathtaking and horrifying. He easily guessed that this was the handiwork of the Airfleet, but even then he had never actually seen them perform such a bombing run ever.

"God, I hope the lads on the other side got out in time," whispered another soldier to Neville's left. "No one can get caught in a blast like that and survive!"

Blanching, Neville realized that the man was correct. Having lost all communications with everyone, they had no idea what had happened to the Imperial Army under Sulu's direction. With all the smoke rising from the craters, it was still impossible to see across the field, and even then, there was no way to contact them. Even if he saw them, he could not readily assume they were Imperials—for all he knew, Sulu had been overrun and the golems had taken the Imperial positions.

That brought things into focus for Neville once more. Taking a deep breath, he held it in for a second before letting it all out, thus calming his nerves. He then turned to the soldier on his left and gave him a grim look.

"We haven't neither the time nor the luxury of worrying for others, soldier," he told the man bluntly. "Not while we're still defending this death trap." He then turned and cupped his mouth with his hands. "ALL TEAMS, MAN POSITIONS! SHORE UP DEFENSIVE MEASURES AT ONCE!"

Neville watched as the teams quickly went to follow his orders, often rushing towards the half-buried drop pods for materials. "I WANT THREE-SIXTY DEGREES DEFENSIVE CAPABILITIES!" he continued. "HMGs ARE TO COVER ALL POSSIBLE AVENUES OF ATTACKS!"

Neville felt good, for the first time since their failed initial attack. Even if the enemy had not been defeated, the lull in the fighting finally allowed him the time to set up proper defences all over the gate. So far, they had to content themselves with using the parapets as cover, with nothing at all covering their rear. There had simply been no time to do so, especially since the rotational structure of their deployment had demanded that the off-duty teams rest while the on-duty team takes over on the parapets. Now, he could take his time and properly make the Second Gate into a difficult position to take.

Well, more so than they had already made it into with their incredible defence.

Not that Neville was about to let his men do all the work, however. Having given the general order to shore up defensive works, he then proceeded to lend a hand by using his magic to pry some of the metal sheets from the drop pods' hulls right off, which, being resistant to all sorts of extreme conditions, would work miracles in protecting their positions. Additionally, the ADSTs also provided sandbags that had been loaded onto the pods for such an eventuality. Those were immediately placed in a semi-circle around the gate crevasse and the stairway, thereby ensuring that any and all methods of access towards their positions were kept firmly within their hands. Furthermore, they placed another heavy defensive line within the gate crevasse, just in case the enemy ever breached the gate barricade. Taking advantage of the narrow passageway inside, the defenders placed three HMGs to cover the interior of the gate, while ten more were placed intermittently along the semi-circle defensive works. Twenty more occupied the spaces between the parapets on top of the gate.

In effect, the defenders had turned the gate into a veritable fortress. However, even then, they didn't feel quite at ease with their preparations, and Neville knew why. No matter how much ammunition they had, their defensive positions would be rendered moot by enemies attacking en masse, once the gate and wall were breached.

Thus, when Neville conferred with his officers and the ADST officers, he laid out a plan to counter this problem.

"Trenches," he concluded, drawing lines on the ground outside the pictures that represented their own defensives. "Or rather, gaps. Not just one, though—several. Intermittently placed so as to break any momentum the enemy may acquire."

"My men brought shovels," interjected Captain Lyles at that point, his ADST helmet also off, given its uselessness at this point. "Standard-issue. They should be in the pods still."

Neville nodded gratefully at the unspoken support from the respected war veteran. "We have to take advantage of this lull in the fighting to make sure our position is as least vulnerable as possible," he reiterated to the others in his little cadre of officers. "We're low on manpower, and if it wasn't for our brothers and sisters in the ADST Company, we'd have likely run out of ammunition by now as well. Any questions?"

There were a few mumbled negations and much head shaking, which suited Neville just fine. It meant the men would get to work sooner, and could only be good news for him and the survival of his defenders. One by one, they all left to order their people to excavate the trenches, while Captain Lyles stayed behind, fixing Neville a stern stare.

Eventually, Neville broke the silence first. "Something on your mind, Captain?"

Lyles' stare did not soften. "I was wondering why it wasn't possible to just evac our troops via air support. I reckon the Airfleet's pretty much established they're the big boys in the air by now after that hell of a demonstration in superior firepower, so what's keeping us here?" he asked.

"The Field Marshall wants us to keep this post open for the Imperial Army and General Sulu," Neville reminded him.

