AN: Yeap, it's a new chapter already. But short, but I wanted to give you all something to chew over this month. Action, blood and explosions ahead!

Quick Note: I hope I don't offend any real tankers with my depiction of this crew...

Walden Macnair stood up from where the portkey had deposited him, checking that his axe was still in place across his back without even realising it. It was his favoured weapon, his one true love. He could already hear it whispering to him, pleading for him to wield it. 'Soon, my lovely. You will drink your fill of muggle blood before the night is over, my precious…' His short stay in Azkaban had been horrible… not because of the dementors, but because they had separated his axe from him. Each night he'd heard faintly it's cries, clawing at his nerves and filling him with painful longing. When he finally got the chance to carry it once more… it had been a release.

Heavy footfalls prompted him to turn, to see the six giants they were to meet and direct had arrived. This brotherhood were the most eager to spread carnage, to seize the opportunities that Lord Voldemort offered them. And now they would be unleashed on the helpless muggles. After this, the undecided clans would fall in, as The Dark Lord had offered them free rein to plunder and pillage England, and offered Scotland as a new home… all of it.

Of course, Voldemort had no intention of honouring any of those promises… but Macnair didn't know that.

The lead giant, marked out by the horned helmet he wore, looked down at Macnair with obvious disdain. "W'ere now 'uman?" The beast grunted, his monstrous tongue and foreign accent butchering the English language. Macnair only just repressed a shudder: he desired so much to cleave this disgusting things head from it's shoulders. His axe would sing with joy as it drank deeply from giant blood…

"We follow water, Headtaker. We smash all in way. Especially that!" He pointed behind him, towards were four thin looking towers rose up from the banks of the river in the distance. A thin arc rose across between them.

The giant Headtaker, so named because he 'collected' the heads of things that crossed his path, peered into the evening gloom, eyes squinting. His 'collection' swayed from the rough straps that crisscrossed his body. "That thing crossing water?"

"Oh yes." Macnair chuckled. "Make sure smash that! Lot's of muggles to kill on that!"

The six giants advanced, the ground trembling from their footfalls as they advanced along the riverbank of the Thames, towards the distant Queen Elizabeth the Second bridge…

"I'm telling ya, this things a heap of scrap!"

"Now come on, you don't mean that. They don't make tanks like this any more."

"That's cause it's a pile of junk!"

Corporal Smith Jones sighed as he looked down at the face of his loader Private Mark Summers. The two of them had been in the Royal Armoured Corps 2nd Royal Tank Regiment for almost their entire service careers, and had in fact joined up within two days of each other. Assigned to the same tank nines years ago, they had seen much between them; Kosovo, Iraqi… if the regiment had been there, so had they. Jones had risen to his rank by the promotion of their former commander, but maintained the informal relationship he had shared with the other crew… as much as he could. When in combat, they would be sealed in the tiny internal space within their Challenger, practically on each other's lap. Rank separation tended to get thrown out the window in such circumstances.

"There you go with those negative waves again, Summers. This is a beautiful tank, a living legend." Johns patted the top of the Centurion's turret affectionately.

From the rear of the tank the remaining two crewmen looked at the Corporal, then at each other. "Is he always like this… sir?" The younger asked hesitantly.

Lance-Corporal David MacDonald shrugged lightly. Also from the 2nd, but from another crew, he knew 'of' Corporal Jones, but hadn't really interacted that much. They were from separate companies. But everyone knew how Jones acted – and even looked a little like – the character 'Oddball' from the 'Kelly's Heroes' movie. At times he even played up the act. Donald Sunderland would have been proud.

'Strange how similar we really are…' He thought to himself as he returned his attention to checking out the engine block with their driver, Private Mathew Keens. MacDonald knew he was much more formal than Jones, less willing to be so informal with his crew. Such comments would not have been so easily overlooked in his crew. But then, he'd not had a crew as long as Jones.

But they had more than the corps in common. They both had a daughter who was also a witch.

Jones daughter Megan was in the same year as Harry Potter, but had only barely interacted with the famous young wizard. MacDonald's own daughter Natalie was in fact in the same house as him, but in a much lower year. Ever since they had been contacted by the magical world about their daughter's talents, their families had independently decided to send their children to Hogwarts, despite the expense. And they had both kept an eye on what was going on in that world, as much as the non-magical parents could. What they had seen and read had been… disturbing.

Thusly, it had not been as much of a shock when they had been contacted by the Colonel.

It had been shock to meet Captain Granger. Both knew that name; how could they not, given how close Miss Granger was to a young man who likely was more famous than most movie stars and the Royals put together?

