Disclaimer: I Don't own Harry Potter or Naruto. And I'm putting this here because it's become reflexive. I'm not sure how somebody who goes to FFN can justify not being aware of that fact if it's not their first visit.
A/N:
Don't do drugs, alcohol or tobacco. They suck you into a bottomless pit of despair. I kid you not.
Has anybody done a Fawkes is actually Nicolas Flamel's animagus form fic?
This is actually a result of me overdoing my WW2 nonfiction reading. Nothing major to do with the fic, but put me in a "mood".
Ever heard of Simo Häyhä? They called him the White Death. This guy was basically the Minato Namikaze of his time.
A man, whose very presence caused the Russians to slow down their invasion.
A sniper, who killed enough men to put him straight in the record books.
And he did it all without even a sniper scope.
Now THAT is badass.
Ps. Did I mention he took an exploding bullet to the head and then lived on to be 97?
XXX
Harry relaxed into his seat with a great amount of relief. It had been barely five minutes since leaving Hogsmeade and he was relaxing into his seat.
The year was over. He had survived. He would have celebrated if he didn't just feel so bloody tired. For all that he could claim, his year was best described as monotonous. Magical knowledge was an excellent motivation to go back, but most of the teachers left much to be desired. And as a whole, he found himself unusually exhausted. The constant vigilance against an unseen and for now nonexistent foe, it wore on him. He needed to rest. Yes, a little rest, a moment without copies running around, without the stress of running into incomprehensible and hostile beings, is that too much to ask?
Hermione laid the sleeping boys head on her lap, absently stroking his hair. Her other hand was twisted into a black appendage that was whipping at a similar black appendage her "partner", Aurora "wielded". Life went on.
XXX
Kings cross station was as crowded and annoying as ever. Harry idly mused that it would be extremely easy to assassinate somebody in this swirling mass of humanity, where seemingly everyone came and without the protection of wards and the like. Sure, it would be difficult to kill somebody anonymously with bright and shiny spell fire, but jabbing a hypodermic needle full of one of the various venoms and poisons of the magical world into somebody would be ridiculously easy. Then again, hypodermic needles were a bit too muggle for most. They had no trouble with curses that sliced you in half, but needles were too much.
Hermione had not been there when he had woken up and he was unsure as to whether he was happy or sad about that fact. Sure he felt sure that she would drag him into her crazy schemes if he couldn't talk her out of them, but he was also a little grateful for the company. Solitude was not his natural state of existence. And he was in some way ecstatic that there were still people (?) who consciously sought him out even with his public persona being as unapproachable as it was.
He kept a lookout and eventually spotted his uncle, now wearing a clerical collar in his semi formal outfit. Harry noticed that the man was now much slimmer and looked more like a body builder and less like a useless slob. Sure, he had been reducing his weight before, and he had seen the man at Christmas, but he really hadn't paid attention then, seeing as Vernon was still slightly skittish around his nephew. But now, his uncle looked like a new man. With short hair, a cropped moustache and a body that looked less like a barrel and more like an athlete, Vernon Dursley was a very much changed man. His health and fitness was never less in doubt. And the semi casual clothes he wore were actually drawing favorable attention that Harry was careful to not perceive.
"Harry! Ready to go home?"
Harry nodded with an odd expression on his face.
"Yes uncle. Let's be off then shall we?"
XXX
"Hermione!"
The uniformed bushy haired girl pouted. The man who came up swept her up and twirled her around. She smiled.
"I'm happy your back! Let's go get some ice cream!"
XXX
There was a distinct air of peace around Number four. It was relaxing actually. Once Vernon had turned a new leaf, it seemed that the house itself was filled with joy. Perhaps it was his sensitivity to the energies of the house, but it had never been more welcoming as it had been at that moment when he stepped into the house.
Dudley had returned from Smeltings. He also seemed to be retaining his shape and did not look like at all barrel shaped. He quietly sat in front of the television, watching with a small smile as his cousin came home. He nodded once and returned to his program, a classical movie of some sort, which Harry did not bother to inquire about. Petunia walked out of the kitchen and smiled at him, after kissing her husband in an affectionate embrace. She slowly led him to the dining table, where a small chocolate cake was laid out with a "Welcome Home" written in white icing. Even without his presence, the Dursleys had truly changed for the better. He dug in.
XXX
Despite the fact that it was the summer holidays, Harry was not prepared to let go and relax. He slept two full days without waking up, his only concession to the "vacation".
Harry first "act" was to order a set of specific needles in bulk. The long stainless steel needles were his substitute for senbon, an otherwise impossible to procure weapon. He didn't bother with kunai or shuriken; instead he sent a clone to pick up his swords, ordered all too long ago. He got them the next day. Next, he went directly into London. He had a scroll full of money that he could use and he wanted to use it gainfully. Six million pounds was a fortune. And he aimed to use it to make more money.
His trip to Gringotts was not eventful. Goblins were ruthless bankers and had a great deal of respect to people who make money. Thus, even though a person like Lucius Malfoy was a backstabbing goblin hating leech, he was still respected, if only as a human who made money. What he spent it on, they didn't care. And neither did they care exactly where it came from either. Compared to that, when Harry Potter walked in and deposited six million one hundred thousand twenty two pounds in paper currency, they were much more impressed with the boy than they normally would. Mr. Potter had of course just multiplied his available resources by about thirty times. When he enquired if they had a means to keep that money in a muggle bank, they told him that they could set up an account with Barclays. And they did. Now he was a millionaire, and he had the paperwork to prove that he had everything above board, legally. Next, he went to his investment firm and began giving directions. Computer, electronics, communications, things that he knew would expand in a very hurried fashion. The advice of a minor seer, who could do some minor divinatory scrying, contracted to the goblins and passed on to somebody with money was an excellent means of making money and spreading goodwill. It fit in with what little he knew about those particular fields and helped to increase his net worth in the coming years. Certain companies received a shot in the arm, giving them increased resources to work with, putting the fruits of extensive R&D onto the market that much sooner.