Lyles scoffed. "Bollocks," he retorted bluntly. "Pardon the candid speech, sir, but if the Field Marshall wanted this way open for the Army, he could have just blasted it out of existence the moment he let loose the fire and brimstone on the sorry saps on the other side."

Neville thought that one over. It actually rang quite true. Why were they here?

"You want my take on this?" asked Lyles then. Without much thought, Neville nodded. He was personally drawing a blank.

Lyles stretched his shoulders a bit before talking. "Way I see it, there are only two places in this entire, godforsaken valley that are defensible in any way," he told his superior. "Those are the two gates. Problem is, one's buried underneath the combined refuse of two mountains. That leaves ours up as the only really defensible position on the battlefield. Which makes me think that the present state of affairs is not what our illustrious Field Marshall had in mind."

"Riddle pulled a fast one, you mean," interjected Neville.

Lyles nodded. "Now, I'm no strategist, so I've got not a damn clue what we're supposed to be defending against, but given the pre-burying layout of our forces, I'm fairly certain that the Duke wanted us to occupy and hold both gates as the front lines of our assault against Hogwarts."

"Provide stable defensive structures, in case we have to fall back, you mean," Neville clarified curiously. Lyles nodded.

"Right. In case anything between the two gates or between the castle and the Second Gate went wrong. What I'm seeing now, however, is that we didn't count on Riddle having a fallback plan in case the First Gate went out of service," he noted, lighting up a cigarette. "Meaning that as a result, General Sulu is currently without a heavily defended front line structure, and we're woefully undermanned for the defence of our own such structure."

Neville narrowed his eyes. "What are you getting at, Captain?" he asked cautiously. "That we're undermanned and probably outgunned?"

Lyles exhaled some smoke and grinned. "Yeah, but that's not a problem—it's a challenge," he stated. "Nah, what I'm getting at is that whatever hole you're planning to dig, dig it deep and wide. 'Cause, if my gut's anywhere near right, we're going to need the space for all the enemy soldiers that'll come our way."

EWEWEWEWEWEW

Imperial Army Front Lines, Two Hours later…

"Mother of Mercy…" whispered Edward Cain as he slowly pulled off his helmet and walked forward, his rifle dangling limply from his hand as he observed the aftermath of the Airfleet's show of ruthless bombardment.

Craters pecked the ground all the way towards the Second Gate, with the middle of the grounds being so particularly indented that there was a real chance that it would eventually flood due to the Lake. Even the air had gone arid, to the point that the soft wind that blew around the bombed area felt prickly and dead.

Edward was, by his own admission, a green trooper. This was his first deployment ever, as it was for the rest of the 12th Legion. Even so, even knowing that he was probably unready for the realities of war, he had never expected to see this; this hellish, grotesque picture of warfare.

There was simply nothing there.

"Christ, Sarge…" he heard one of his platoon-men swear. "Are you seeing this? It's like looking at the surface of the moon…with the occasional body part. Ew."

That was the other thing. The hellfire of the bombing had done its job thoroughly in eliminating the enemy troops, but they had not consumed them entirely. He could still see the occasional remnants of what were once golems lying about. Considering their surprising similarity to the human anatomical structure, that made the body parts they found all the more disgusting.

"Jeez…flyboys really tore this place up…"

"Less talking, Henderson," snapped Edward as he strapped his helmet back on. "AT masks on. Don't want to breath anything that'll kill us while we recon," he then ordered, pulling out a transparent plastic mask from his kit and placing it firmly on his face, where he felt the device suction itself firmly onto him. Instantly, air seemed to be pumping into the tubeless device—the plastic-like membrane actually filtering the air around him as he walked about.

"What are we looking for, sir?" asked one of the men as they followed him forward, the man's voice slightly muffled by the mask.

"The general wants us to make sure that the way between us and the Second Gate is clear. Don't want to rush into an ambush right off the bat, do we?" he asked rhetorically. "Besides, anything to get away from the blistering heat at the camp and the fretting about. At least here, we're doing some good."

The troop remained silent thereafter, slowly trudging behind their Acting Commanding Officer obediently. The march through the earth cloud that the bombing had left behind was tricky; more than once, one of their number would either slip into a crater or stumble about, the cloud was so thick. Hell, they had even pulled down visors to protect their eyes from the tiny earth particles.

"Anything alive in this thing, hats off to them," Edward heard one of his men—Henderson—mutter.

"I hear that," answered another.