Along with Keens, who hailed from the 1st Queens Dragoon Guards, they had been asked to form a tank crew to support the force that the Colonel and Captain were putting together to fight the resurgent Dark Lord and his minions. Having been briefed on what those scum would and did do to those they looked down on – which just happened to be everyone who did not fulfil their own twisted criteria – it had not been a hard decision at all. Indeed, they could have had almost the whole of the regiment with them, but the need to maintain the secrecy of the magical world won out. It had required some adjustment, but each had slotted into place. Keens, as a recon driver, was ideally suited to sitting 'up front', while Summers was as slick a loader as MacDonald had seen. And having been a gunner before becoming a Tank Commander, he'd yielded to Jones easily.

Then they found out that they would not be using one of their familiar Challenger's. Too modern, too many electrical systems that would almost certainly be shorted out in a magical environment. Instead, they had been tasked with getting a Mark 9/1 Centurion tank, decommissioned twelve years ago, up and running again. In the process, they had slowly bonded together into a single team that worked well together. There were still some rough edges, but those would only be finally eroded in a combat situation. The tank itself was very old, backwards when compared to their normal machines, but they quickly realised that the wizards would not know what to do to stop them.

The report of a pair of Neo-Nazi Tiger tanks joining the ranks of the Dark Lord had all four concerned. The Tigers, despite all their technical issues and age, were still decent heavy tanks. And with magical crews and enhancements, it was expected that they would be far superior to the originals. None of them were looking forward to engaging those beasts. While the Centurion had been designed with the Tiger in mind, two on one odds were never good.

Still, they were doing well. The old beast was up and running, and they'd already gone through a few trials and practice runs. Really all they were doing now were tweaking and adjusting…

A rattling sound drew all their attentions to the table that stood off to the side. The tank was resting in a barn that boarded one of the Army's test ranges. At the table, which had a large jug of coffee resting on a hot plate along with discarded plates and the like, their magical 'contact' started and reached out. Peterson was a junior Auror, just out of the academy with zero experience. He was however a muggleborn, and thus understood the tankers. Lifting a large hand-held mirror he called out "Receive."… just as Jones mobile started to ring.

Peterson watched as the mirror face blanked before showing the visage of his boss, Amelia Bones. "Peterson, we've got a combined Death Eater, giant attack in progress. Our response teams engaged, but we need more firepower."

At the same time that Amelia was briefing her Auror Jones was on the phone. "Command this is Turtle, copy?" He said swiftly, having recognised the number as the one for the task force's command centre.

"Turtle, Command Actual." The firm tones of Colonel Bones came through, lacing with tension. "Games on. We've got an attack in progress. Flasher's responding, but need the big stick."

Peterson paled as he gulped. "Giants?" He squeaked.

Amelia nodded, her expression grim. "They were moving up the Thames river bank inland when our team intercepted them. They are only a few miles from the town of Gravesend. We think that's their target is the Dartford Crossing." Peterson shivered. Having grown up in Thurrock, which was on the north side of the crossing, he knew the recently opened bridge all too well. "Set the portkey to drop the tank three miles east of the town. We need them to take out the Giants."

For his part Jones was listening to the Colonel, all humour wiped from his face, while using hand gestures to get his crew packed up and ready to roll. "Copy Command. Opposition?"

"Dozen Munchers confirmed. Six Tall Men in support. Those are your targets. Town Gravesend three miles west of Drop Point. Don't let them get there."

"Understood sir. We'll get them." Hearing the Colonel hang up Jones took a moment to shudder. Looking up he saw the Auror was still sitting in shock. "Hey! Get over here and plot this thing will ya?" he yelled, snapping Peterson out of his funk. As the youth ran over Jones was already dropping into the commanders seat in the turret.

"What's going on Corp?" MacDonald asked.

"Mixed Death Eater and giant force threatening the Dartford crossing and Gravesend in Kent." The other three men were silent, still. The only sound was the Auror climbing up the hull. "We're being called in to take out the giants."

"How many?"

"Six."

"Crap."

Squatting down behind the turret, Peterson drew his wand before focusing. Before him, attached to the tanks hull, was a rune covered stone slab. This was the portkey stone that had been designed to get the old tank where it was needed. Both the Potter and the Bones Families legacies had been involved in its creation. The Potters had used portkeys to move wounded from battlefields back to secure rear areas for treatment, and to supply their force with food and ammo. As such both the trip and the landing had to be gentle, to spare any discomfort the wounded may have felt. The problem had been that the portkeys had been power hogs, and took days to recharge before they could be sent back. The Bones however had developed easily charmed, programmable portkeys, forerunners for the portkeys the Aurors used to respond to attacks. This enhanced version could even take nebulous target points, such as a set distance from a known point.

Placing his wand on the slab, Peterson focused as he cast the improved charm he'd been taught. The slab started to glow a pale ready, signalling it was ready.

"Set?" he called out, taking a firm hold on the tank himself. He needed to go along to ensure that there would be no witnesses to their arrival.

"Set!" Jones called back.

After a moment to brace himself, Peterson tapped the slab with his wand once more… and the Centurion Tank vanished in a swirl of colour.