And Harry Potter would make money. After all, the goblins may not be human, but they knew just as well as anyone else the usefulness of helping those with power. And helping the growth of 1.2 million Galleons was something that humans tended to be grateful for; or less treacherous to their helpers about.
It took just a little over a day, but he was able to allocate over four million pounds into electronics and software companies. He was pumping resources into companies with vision; young madcaps mean to change the world….and make money while doing it.
Then for his final business in Gringotts, he went on to arrange for the creation of alternate IDs. Magic made certain parts of the documentation process irrelevant. Muggle ID's, and other documents were an unadvertised Goblin service, one you had to specifically ask for. And it cost a few hundred galleons, not exactly cheap. Two ID's were made, one for Alexander Grey, and Victor Lumiere. Both had slightly different looks for their photos, the second one being closer to what he would look like eventually. The first was a pale skinned, silver eyed man with short brown haired
Both were now complete identities with driver's licenses, bank accounts, qualification documents for their basic educations, social security number and passports. As a coincidence, Alexander Grey was his appearance when dealing with his local arms dealer.
XXX
Hermione spent the day in a sort of detached manner. Each day she existed, she drifted further and further from her parents. She wanted do…something. What that something was, she didn't know yet.
Aurora helped, but she was somewhere between a twin and another personality. She floated beside her, invisibly commenting on everything around yet not helping at all. Hermione needed to get out of this place. This one dimensional existence of humanity was suffocating her. The book covered walls of her home were no longer a sanctuary. They were a cage and a hindrance. The knowledge she once sought fanatically held no meaning to her. She was beyond such things now. She had the ability to alter reality to some extent, something that both was and wasn't magic. She didn't use it much, but it was there. Maybe she should go out and have some fun?
XXX
"Tetsuya kun…are you sure there are Chinese here? It would be troublesome if they were to decide to follow the course set by our respective homelands and fight us."
"She was a sorceress. I cannot tell what rank, but she has a wind element at the least. And she was battle chanting before we got interrupted."
"It seems we are at an impasse then. Very well then, since there is nothing to be done there, get ready for training. We will practice urban combat next. And I hope you are now familiar with those pistols you were sent. You will be practicing against mobile dummies."
Takeda heard a gulp and grinned savagely.
XXX
On the fourth day, Harry began to shadow the London police units. He sent clones to see how street cops and detectives actually worked. He did plan to spend a lot of time committing actions that would be normally classified as crimes. So he watched and he learned.
During this impromptu field trip, Harry heard a very interesting piece of news. A clone had been eavesdropping on two off duty policeman who were chatting when he heard that the government was still scrambling to solve the massacre his Fox masked clone had done. It was apparently serious enough that some big shot Asian detective from Interpol was working with Scotland Yard on the case.
The news had interesting; enough so that the clone had pick pocketed the nearest victim, henged into a nondescript woman and called his original with the news. It wouldn't help him much at the moment, but he could probably use this in the future.
However, the original was much more interested in this development than the clone, so Harry quickly shifted to the heart of London itself, instead of remaining at Privet Drive. Accordingly, he moved into a cheap hotel and set up camp. He carried with him quite an arsenal of weaponry. He had a feeling.
His enthusiasm was rewarded when, two days later he stumbled upon a most interesting individual as he walked in his too many layered clothing. Even for the cold English ambience, it seemed to be too much.
XXX
Hermione stood at the aisle with a frown. This could be the most important decision she had to make since she decided to play with Harry.
"What do you think?"
Aurora rolled her eyes as she floated lazily from the invisible area above her mistress. Her annoyance was clear by the fact that she wasn't giggling.
"Just pick one already. You have been at it for an hour! What happened to having fun? Harry's just two miles away! Let's go!"
She tugged at the frowning girl's sleeve and tugged ineffectually. Her mistress kept swinging her head back and forth.
"Vanilla or chocolate? Hmmmm…."
XXX
Takeda frowned when he sensed something off and paused at a sidewalk. He signaled his invisible shadow and twisted the dial on his watch. Ten seconds later, a voice spoke up behind him.
"How do you do Takeda san?"
The ninja tilted his head to the right and back, allowing his to keep an eye on the armored individual that stood there. The camouflage scheme looked all too visible on the grey cobblestone path they were both standing on. Without fear of death, they stood all too close to one another, confident either in their ability, or unconcerned with defeat. And they were both speaking in English.
"Oh, I'm fine, thank you. And how are you, if I may presume to ask?"
They stood motionless, unseen and unheard, but avoided all the same by the sparse but crawling humanity that flowed that evening. They were conversing meaninglessly, a simple nonsensical conversation that belied their ready demeanors.
"Not bad at all. How is Tetsuya? He's not upset about his last misadventure is he?"
"No, I can't say he is. But he is training harder all the same."
The helmet tilted backward, as if the wearer was looking at the sky, now a dull color that seemed determined to entomb the sky in its misery. Takeda spoke again.
"The weather is really bad."
"…."
"You do realize that you have a marksman aiming at you?"
Harry shrugged. He was a clone anyway.
"I'm not really here. But I do wonder why somebody like you would just stand outside, like this with just a sniper for cover. I'm sure you realize your vulnerability one way or the other. You are completely visible after all."
"I'm not really here either."
"Ah."
"Indeed."
They relaxed. At the moment, this conversation was more along the lines of a phone call. And what exactly do you do when you realize you are having a conversation that neither of you are present for?
"If that is all, shall I take my leave?"
"One moment! You're the one who did the Christmas massacre right?"
"Perhaps?"
"I just need to know one thing."
The clone braced itself. Outright demand in a so far innocuous conversation was disturbing.
"Why didn't you take the liquor?"