"Anyone see anything relevant?" Edward asked then, cutting into the chatter.

Negatives came back from the other soldiers, all of which seemed to be more focused on the magnitude of the destruction than on surveying the remains of the golem army. Again, to be fair, they were all new to the army life.

Edward pointed up his rifle as he used his left hand to tap the communicator in his ear. "HQ, HQ; this is Second Platoon Sergeant Edward Cain, Twelfth Legion. Reporting zero contacts. I say again, zero contacts on bombing fields," he reported in. "Interrogative: what should we do now?"

He didn't have to wait long for an answer to come. "Sergeant Cain, this is General Sulu," he heard the transmitter relay. "You are to proceed towards the Second Gate and then send up a green flare once you're there to convey an All-Safe guarantee. If you encounter enemy resistance, send up a red flare and fall back. Do you copy, Sergeant Cain?"

The transmission was a little choppy—undoubtedly both from the dense dust cloud and their closing proximity to the castle proper, but Edward had received the orders quite clearly. "Wilco, HQ. We are oscar mike."

Lowering his left hand back to his rifle, he lifted the weapon back up in ready-position as he turned to face his men. "Troopers! On me! We're headed to the Second Gate!" he barked. Lifting his weapon to eye level and scanning his surroundings down the sights, he then proceeded to wait for none of his men to answer and led the way, his movements perfectly as he had practiced back in training camp.

The platoon was quick to follow, and as a group, they attempted to navigate the dust cloud as best they could, but even their compasses were going haywire from the artillery discharges, combined with the castle's overpowering magical presence. As a result, most of their movement was based mainly on trusting Edward that he knew where he was going, which he had to admit to himself that he was quickly doubting that, considering how much they had marched with no end in sight.

"Damnit!" cursed Edward under his breath. "Where the hell is that gate?"

A yelp caught his attention. "What was what?!" he barked accusingly at his men.

"Wilson fell in a crater, sir!"

Edward glowered at the unseen voice. The dust cloud seemed to be getting thicker and thicker with every step they took. "Get him out of there, then, and keep moving! We've got to send up that flare!"

"What flare?" he heard one of his men mumble, but Edward paid it no heed. They weren't here to question him, merely to follow him.

Another yelp surprised him, and he turned around with a vicious glare on his face. "Who keeps dropping into craters?!" he shouted. "WILSON?!"

"Sir, that wasn't Wilson!" replied one of the men. "We haven't heard from him since he fell into that crater!"

Edward goggled at that. "How is that possible? I said to get him out!" He looked around, vainly trying to get a glimpse of the owners of the replies. He couldn't see more than a foot ahead of himself through the dense dust cloud.

"Don't know what to tell you, sir. We—ARGH!" the voice suddenly yelled out in pain.

"What the hell was that?!" shouted one of the other soldiers, panicked. "What was—JESUS CHRIST!"

Edward heard a few shots ring out before the man who'd been panicking suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream. That did it for Edward.

"CONTACT!" he yelled, lifting up his rifle and wildly aiming all around him. "Seek each other out and protect yourselves!"

More screaming and shots rang out. The only difference now was that Edward could hear the sound of feral snarling or growling just before each yell. What the hell was going on here?

Edward was suddenly reminded of his mission. He had to let the others know. Quickly reaching for his side-pouch, he retrieved the flare and quickly rammed the long launching stick into the barrel of his rifle. Then, pointing his gun upwards, he pressed back on the trigger.

Only to be rammed in the middle by some unseen force, knocking the rifle out of his hands just before the trigger had launched the flare. Now sprawled on the ground, Edward could still see nothing around him except for his rifle. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, he quickly turned onto his stomach and made for the rifle, slowly getting up in the process.

Unfortunately, he was yet again prevented from completing his desired task by being thrown down to the ground, this time accompanied by the amazingly painful feeling of someone clawing his back violently.

"FUCK!" he yelled, his voice merely adding to the myriad of similar screams all around him. Instinctively, he knew that his men were dying, and that he would probably die as well, but Edward had one last thing to do if that was to be his fate this day.

Still ignoring the unseen creature that was tormenting him, he began to slowly move towards the rifle, until it was within reach. Then, just as he was clawing forward to get it, he felt something heavy press down on his back, right where his injury was. Hissing in pain, he felt his head hit dirt as the force pressed down on him firmly. On top of him, he could smell decay, which told him this was most assuredly a very, very bad person or thing he was dealing with.