Takeda could feel the quizzical expression the helmet concealed. He shrugged, a slight shift he knew the other would pick up.
"It has been maddening a lot of people at the yard, and even I am not immune to the speculation."
The clone twitched. He spoke sourly.
"So you're the hot shot Sherlock substitute. What a coincidence. And, I did take most of the bottles. The ones I left behind in that room were all poisoned. It was some type of internal betrayal ploy that I interrupted. I left the unusable ones untouched and made off with the more edible stock after interrogating the boss."
"I see. We had not tested them for poisons. It is perhaps a good thing these investigators were strict in following regulations regarding taking the evidence."
The clone shrugged once more.
"I really do not care. I'll be seeing you. Unless you can tell me of another place I can clean out? It has been an interesting diversion."
Perhaps the clone was joking, but Takeda was not so ready to dismiss out of hand. He mulled it over for an instant before he was suddenly inspired.
"You will of course be indebted to me for the favor?"
The clone was taken aback. What his original would think of this he did not know. It was perhaps a good thing he couldn't summon specific personalities from previous clones. He decided to keep his commitments to a minimum.
"Something minor perhaps…"
Takeda nodded. He expected it. Still, it was interesting to see what Skywalker would do with this. It was an Interpol lead, not just a British problem. Still, if this was done properly he wouldn't be losing his cover there. And maybe, just maybe he could get his men that experience they required.
"There's a place where they distribute Afghan heroin to the isles. It's not exactly a small operation. Interpol has mere inklings about it, but I have better resources. I'll provide the address for you to handle….in exchange for an agreement of sorts"
"And what would that be?"
"Neutrality, until we are completely opposed in our goals. You are unfortunately an unknown quantity, and I would rather have you as somebody who is if not an ally, then at least not an enemy…for now"
Intriguing, this was extremely intriguing.
"For now" the clone agreed.
"Just keep things conventional for now. I would not want to deal with unexplainable massacres again. I do have a real job, expendable though it may be. Finding a real cover again would be a pain."
'How neatly everything fits' Takeda mused.
"Pass me information as I require and we'll have a deal."
A few minutes of quieter murmurs later, they continued onwards, stepping off as if they had never stopped at all.
Harry was amused. He may not have planned it, but in a single hour, he had a new target, managed to achieve at least lip service neutrality with his primary competition and now knew that nothing would come out of the Christmas Massacre case.
Takeda was content. He had barely sensed overt energy from that mad fellow, obtained verbal neutrality and made an overture for future alliance. He was better poised to use his time for however long the war back home was going to occur. And he could get rid of scum without having to risk his conventionally inexperienced men. It also would serve as a distraction for when he completed his objectives that did not require everything to be explainable by the human limitations and laws of physics.
XXX
"Boris! My friend! How are you doing?"
Said individual, looking even more the part of the gruff Russian than before, greeted him with a rumbling laugh. The clone, looking to be in his early twenties and wearing a proper suit, thanks to a henge, grinned beatifically.
"It is good to see you again! How goes your work, tovarisch?"
"It is good, very good! It is so good that it seems I will have need of more than mere pistols. I will need something with a lot more range for now, and also an assault rifle. I need to…diversify."
Boris grinned once more, a horrible toothy grin that looked odd within the facial hair framing it. Straight to business was a policy he supported wholeheartedly.
"Good, good! We shall make a proper soldier of you yet!"
They sat down as before in the very odd warehouse, surrounded by guards now using a more compact weapon than he had seen before. Whatever they were, AKs they were not.
Boris began his pitch with a series of printed sheets with a basic line drawing and weapon specs. He laid them out and began to elaborate eloquently, a passionate fiery appeal that was not diminished by his lack of perfect English.
The first set was sniper rifles. From his pitch, Boris apparently had quite the collection for sale. Apparently, it was always good to keep an example of merchandise close at hand. The clone Bear flicked through the dozens of papers with a quick look, looking through it once for familiarity before looking through the pages in detail. Finally, he picked his choices, the PGM Mini Hecate, .338 caliber bolt action rifle.
Boris nodded thoughtfully for a few seconds before grinning again. The gleam in his eye promised madness.
"Long range high caliber scoped rifle. You seem to be expecting some tough scrapes tovarisch!"
"Yes, I am. Any recommendations?"
Boris motioned to one of the guards at the corner. He picked the man's odd looking weapon and put it on the table.
"This is the Fabrique Nationale P90. It uses a new 5.7x28mm round that…."
It took him thirty minutes before he was sold on the new wonder weapon that the Russian had stocked up on. Still, it was not bad looking, short and could be slung horizontally on the back without making him looking like a human cross. It would go well with his armor that was for sure. The ammunition was a tad more expensive than he wished it was, but that was alright. The live fire tests he had done at the warehouse suggested that the weapon was worth its cost. The fifty round magazines did not hurt.
He also took the time to get a suppressor and a threaded barrel for a Glock 17, a spotting scope and HG-85 hand grenades. Finally, he brought more ammunition for the pistols he wanted to be proficient in.
Two P90s and then the rifle with spares, not to mention the scopes, sights, tools and everything else made for a significant bill. He would have to make some money soon if he wanted to maintain his inventory. Thousands of dollars had been spent near carelessly in very little time. Still, he was now armed and if one went by convention, dangerous. Well, he would be once the other clone drove up in the rental van. The whole transaction took three hours; including the time it took for the Russian's man to deliver the weapons and ammunition from wherever he actually stored the things. His last two acquisitions were free, a manual of sorts from an American sniper, the official sniper training manual, survival guides and the scope manuals themselves.
XXX
In the office of a certain Gandalf look alike, a spinning instrument began to slow down, very, very slowly. Not that there was anyone to notice. Fawkes the phoenix was vacationing somewhere in Africa. The portraits were all empty save for the perpetually sleeping ones. The sorting hat was sleeping, "recharging" for the inevitable repeated trips into the heads of chaotic, undisciplined and pre pubescent children. And Dumbledore himself was arguing with Fudge about the unnecessary reallocation of ministry funds. Without a record function, the instrument's change would go unnoticed, as the world itself spun in strange new directions.
XXX
The river Thames was a very iconic part of London. It had history and mystery woven into its very threads… and Harry found himself remarkably unmoved when looking upon the waterway. It was a large body of water, slow flowing and quite busy. If he used it for his jutsu, he would end up being quite blatant in a situation that required much subtlety. He was also resolved to actually be close to the action this time. He was still going to use his clones as somewhat disposable cannon fodder. He wasn't that confident in his armor. Still, he wasn't going to let a psychotic clone do most of the work.
Still, the place was under heavy guard. He had found three entrances exits guarded by heavily muscular men with assault rifles slung over their backs and chattering away in Russian. The entrances themselves were thick steel doors, the type one might see in a bunker or a submarine, except these were above ground. He was not sure how they moved stuff into the country to be honest, and he didn't know where their loading/unloading point was. He simply didn't have enough knowledge.
XXX
Of course, Harry didn't know too much about the place. The compound was underground for one. It was a set of tunnels connecting several "basements" under some very old buildings. They included a couple of purpose built bunkers dating back to the Second World War. And there were also a few warehouses in the network, a "front" where stuff was actually processed. And "stuff" was relatively pure highly refined, directly from the factories of Afghan Warlords eager to solidify their holdings with arms and ammunition. After all, the Russians may have left the place, but they still had plenty of contact with their former allies and former enemies. And the Afghans may be patriotic soviet hating warriors, but they were very pragmatic about their underhanded dealings. The operation was run by Russians, former soviet soldiers who found themselves out of a job as the USSR collapsed in what seemed like yesterday. The fact that many were avowedly loyal to Marshal Dmitry Yazov may have contributed to their self imposed exile.
The men were motivated by the money, the perpetual incentive. Their weapons were surplus standard issue weapons, everything from pistols to rocket launchers and mines to high explosive that they had "acquired" and that they had used to great effect when they were in military service. Among their number were Intelligence and Special Forces members, poached by enterprising criminals eager to snap up skilled and disillusioned men for their own private armies. Even Harry's friendly arms dealer could be loosely counted among their numbers, if from a much earlier date. It was an era of political upheaval. And with the total collapse of soviet hierarchy, none of them had any true political loyalties, merely monetary ones. There were local British citizens with them of course, but the head of operations was Russian. And he had many men under his command. A good half of them were permanently housed in the place.
XXX
Harry spent two days looking around as much as he could with an eagle eye. But he found himself frustrated. The Russians were thorough. They had checkpoints and chokepoints and despite their lack of uniforms were extremely military minded. The place was more defended than the British army base he had crept into once. He just wouldn't be able to use the above ground entrances without some serious use of jutsu.
The fact that it was underground meant that he couldn't simply jump over any obstacles. The place was one big defensive stronghold, and he didn't even know how big it was. He would have to infiltrate the place. Or that was the plan anyway.
His entrance, as provided by the Interpol agent of a ninja was not really an address; it was actually a description of a dock, a hidden dock for small boats. It was a loading unloading platform for small boats. It was camouflaged by a set of fiberglass panels that had been painted the same colors as the surrounding stone that held up the buildings around it. There were two motor boats moored to the concrete ledge and the place was unguarded. He assumed it was for escape purposes or the like. Certainly, it wasn't something you could use to make regular cargo drops at.
He had also been given one other opening, a warehouse that had an underground entrance to the tunnels. This was where he actually knew there were men guarding the place. The big burly men were walking around with their guns in the open. It was a disquieting sight, for reasons other than that he was going to be facing them soon enough. He had eventually found three more such places in the area, one next to a small dock capable of servicing the barges that operated on the river. This was how he knew of the security. It was also how he knew that these were trained men. There were snipers too, if the windows he didn't get close to were any indication. In any case, he went to the door most hidden from the outside. He didn't want any disturbances to be in the open.
This place wasn't guarded and the door was closed. It was a blast door, the type typically found in bunkers. "Curious" he whispered, examining the architecture that seemed to be built to survive bombs. A bunker of some sort, whether it was for the cold war or the world war he wasn't sure, but it seemed and old and disused. The door had no mechanisms on this side. In other words, this was meant as an exit only. He used his swords here. The two Japanese construction blades, custom made and engraved with seals arced gracefully, his swing leaving an arc of silver that bit into the wall and the door, all three inches of steel.
He had packed up most of his weapons securely. He also left the sniper rifles and his P90s behind. All he took was his armor, his ninja weapons and a suppressed Glock and its extra magazines. He waited for night fall and ghosted over the doors he knew; vary of the men who were so casually toting assault rifles.
He sent in clones. The swords he had were perfectly reproduced sans any seals he had on them. Thus he quickly had a three man squad creep up on the first two unsuspecting guards and behead them. They went down without a sound. The clones scooped up the weapons and spares before Harry himself took one, sealing anything he didn't personally carry. Two more clones quickly took the bodies away to the nearby river, dumping them in the convenient spot. The guards were posted just 40 feet away from the door, after a gradual curve. If he had to guess, it was now parallel to the river flow.
It was when they opened the blast door that it all went to hell. Somehow, they must have had some sort of hidden camera set or sensor setup there because the clones were immediately cut down by automatic fire. Whatever the case for his real set, clone armor didn't protect them from AK fire. There were five men pointed at the door and they were all firing. However, this did not actually deter him. He revised his plans and put up a localized genjutsu to make his clones invisible before they went in crawling upside down on the roof. They didn't get killed immediately, so he gave a small pulse of chakra. There was a set of screams and the rattle of the automatic fire and then silence. A memory hit him and he paused before confirming that he had succeeded in clearing the room.