"Human…" growled something on top of him before giving a very animalistic scoff. "…should have known…always summoned for the weak speciessss…"

Edward felt a great deal of outrage a the casual dismissal of his race, but wisely kept silent, in case the thing on top of him said anything else that might give him a chance to get out of this alive.

The beat growled again, this time somewhat resignedly. "…No matterrr…food is food…" it seemed to conclude before lowering its…head(?) down to Edward's ear. "Sssso, human…any last wordsssss?"

Edward sneered, his hand slowly reaching down towards his pistol holster, which the creature didn't seem to notice, thankfully. "Yeah, I got something to say," he said defiantly.

The creature made a weird noise that Edward assumed was a chuckle. "Oh…?"

"Yeah." Edward felt his hand touch the holster and softly snapped it loose, allowing him to reach the pistol grip. At that moment, he burst into action, suddenly pushing himself to the side. The action was so instantaneous that it seemed the creature had been taken completely by surprise, as it fell sideways with him as a result of his manoeuvre. His back pained him a great deal, but Edward fought through the pain as he rolled onto his back and sat up in one fluid motion, his pistol now firmly in both hands as he aimed it at the recuperating creature.

It was terrifying. Just looking at it made every instinct in Edward's body scream in alarm, and he had to fight the urge to run right there and then. It had the same body of a tiger, but its head was different. It was more canine-shaped, but with an almost jagged end. Two slits underneath the obsidian eyes that seemed to emit smoke replaced what Edward assumed was the normal placement of the nose. Jagged protrusions all over its back added to its horrifying look, and even its tail had a sharpened end.

Still, Edward would not be deterred. He had a mission to accomplish, and green though he was, he was not a coward.

"How about: fuck you!" he yelled, pulling the trigger three times in rapid succession, successfully hitting the creature in the head twice as the third shot instead embedded itself in its shoulder.

Just prior to dying, the creature gave off a dying whine as the shots hit flesh, but otherwise simply fell to its wounded side, the hurt shoulder giving out almost immediately upon death.

Edward, for his part, was fighting an oncoming mental breakdown as he realized just what had happened and how close he'd come to dying at the hands of this…creature. Quickly, he went for his earpiece, only to find out that the fall had broken it—also causing several nasty cuts all over his ear. Cursing, Edward turned quickly towards where his rifle was and snatched it off the ground, flare missile still stuck at its head, and ran off in a random direction, hoping that it was the right way to the gate.

Behind him, he could hear growling and snarling, and Edward suddenly understood that more of the same creature had somehow made it onto this battlefield. Well, to hell with them. Picking up the pace and simultaneously ignoring the pain on his back, he sprinted forward, even as he heard raging howls behind him—undoubtedly as a result of the other creatures finding their dead companion.

Pushing down his fear, Edward kept his mind focused on getting the hell out of there. If he found no other way, however, he was ready to fire up the flare, his finger already on the trigger. Several times, he almost tripped as he ran, mostly due to the scattered craters that pockmarked the area. Even worse, the dust cloud had not abated at all, severely impairing his vision.

"Fuck!" he swore, again almost tumbling to the ground due to a crater. Despite stumbling, however, he never once slowed his pace, continuing his sprint even as he heard the growling and snarling behind him. They were hunting him, and from the sound of things, they were getting closer.

Eventually, however, it happened. He managed to run straight into one of the bigger craters in the valley and tumbled down to the very bottom, his finger thankfully off the trigger, lest he fire the flare down into the ground. Even so, however, Edward was not about to stop. He couldn't. Stopping meant death.

Thus, quickly rolling onto his feet, he gritted hit teeth and sprang right back into a sprint, desperately climbing up the slope of the crater as best he could. In doing so, he realized something. The slope wasn't ending, despite the fact that he was pretty sure he'd climbed about as much as he'd fallen. Hope hit him then. The Second Gate was mid-way up such a slope! Redoubling his efforts, he kept up his pace, his rifle moving back and forth as his arms pumped up and down, matching his continuous legwork.

Figuring this was as best a time as possible to make himself known, in case the Second Gate defenders were wiling to shoot anything that moved first before asking questions, Edward started shouting at the top of his lungs, hoping they'd be close enough to listen and help him, and that the creatures were as confused by him due to the dust cloud that they would be far back enough to let him get to the gate first before they realized where he was.

"HEY! ANYONE!" he screamed, still running. "SERGEANT EDWARD CAIN! TWELFTH LEGION SECOND PLATOON! SOMEONE HELP ME!"