The "waiting room" was a mess. Scattered bullet holes marked the walls. But the men themselves were dead. Two were practically dismembered with detached limbs. One was missing a head and the other two were shot up. The clones signed that they had shot them up. As before, a minute was spent quickly tagging everything they had, including the ammunition. A clone quickly changed the magazines on the weapons before keeping the removed ones. This seemed to have transformed into an assault right off the bat, rather than the infiltration it was meant to be. Unfortunately, retreating to regroup was a bad idea if he wanted to return here. The moment he disappeared, they would regroup and close ranks. And he did not want to see what passed for scorched earth in these forsaken tunnels.
Harry cleared his head and hung back. This time, he armed the clones. And he moved forward.
In the first thirty minutes he had moved a whole 400 feet from that blast door. He had been forced to rely on making himself invisible as he quietly tried to kill off as many of the enemy as he could. The Russian weapons, the Russian language, and the Cyrillic alphabet used on the signs were not painting a good picture of the place. It spoke of settled enemy, entrenched in his lair.
He had been forced to use the guns of his enemies, and had killed twenty more men. However, the place was difficult to fight in for him, the narrow corridors and low ceiling far from the scale of construction of Hogwarts that he was used to. He couldn't use wind despite the extreme efficiency of the element in narrow spaces, because he could not afford for a stray cut to bring down the roof on him. With the entire structure being composed of chokepoint after chokepoint, he had to move slowly. He had already lost twelve clones from surprise attacks and ambushes. Expendable though they may be, he should have lost none. He had used a jutsu just once. In the third straight steel door (is this place a bunker or a battleship?) he had gotten fed up and used a wind jutsu. The nameless jutsu was meant to blow through things, like a directed concussive blast. The door had been blown away with two Russians, but the force of it had loosened a section of the roof and almost caused a cave in. he had then decided that at least for that day, he wouldn't be using many jutsu for a while.
The walls seemed to distort his chakra senses, making it difficult to sense any killing intent. That or they had none what so ever, people so used to the act that it was just another action for them, in the class of drinking water, writing or telling a joke. Either way, it made his movement hazardous. Even his invisibility was not very useful, with the Russians firing "blindly" into the corridors, without poking their heads out. The narrow corridors were sometimes just enough for one man, making it difficult to miss. These were veteran soldiers. The fact that he was able to kill them was of little comfort.
He had been shot at directly and had deflected the shot with his armguards, but was not eager to see if it could repeat the act. The plastic piece was successful at deflection, but he was not sure if the seal had burned out. So he stayed low and used his clones, grimly killing the Russians as they shot at him from behind their cover. The Russians did have grenades, used rarely maybe to avoid cave-ins, but he was thankful. He did not fancy getting blown up along with shot at. The Russians preferred to shoot at him, even when a grenade might seem to be the better option. Whether it was to keep their dead intact or for some other reasons, he didn't care, but they were not fond of trying to blow him up, for which he was thankful. The concussion wave from any one of them travelled far and had once dissipated three clones at a time. He also didn't use them. Without even a simple idea of their capabilities, the Russian grenades were unsafe, even if he saved every intact one he found. And now was no time to indulge in testing. As for explosive tags, he wasn't quite ready to use his slightly overpowered demolition charges in the narrow passageways of questionable structural integrity, grenade or no.
XXX
It was in the midst of one of his clones charging a corridor invisibly that he was shot for the first time since he began. He noticed the pain first, the bullet having missed bone, but still making a mess of his upper arm. The small caliber high velocity round tore through flesh like a train through fog, rippling into flesh and shredding muscle. The pain hit a second later.
He drew his fingers into hand signs painfully, letting his tolerance for the pain hold him out until he could pop out a few clones to let him catch a breath and heal. Bullet wounds were far more painful than the slices and blunt trauma he was used to. Bullets did not make clean cuts... The bullet had passed through and he only had to push out a few plastic fragments before he took the whole two minutes to completely heal the arm, a lifetime in the silence, broken only by gunshots and Russian invective. He fisted his hands and stood up. A clone wordlessly handed him a rifle and he moved forward. Forward, because that was all he could do now.
The next hour was a dizzying mixture of death and blood. Clones slaughtered themselves by the dozen, and Harry found that his strategy of relying on ninjutsu and genjutsu had atrophied his ability with less incredible modern warfare. His last assault, by the clone had made him very confident and he was now locked in a bitter death match against these grim faced Russians.
As he dove deeper into the compound, he actually began finding rooms full of crates. But he didn't stop to examine it. A lot of them were food and drink, enormous amounts that were used to supply the population of gun toting soldiers. The toilets were minimalistic contraptions that were nonetheless tidy little things. The whole place looked like something out of the war movies that Vernon had once watched to impress a costumer, a veteran. He encountered barracks, hastily defended but still not the most effective cover. As he progressed, he was starting to encounter actual store rooms; including ones containing crates with white powder that spilled from the bullet holes onto the ground in little cones like an hourglass. He ignored it for the moment.
His progress was actually getting easier. The bigger rooms meant that his clones could better use their speed and ability, not to mention their ability to climb up walls. The Russians he now encountered were now in full soviet infantry regalia, with Afghanka and Ushanka as he would learn they were called. They were also using their pistols a lot more. It did not change that he was getting weary of the constant battle. How many of his enemy had died, yet still more popped up. Did they actually hold an entire brigade down here or something?
And still he pushed forward. And at one room, he suddenly found out just how big the place could be. He had entered a room, a big room, with many crates and cargo containers. The crates were not all closed and still had weapons in them; AKs, pistols and RPGs. The last were untouched, probably a concession to their underground location. It was an armory of sorts. But he didn't waste the opportunity to seal up the whole lot, leaving the place empty seeming. That was when they started pouring in, this time with bigger weapons. They were bringing out machine guns. So perhaps hiding invisibly on the ceiling was a good idea.
Still, it was a battle and the enemy was a trained and motivated soldier who was shooting pieces of metal he wanted to avoid getting hit by. So he for the first time used one of his own captured grenades, assuming that the larger room would better dissipate the blast. He went back to the tunnel as the blast hit the four men in the machine gun group, sending blood and flesh of dead Russian and the machine gun crashing into the wall behind it, where the belt promptly shattered, spilling the bullets on the floor like dropped marbles.
That was when things took a turn for the weird.
XXX
Lieutenant Vassily Titov, wearing his old soviet uniform in a casual and not very alert like manner looked around the just blown up room with the air of somebody who has been woken from his sleep. He looked at the ceiling, felt the unusual nature of the person standing there and swore. His hands slowly let go of his assault rifle and let it hang loosely in the sling, his hands up and in roughly accented English he spoke two words.
"I surrender."
The armor wearing figure was obviously quite incredulous so he added very helpfully.
"The others will come soon. Please hurry."
XXX
The man was the most insane person he had seen since coming in here. And that included the guy who tried to protect himself by putting his freshly dead friend in front of him as a meat shield. It didn't work but it was an effort nonetheless.
This guy was an entirely different level of crazy. Who surrenders to a hostile stranger who just turned his comrades to chunks of meat? He looked at the unafraid and impatient looking man. Then he remembered that this man had just seen through his genjutsu. It took him just a second to make the decision. He shot forward at inhuman speeds and put his hand on the Russians head.
"SLEEP"!
The man crumpled and was spirited away to the boat entrance. As he was being carried, clones took some rope from one of the supply closets he had dismissed and tied the man after stripping him of everything.
Then he moved forward and to flood the place with clones. With the almost huge storage places, with freight elevators and the armed guards, he abandoned all ruses of normality, using his crude sewing needle senbon to put holes in everyone's heads. Without the narrow one at a time corridors, the Russians were quickly slaughtered. Harry waded through blood by the gallons, painting the floor red, leaving sticky footprints and picking the blood stained weapons from the cold fingers of the dead Russians. Still, everything was going much faster.
Thirty minutes later, he could officially say everyone was dead. Only one had surrendered from the whole bunch, the others had acted more like kamikaze pilots than ordinary soldiers. That would probably have something to do with the armed soldiers pouring in from the other direction though.
They wore black body armor, similar to those used by Special Forces soldiers than ninja and seemed extremely uninterested in him. They came in with assault rifles and purposefully let as many alive as possible, giving Harry many a dozen kills. He would have attacked them too, except for the person following right behind the foremost team. He dryly noted that they appeared to not have fought in the least.
"Takeda san! What an amazing coincidence! What brings you to this slaughterhouse?"
The senior Japanese ninja, now wearing the same attire as those beside him minus helmet shrugged. Harry stabbed down the rising feeling of annoyance. Of course he would be there. He was the one who provided the location in the first place. It was not totally surprising, but it was definitely annoying.
"We blocked the other exits and chased them in the other direction. Why else did you think they were all rushing you instead of escaping?"
Harry shrugged, standing on the still expanding blood pool of a perforated corpse. He easily ignored the seven assault rifles and three drawn blades he was seeing in their hands, standing as they were in one of the storage rooms. It was doubtful that he was in danger, but he was perfectly willing to flood the rooms while he made his escape.
"Some people are remarkably prone to stupidity in the name of their cause. I assumed these were the same. So what are we going to do?"
Takeda rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Obviously, the operation has been shut down. All we need are the narcotics and the documents. The leader we found twenty minute ago in his room with three drugged and underage girls. That pathetic fool will live just long enough to regret it. The victims have been taken to the nearest hospital with a note."
Harry nodded. Pedophiles were disgusting creatures. That this one stooped to drug the victims on top of it was unforgivable.
"I will salvage all the weapons, stored. And you?"
Takeda nodded. Skywalker (as he knew Harry by) was in his rights to the spoils of the operation, seeing as he had done the most of it. And letting him take the unwanted weapons would solve the problem of picking them up and disposing of the. He idly noted the still working identical to Skywalker figures, which were stripping and carting away the corpses.
"Take them all, we do not require the weapons. And then we shall seal our neutrality on this division of spoils."
Harry shook the man's hand warily. He was more comfortable with fighting, not negotiating. Still, progress was progress, especially if he did not have to constantly look out. Not that he was going to trust anything, but he was a bit less wary.
"Yes, to our continued neutrality!"
XXX
The next two hours were spent in some of the most monotonous work he had to do yet. His army of clones quickly gathered up the bodies and dumped them into two rooms. The ninja who accompanied him were quiet and respectful. And they seemed to be just the bit wary as they went about swiping the crates of drugs, the papers and the computers. The clones in the meanwhile collected the weapons and ammo into crates and sealed them away. More than a hundred and fifty rifles, uncounted magazines, a number of ammunition crates and other things, like uniforms, field glasses, land mines, detonators explosives, toothbrushes, cigarettes , spades etc.
Also in the place, were bundles of cash, American dollars and British pounds in neat stacks in a not the smallest of safes. The ninja authoritatively assured him that they were real and not the fake currency that some drug dealers were fond of paying with. Honest drug dealers, that's what they were. Still, the currency was divided equally, something that Harry was certainly interested enough in. he wondered if this surplus of cash was a common thing among organized crime. He shook his head.
There was lots of loot, enough that he had to use more than forty separate storage seals for it all. He would have to search through it all before selling off what he didn't need. Maybe Boris would like a few rifles or cigarettes?
He burned the bodies in one of the surface warehouses. There were a lot of bodies, but a few clones "donated" enough chakra for a flame/wind combination that could melt steel, in a contained barrier, one similar enough to the one Orochimaru had fought Sarutobi in. The ash would be released into the Thames later. Not exactly a burial, but there are some cultures, which had religious rites that in effect say burn the corpse and drown the ashes.