Howls erupted somewhere behind him, and Edward thanked his lucky stars that the creatures seemed far back enough that it would take them at least a few minutes to reach him. That was more than enough, if he was close to the gate. Continuing his yells as he moved forward, he was finally gratified when someone answered.

"Who goes there?!" he heard someone call back. "Stop and identify yourself!"

Edward rolled his eyes. Figures some by-the-book moron would be on sentry duty. He'd just called out his names multiple times, for god's sake! "EDWARD CAIN, YOU SOD! SERGEANT, SECOND PLATOON, TWELFTH LEGION!" he yelled right back. "I AM BEING PURSUED BY ENEMY CONTACTS! OPEN THE MOTHERFUCKING GATE!"

He knew he was getting closer the moment he realized he could hear footsteps hitting stone, and this was confirmed mere seconds later as, without any gradual dampening, he suddenly burst out of the dust cloud and into the daylight, the gate no more than a few meters ahead of him. Atop the gate, he could see several HMG positions aimed right at him and the cloud behind him, and the soldiers manning them seemed surprised to see him.

"BEHIND ME!" he yelled at them. "ENEMY CONTACTS IN PURSUIT!"

In front of him, to his despair, he could see the gate still closed. Were they going to leave him out here to die? No Imperial soldier worth the term would ever leave a fellow soldier to die! That was the rule! The code!

He reached the doors and banged on them loudly several times. "OPEN UP! PLEASE!" he begged/yelled. "THEY KILLED OFF MY PLATOON! HELP ME!"

Above him, he could hear the sound of people moving, and as he looked up, he could see a mousy brown-haired person looking down at him. The man was wearing a red coat with General's insignia on it.

Brigadier-General Neville Longbottom.

Taking a step back, Edward waved his arms wildly. "HEY! DOWN HERE!" he kept yelling. "HELP ME, SIR! I'M BEING CHASED BY ENEMY CONTACTS! THEY'RE—"

Just then, he heard someone above him shout, "Holy fuck!" and turned to see what the big problem was. Sure enough, at least twenty of those creatures he had faced had hurtled out of the cloud, headed straight for him, their jaws set as they snarled viciously at him.

"ACCIO!" he heard someone shout above him then, and just as the closest creature was about to pounce on him, Edward felt his rifle being pulled upwards and thus, himself as well, seeing as how his grip on it was unwavering. Looking up, he saw the Brigadier holding a stick—that he only unconsciously realized was a wand—with a steely, determined gaze on his face, as the other soldiers nearby quickly grabbed onto him as he neared the parapets. Below, the creature was yelping in pain as it hit the steel gate, but quickly recovered and howled vengefully.

Helped over the parapets, Edward quickly realized several things: he was out of breath, his throat hurt like hell, his back was killing him, and his legs had effectively stopped working. Still, he had enough strength to relay one important factoid.

"Mission…" he gasped out, his throat burning up with every syllable. "…flare!"

The Brigadier looked at him compassionately as he nodded, glancing briefly at the rifle. "I understand. Get some rest, soldier. You did good."

Edward then, knowing his mission was complete, passed out.

For his part, Neville knew that everything was just beginning. Quickly looking to the ADST corporal on whom he'd been relying to relay his orders, he nodded at her. "All troops to their positions," he told her grimly. "Fire on sight."

The woman nodded just as grimly. "Yes, sir."

As the woman turned to yell out the orders, Neville bent down and grabbed the discarded rifle, noticing the flare missile still plugged into the barrel. Such an antiquated way, but adequate enough, he supposed. Raising the rifle with one hand so that it would point diagonally upwards, he aimed the flare so that it would explode over the middle of the battlefield, making sure that Sulu would see it.

With a sigh, he pressed the trigger, and watched as the missile flew away, briefly in flight before exploding into numerous red signal lights. All around him, the sound of rifle fire and machine guns opening up filled his ears. Their rest was over. Round 2 had begun. Damn. They hadn't even had time to dig the trenches in front of the gate.

Neville sighed heavily as he brought out his pistol and checked its ammo. When he was satisfied, he pulled back the slider and let it click. "Here we go again."

Imperial Lines…

"There it is," observed Sulu, watching through his binoculars. He was currently fixing his gaze on the flying flare, moments before it exploded into numerous persistent red fires. "Damn it! It's red."

"Orders, sir?" asked an aide.