He spent another three hours using his suiton to wash off the majority of the blood away. The bullet casings went with the water, a river formed in a network of shallow chakra induced whirlpools, the localized high pressure stripping the not yet completely dried blood from concrete. At places, it was powerful enough to gouge out a layer of concrete with it. A line of clones coordinated the makeshift collaboration jutsu, leaving the floors and walls reasonably clean of blood. Instead of a red sticky mess, it was a damp environment now.
Takeda wryly mused that it was far more effective than buckets and mops. On the other hand, the blood that had been washed off was now mixed in with the river, where it quickly diluted in the darkness, unseen. It was now five in the morning. It had been a very long day.
In the office building the Russians seemed to have used as their legal front, the men and women gathered. Takeda's people had cleared out everything they wanted, as had Harry and his near mechanical clones.
The underground complex, a set of main storage rooms that had seven tunnels that extended outwards where they housed the men and their things, were all empty. The ninja had blocked the exits and chased them like rats towards the unwary Harry. It had worked splendidly, in that the entire operation had been destroyed in one swoop. The Japanese had recovered the drugs, and Harry had taken the arms, which as Takeda commented, seemed to have been enough to equip a few hundred men for quite a while.
"This is where we part ways I'm afraid."
Takeda nodded. He opened his mouth, closed it sharply then spoke.
"Tell me Skywalker, are you interested in a car?"
How interesting…He gets a free car.
"I'm listening"
Takeda nodded.
"The Russians had a fleet of vehicles that they stored in this building, some to show off their wealth and power, but an expensive set nonetheless. Would you care for one? The rest we will be commandeering for our use. If you wish, please pick one of the vehicles?"
The car park was an underground garage below the building. Of the many spaces, about fifteen were occupied. Five were ordinary looking family cars, probably for not being noticed. Two were luxury sedans, the type favored by businessmen who wished to demonstrate their wealth while still not dipping into largesse. Five more were station wagons. The other three were sports cars of a fashion. Though just why a group of communists turned smugglers needed sports cars he couldn't say. However, they had obviously taken the pain to take very good care of it. There was a Porsche, a Ferrari and a Jaguar. All of them were two seat coupes.
"There may be more, but these were the ones in this building when we stormed it. Nobody seemed to think of heading here once the fighting started."
Unsaid was that the Russians were too busy dying to think of escape.
"I'll take the Jaguar. Do you have the paper work and keys?"
Takeda nodded. A ninja stepped forward and wordlessly handed him a folder. Harry took it, flipped through the documents and quickly scanned through the proper sections. He was grateful he had taken the time to check into this type of paperwork when Vernon offered. A quick check under the hood told him the VIN was accurate. So everything was proper. He just needed to file the paperwork with the DVLA, and the car would be legally his. He just needed to do a few modifications to the exterior and he would be done. The car was just a few months old so he was standing next to a practically brand new 1991 Jaguar XJS, in British racing green. Vernon version 1 would have been frothing at the mouth at the sight of the car. Perhaps it was time to get that manor the Goblins were asking about?
XXX
Before he drove out, the first thing he did was run chakra through the car. He may be grateful for the car, but he wasn't going to risk blowing up in it, or getting tracked through it. By running chakra designed to short out electronics through a shut down car, he would detect magical items and destroy bugs. He found just one thing that offended his senses, a letter in the front dash, from Takeda. No transmitters, explosives or magical booby traps. He drove it into the hotel parking lot, a gem among the pieces of coal parked there. He still had to go places. He fell asleep after making sure there was a squad of clones guarding his new wealth, mostly contained in the two large paper storage tubes.
The next morning at nine, he drove to Charring Cross in his disguise as Alexander Grey. He walked into Gringotts without a care, offending pureblood sentiments by the dozens. He was also quickly ushered in. he had after all, taken the precaution of setting up an appointment.
Goblins did not have individual account managers. That would imply that goblins cared a great deal for customer satisfaction. No, what they had was a system where any account could be seen by any of certain groups of goblins. The difference was that some were more experienced at handling these than others, which meant their advice was better and more profitable. Thus the goblins would assign a "team" based on the deposited wealth of a person or family. You could also on request pay to get a more experienced team. The assigned team then did everything the customer wanted financially or certain other services for a fee. That was goblin account managing in a nutshell. As Harry was a valuable customer, based on growth and current value, he was of course assigned one of the best teams, one represented by Stirwell, which was not his real goblin name. He deposited his new funds in cash, leaving for the goblins to take care of counting it. It was part dollar, part pounds and they used magic, so in a minute he found he had another three million pounds in cash.
This was quickly put into accounts before at his request he got a list of properties that he could purchase. Goblins were nothing if not profit minded and kept an eye out in all kinds of places. Thus it took barely forty minute before a sixty year old mansion in the outskirts of northern London was in his name. He added to his latest transaction by ordering wards for protection and one to keep electronics working. Then a cave was also planned out, a hollow beneath his house with appropriate connections, exits and furniture. His Batman inspired home was his for a grand total of 1.3 million British pounds. Now all he needed was to get there.
XXX
After that eventual first two weeks, Harry was actually quite relaxed. In stark contrast to his resolution at the start of the holidays, he was very happy to let go and relax. He had enough excitement for the time being and relaxed by doing such things as sorting through his loot, poking into his Jaguar and practicing marksmanship. He was happy to be away from everything else, the Goblin wards very effective at repelling everything from nosy neighbors to door to door salesmen. The Goblin wards also had the advantage of cutting off that pesky underage detection, which is if the ministry bothered to actually pay more than the necessary amount of attention to Harry Potter.