Sulu kept his watch for a second, making sure he wasn't just seeing things, before lowering the binoculars and glaring at the man. "What do you think? All troops to prepare for defensive fire. I want the Basilisk gun to be ready to fire on order. Also, relay status to Admiral Staples. Tell him to have his Basilisk warships blast the area with the dust cloud. That's probably where the enemy is," he ordered all in one long breath. He raised his binoculars again. "Damn it…what the hell did Cain find?" he muttered angrily.

"Sir, that dust cloud is being unnaturally persistent," one of the Majors on his staff observed. "We can't even tell what the hell is going on at the Second Gate!"

Sulu glared at him. "I can see that, Major," he said icily. "Hell, the flare probably came from the Second Gate. Hopefully, Sergeant Cain and his men are alright."

"Sir!" the aide he'd ordered about suddenly came up. "Admiral Staples says that the dust cloud seems to be interfering with the Basilisks' targeting systems. They are unable to use the electronic interface, but will attempt to provide some measure of covering fire using the analogue targeting systems."

Sulu gritted his teeth. Everything seemed to be going wrong. "We'll have to do without, then. Are the front lines ready?" he asked the aide, who nodded.

"All HMG positions on the front have been manned, sir," reported the aide. "Forty five HMGs are ready to fire on sight, and we've got Third and Fourth Companies of the Second Legion manning the front trenches as well. All other defensive positions have also been assumed, and ready to provide covering fire should the front line be overrun."

Sulu nodded. At least that was some good news. "I want to know the moment we've got a visual on the enemy, do you understand me?" he told the aide.

"Yes, sir!"

Sulu nodded at the man and returned his gaze to his officer staff. Nudging his head towards the makeshift table where the map of the valley was laid out, he led the group of higher-ranking officers to it and assumed a position at the widest section of the table, leaning over the table with his hands on either side of it.

"Gentlemen," he began, seeing them take out their electronic notepads. "The enemy is upon us again. They will likely not change their tactics in assaulting our positions, mostly because they can't," he informed them. Moving his left hand to the map, he pointed out where the dust cloud was. "Observe the enemy position vis-à-vis our own. It is no different from the situation previous to the aerial bombardment. Our front lines must still be approached from the front if the enemy wishes to engage us at all. To either of our flanks, we possess the mountain, making such manoeuvres impossible."

"So we should continue our current defensive strategy, sir?" asked one of the more junior Majors. Sulu nodded.

"Indeed, Major, with one difference," he stated. They all looked eager to hear what he had to say. "I want the three furthest most lines to carry out personnel rotations in the event that the fighting lasts more than two hours. Furthermore, I want mortars placed here," he pointed, "here," again, "here, here, and here."

All of the officers nodded as they wrote down the changes. "These emplacements will serve to provide covering fire for the front lines, since we cannot count on ready support fire from the Navy. The moment the enemy comes into view, they are to commence firing and only ever stop if they run out of ammunition."

"As you wish, General," agreed the most senior staff member, a Colonel who looked like he'd seen better days, judging from the three, parallel scars that streaked across his left cheek.

Sulu looked at them all and nodded once, a steely look on his face. "We're close, gentlemen. So close," he reminded them. "The Airfleet's given us a chance to regroup and take down the rest of Riddle's blasted army, and we're not going to waste it. So, every man and woman to their station, and perform to the utmost of your ability," he instructed. "Remember, the Empire expects all of you to do your duty. Our people are counting on you."

It wasn't, by far, anywhere near as pompous and grandiose as one of the Duke's speeches, but it had its effect. The staff officers, usually men and women who never had to fear about going to the front lines, suddenly seemed to stand up straighter, determined looks on their previously anxious faces.

Sulu gave himself an inner smile as he watched them all react to his speech. "Dismissed," he ordered, and watched as they all saluted him and quickly left the area, no doubt headed for their own military units. He wasn't alone for long, however, as his personal aide came up to him with an electronic tablet in hand which he offered his boss.

"Inventory of remaining ammunitions and supplies, sir," explained the aide as he handed over the tablet.

Sulu nodded gratefully and went over the figures. "The Basilisk cannon?" he asked as he read.

"Waiting on your orders, sir," responded the aide as he watched his boss' face for any indication of anger or displeasure at the relayed data.

Sulu nodded, thankful for that bit of news, at least. According to the data on the tablet, however, the ammunition stores were dwindling, since most of it was stuck on the other side of the valley entrance or beneath the rubble in the middle. Defending their position had cost them a lot of men and ammunition, neither of which he could throw around inconsequentially.