Harry did practice his spells, doing more than absolutely necessary and managing to achieve a fair bit of effect on the various pests and creatures he kidnapped for the purpose of testing his charms and transfigurations. His attempts at destructive spells were doomed to failure, and he was a bit frustrated at his lack of progress, but consoled himself that he had not really tried. His preoccupation with other things had reduced the majority of his grades to be theoretical in nature. Sure he was a moderate spell caster, but it was not a shining vote for his ability. So he practiced.
He practiced his marksmanship on the weapons he bought and the ones he captured. The SVD marksmen rifles especially needed some tweaking to fit with what he might use it for. He also practiced with various fire modes on the AK 74s and P90s. he also practiced with his swords. And thanks to his clones, he did it all at the same time. And lots of clones also meant that he could work through all the Russian faster, especially with the Russian English dictionaries he had bought. On the bright side he had begun to get a good grasp of Russian.
He was also getting a hang of the more unusual rifles of the bunch, a few world war two bolt action rifles, Mosin Nagants and a box of stripper clips. Why these people kept them when they had the more "useful" AKs and Dragunovs was a question. Something to ask Boris he supposed. Internal magazines and bolt actions made for more accurate rifles. So he could experiment with this. Besides there was something satisfying to use the iron sights and his eyes to shoot targets at extended ranges. He still needed to get a feel for the bullets trajectory, but progress was progress, especially when pigeons in flight ended up with holes in their bodies.
He also wanted to think on what he wanted to do with that Russian who had surrendered to him. He was currently in a semi comfortable cell, apparently very comfortable with smoking the soviet cigarettes that was part of his loot. One of the ninja had warned him that it was a death trap, but he wasn't trying to smoke them was he?
He thought about the Russian who seemed to be perfectly happy to do nothing at all and seemed to actually be content with being his prisoner. He thought some more and decided to think about it another day. Yes, his time was better spent thinking about how he was going to use up what seemed to be a million bullets of assault rifle ammo, or how to use the so called simple to use RPGs without nearly blowing up his house. Maybe practice maneuvering at the higher speeds of the Jaguar with its loud 5.3 liter engine.
XXX
"Wow, you are a very interesting person aren't you?"
The Russian soldier, in the belly of a mansion near London watched the black cloudy "thing" floating around the room warily. Unlike the other man, this one was much more dangerous. Cigarette smoke curled lazily upwards, the thick smoke crawling upward, pillar like in the barely ventilated room.
"Maybe I am. What are you?"
The black cloud with the voice of a child floated above him, giggling in amusement. It seemed to absorb the smoke before zipping around, trailing the same smoke like a cartoon.
"Oh, it's just that I'm not happy with Him. He keeps going on adventures without me! Don't you think it's sad?"
He shrugged, making an affirmative grunt.
"I know right? He shouldn't hoard all the fun and adventure. If he'd told me there was going to be a massacre, I'd have helped!"
"…"
XXX
"The war is winding down."
The dark room was unlit and the dense smog over the city reduced the moonlight to nothing. A barely discernable figure, clothed in a three piece suit and overcoat did not move a muscle, either in deep thought or uncaring of the words that whispered in the room. Opposite his desk, a feminine silhouette in a cheongsam tiredly stood.
"It seems that yet again the smaller nation has won their war. But this time, our forces have taken a bigger hit."
The man finally spoke, his voice tinged with what some might have called regret.
"It has happened sooner than it should, that is all. It cannot have been a surprise after our last meeting. The Chinese have been nicely caught off guard and had the initiative taken from them. It has happened before after all. I suppose it helps that all of the really powerful units on both sides were not committed to the struggle. And while the average Chinese is smart, the average Japanese is far cleverer at this game. It always was a long shot for us to be able to properly use this war. Still, to have this happen so soon! "
"The emperor has personally taken charge of the ceasefire. He is prepared to surrender in this conflict, if the new enemy vessels are accessible to his researchers. In exchange, the Japanese are getting another three of the Zheng-He."
"The war should have lasted years! It would have been inconvenient, but we had plans that we were in the middle of implementing! What madness has possessed that senile old fool now? To hand over his navy's best ships…"
"It is supposed to be due to the loss of that Zheng-He. The emperor was most eager to see the weapon that could wreck his prized battleships, so much so that he has invoked the long unused surrender clauses, the ones that have priority over the neutralization of four fifths of all enemy forces."
The man leaned back and sighed. He drummed his fingers on the desk and spoke slowly.
"First metal submarines and now strange looking battleships? What else have the Japanese been hiding from us? I underestimated their power. To put a vessel of that nature into the air is no laughing matter. Even our project cannot scale that large! And to have that insufferably proud emperor bow down, something is changing."
"Our scenario has not deviated sir. Events have just returned to their proper course."
"Have they really? You seem to have a unique view of the situation. Have you any idea of what that Japanese ship is supposed to be?"
"It is a design from one of their animated shows. They must have used an engineer to flesh out a design for a fictional space ship and then built it. They mock everyone with their antics."
"At least we will ourselves have a look at their operating principles."
"Unfortunately, we will only be allowed access to the submarines. The Shadow Empress is extremely reticent of letting anyone into her war winning battleship after a war that was started by the Chinese using a Japanese ship. However, our own vessel's progress will be advanced greatly when the exchange takes place."
"It matters not; we will have our progress sooner or later. For those who follow our path, time does not matter."
Abruptly, the man stood up and walked towards the door, taking a moment to caress the woman's face before leaving the dark office.
"It seems that you will be going to Edo then. So much for your Australian trip eh?"
XXX
AN. Yes, bow down to my ability to suck.
Not beta'd, so anyone pointing out grammar or continuity errors gets a cyber cookie. I stole them from the dark side recruitment stand.
I have these ideas in my head but it's difficult to focus on just one. I'm squatting at tth, because it's interesting. All those Xander centric stories ftw. And on that note, I wish Tenhawk would update his shadow council fic.
Enough with my rambling. You know the drill. Review and pm as you wish. May take a while to reply though.
REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVVVIIIIIIII IIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEWWW!?