"Distribute as much ammunition as we can to the front lines without critically impeding the other trenches' defensive capabilities," he ordered. "Make sure the HMG ammunition is portable; we don't want any left behind because it couldn't be carried."

"Yes, sir."

EWEWEWEWEWEWEW

Imperial Front Lines…

Allan Moore, Captain of the Third Company, Second Legion, was not afraid.

Not like the others were, anyway.

They didn't show it, but Allan could practically smell it. It was in the way they joked around—likely the result of attempts at releasing stress via humour—the way they moved, the way they held their guns.

As a Second Legion man, Allan had seen enough combat in his lifetime to make the newer Legions seem like children playing pretend-war. Furthermore, it had ingrained into him a sense of disdain for the newer troops, who acted like merely being in the Imperial Army granted them special privileges. Allan set the more boisterous of those straight, however, and those he…reprimanded were too afraid to report him.

By contrast, the Second Legion's detachments were all manning their positions and quietly keeping a lookout for the enemy forces, which they knew were out there, hidden in the unnatural dust cloud. They didn't need Imperial Intelligence to tell them that, either. All of them had seen enough magical tricks in their lives that they could recognize one almost effortlessly.

His depleted Company, for its part, was charged with holding the centre, distinguished as they were in leading the First Gate assault. Personally, Allan saw this as an opportunity to repent for the Company's mistake of letting one bomb through, nearly wiping out the Imperial Army in the process, had it not been for the timely intervention of the Duchess.

Hell, he owed the woman more than that. He owed the woman his life, and the lives of three other of his men, all of whom would have been as dead as the other two who lost their lives battling Riddle's female lieutenant.

"This is it, lads," he spoke loudly as he patrolled down the trench, his rifle in hand. "We, who led the Army into this death trap, what shall we do?"

"Defend our station!" shouted his men in almost perfect unison. "To the last if need be!"

"And how shall we do such a thing?" he continued, keeping an eye on the dust cloud ahead of the lines.

"With vengeful rage we fire!" replied the soldiers. "With honour we will die!"

"And for who do we fight?"

"For hearth and home!" he heard them call back. "For Empire and Order!"

Allan stopped his patrol, walking to his chosen position near an HMG position, which was being manned by a team of two soldiers—one to fire, the other to load. The two gave him a grim nod, which he returned fully. "Damn straight we do!" he yelled. He then saw the dust cloud shift slightly as something moved to breach its cover.

"MEN!" he roared, his rifle already moving up to eye level. "DEFEND YOURSELVES!"

"FOR THE EMPIRE!"

HMIS Invincible…

"Sir, we're receiving ground reports of enemy contacts assaulting both the Second Gate and the Imperial lines under General Sulu," reported a crewman to Admiral Wolf, who stared at the man, somewhat perplexed.

"After that barrage?" he asked incredulously. "Impossible! Get confirmation from General Sulu at once!" he barked.

From his vantage point at his chair, Harry watched the proceedings with interest. "So…already pulling out the big guns, are we?" he asked rhetorically as he watched the holographic display of the battlefield. He looked up to see Wolf approaching him.

"Sir, it's been confirmed. Strange beasts are assaulting the front lines, but we've got confirmation that all Imperial positions seem to be holding," reported Wolf.

Harry steepled his hands, his face the very picture of hard thought. "It's a bit earlier than I expected, but this is not wholly surprising," he said after a moment of contemplation.

"Sir?"

Harry tapped a few keys on his chair arm before motioning towards the holographic display. A holographic picture of a monstrous, predatory beast had been projected for all to see. "These are not unknown beasts, Admiral," he explained. "What the ground forces are dealing with are none other than the Venati; the Hunters."

Wolf stared at Harry incredulously. "Venati? As in, those creatures that you supposedly fought in India?" he asked, shocked. "Everyone thought they were a myth!"

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. "Are you suggesting I lied about it?" he asked somewhat humorously. "Because I assure you, I have the scars to prove that I fought and survived one."

Wolf seemed to realize his mistake and quickly apologized. "Sorry, Your Grace, it's just…"

"Too unbelievable?" he asked knowingly. "That was what I thought, even after facing one. I don't fault you for believing the same."

Wolf didn't seem reassured, however. "Sir, if the story is true, then, didn't the Imperial detachment that fought them in India get almost completely wiped out?" he asked nervously.

Harry nodded. "Indeed we were, Admiral," he confirmed, though he quickly raised a hand to stifle the Admiral's protests. "However, General Sulu has an advantage that we did not have in India," he quickly added. "Technology. At the time, we were forced to wait several seconds between shots, whereas the Imperial Army is dug in, well-armed, and technologically capable to mow down swathes of the enemy before they are able to even come near our lines."

"And if they do?" pressed Wolf.

Harry's expression turned grim. "Facing a Venati face to face is easily one of the most terrifying things one can experience, Admiral," he told the man seriously. "Everything about its physiology is designed to instil fear into their prey. Even if one were capable of throwing off more horrendous things than its aspect, however, the Venati counters this by releasing a chemical that stimulates a person's fears. It is, easily, the most dangerous predator alive."

"Shouldn't we bombard the area again, then?" asked Wolf, sweeping his hand towards the projection. "Eliminate the beasts with one fell swoop, just like we did with the golems?!"

Harry shook his head. "You fail to understand something, Admiral," he explained. "Venati are not from our world—or, rather more accurately, our particular plane of existence. They are, quite literally, demon-beasts, summoned via magical ritual. Even if we wiped out the Venati horde on the ground—and trust me, they will become a horde if we do not take steps to thwart their growth—it would make no discernable impact on their military threat, because as long as the portal that brings them to our plane is sealed, they will keep coming."

"Can't we just blast the thing out of existence?"

Harry shook his head. "Were it so simple," he rued. "No. The only way to seal such a portal is to kill the summoner, or at the very least make him seal it—which is never going to happen, if Riddle is the summoner."

Wolf took a triumphant step forward, his right hand held up in a shaking fist. "So we bomb Hogwarts Castle out of existence!" he declared triumphantly.

Again, Harry shook his head. "If that were a viable possibility, don't you think we would have done so earlier?" he asked, tapping into the chair's keyboard once again. This time, a holographic image of the castle came up, complete with sensory readings. "Observe, Admiral. Though the wards harmful to our ships are gone, as are the barriers preventing us from launching air strikes, the castle itself retains point-blank wards that will essentially negate the effects of anything we throw at it," he explained, observing the readings as he spoke. "A last-ditch defence measure, if you will."

Wolf growled with impatience. "There has to be a way to kill that bastard Riddle!" he protested.

Harry nodded. "There is. We draw him out."

"How?!"

"Three steps, Admiral," he explained. "The first has already been taken, the second is ready to be undertaken at my say-so, and the third will require a great deal of effort from all of us, despite whatever measures I may have put in place to ensure our victory here."

Admiral Wolf looked apologetic. "I apologize, sir, but I still don't quite understand," he admitted. "If the enemy on the ground is as terrifying as you make them out to be, then what hope do we have of defeating them?"

Harry smiled as he brought up a hand and tapped his temple with a finger. "With reason, Admiral," he replied. "The terrifying effect of the Venati is something that takes advantage of our propensity to fear. More effectively, however, their efficiency in killing takes the shape of a particular ability that serves to sow chaos within our ranks."

"Which is?"

"Shape-shifting," came Harry's unexpected response. Wolf reeled back from the revelation.

"You mean to tell me that there could be Venati hidden away in our forces?" he hissed out furiously. "Why wasn't the brass told?!"

Harry fixed Wolf with an incredulous stare. "Admiral, if the Venati happened to replace one of our top officers, why on earth would I consider letting them know that I knew that they were masquerading as Imperial soldiers?" he asked, causing Wolf to become red-faced at the obvious logic.

"But you do know if there are infiltrators, yes?" he asked, getting over his embarrassment. He was torn between relief and apprehension when Harry nodded.

"Indeed I do, Admiral," Harry confirmed. "In fact, not only do I know whether or not there are infiltrators, but also who these infiltrators are," he added, again tapping on some keys.

Wolf looked at him strangely. "If we always knew who they were and where they were, then why not simply eliminate them from the outset?" he asked curiously.

Harry smiled. "I had to give Riddle the illusion that everything was going according to his plan," he explained, still typing. "The best strategy ever, Admiral, is to let your enemy see your next move, and the move after that; or, rather, for them to see the moves they think you're likely to take."

Just then, a clicking noise told Wolf that Harry had opened a comm. channel. Giving him a smile, Harry focused on the holographic projection of Hogwarts Castle as he then spoke. "This is Air Field Marshall Potter," he announced. "I am enacting contingency plan thirteen. I say again, Contingency Plan Thirteen is enacted."

"Contingency plan thirteen, Your Grace?" asked Wolf curiously.

Harry chuckled. "The second step, Admiral."