Macnair laughed cruelly as his axe swung down. The Auror's scream transformed into a choked gurgle as the blade slashed through his body from left shoulder to right hip, cutting through robes, bones and organs with equal ease. Macnair was sprayed with the blood of the fatally wounded young man even as he turned away, seeking a new victim.

They had expected the Aurors to respond to their attack, but not this quickly. They had arrived before the giants had even reached the town. Of course, that allowed them all to focus on killing Aurors. So far the first team had been cut down to half strength, none of whom would be getting up again. The second team had already lost one member to a giants club. The remain Aurors were focusing on staying alive, which puzzled Macnair to a degree. They were clearly terrified; they should be fleeing in panic by now. It was if they were just holding them up till more forces arrived…

Macnair shrugged the thought off, hearing his axe's pleased song. More Aurors just meant more blood for him to spill. And soon they would be in amongst the muggles. The town between them and their target was of a decent size, so they should be able to reap a high tally of the filthy vermin. With a town laid waste and the iconic bridge destroyed, the voice of his master would truly be heard…

Macnair's thoughts were cut off as there was a sharp detonation, followed by a loud explosion almost overhead. Looking around, he saw one of the giants was clutching at its stomach… over a gaping wound inflicted in the creatures tough hide. 'No curse is powerful enough to do that to a giant..' Macnair thought as he watched the giant try to stem the blood flow from the wound. Another 'crump', before a ball of fire and flame erupted higher up on the giants body. It dropped the tree truck it had been holding in its other hand to try and cover the fresh wound inflicted, emitting a loud moan of pain that cut through the sounds of battle. All around them the Aurors, Death Eaters and Giants stopped their battle to look at the wounded monster. It was staggering a little, thick giant blood running down its body to pool on the ground. In the silence, the third 'crump' clearly came from behind Macnair, and he spun around looking for the source even as another explosion blossomed on the giants chest. Looking carefully, Macnair noticed an angular, un-natural form on a low ridge ahead, between them and the town. He frowned, before his eyes widened in shock as the sound came again, along with a tongue of flame from the shape. The backlight of the flame revealed, for an instant, a metallic, squat form.

'What the hell is a muggle thing doing here?'

Through his rangefinder Corporal Jones watched as their fourth shell struck the giant, slipping in through the chest wound already inflicted to detonate within the beasts chest cavity. Blood and gore flew out as the high explosive charge went off.

"That's a kill… but too slow. Load AP." He barked loudly, competing with the grumbling engine. Underneath him Summers gloved hands jumped from the red tipped shell he had been touching to the black tipped ones on the other side of the turret. With quick and fluid movements he had the shell hoisted up, laid in the cradled and rammed into the breach of the 105mm gun that filled most of the space in the turret.

"Set!" He yelled as the breach block locked into place.

"Okay, let's try a head shot…" Jones squinted through his sights. "Target, thirty degrees right. Elevate twenty."

"Thirty right, up twenty." MacDonald replied, spinning the handles to wrest the turret around and elevate the barrel. "Set!"

"Fire!"

The tank bucked as the cannon rocketed back on its slide, the spent casing falling away with a barely heard clank as the breach opened. Evening turned into day for an instant at the muzzle flash, but Jones was focusing on the Giants ahead. The one who'd turned to look their way suddenly jerked back as the narrow shell struck. Looking through his sights, Jones grimaced as the giants face deformed inwards before the back of the head burst outwards, spraying blood and gore everywhere. Jerked back by the impact, the now mindless body slowly fell backwards to crash down onto the ground, thankfully hiding the worst of the injury.

"Kill confirmed. Load!"

The other Giants had turned to see what had killed two of their buddies, and one was already heading their way, each stride eating up the ground between them. Calling out the bearings, Jones forced himself to remain calm even as the towering block of bone and muscle approached.

"Fire!"

This time the shell caught the Giant in the shoulder, spinning it around even as the arm came off in a spray of blood. The wounded creature roared in pain as it clutched at the wound, falling to one knee in pain. This seemed to be the signal as the remaining three began to advance. Their roars of anger could clearly be heard even over the rumble of the Centurion Tank's engine.

"Oh hell… here they come. Load!"

On the ground Kingsley watched as the three still standing giants broke into a trot, yelling in outrage as they did. He didn't know what the hell the muggle vehicle was doing here – his team had set up temporary Muggle-Repelling and Notice-Me-Not wards on arrival – but he was glad they had. The giants had been the Auror's biggest problem in the engagement, no pun intended. No witch or wizard alone could take one down, though he personally reckoned Dumbledore, The Dark Lord – and maybe Harry Potter, if the rumours were true – could do it. Only working together could more 'normal' witches and wizards hurt them. But to do so they had to ignore the Death Eaters who were with the giants… and with them throwing lethal curses about, doing so would be suicide.

A thought struck Kingsley them. Just before his team had portkeyed in to assist the first team, his boss Amelia had told him that help would be on the way, help that could engage the giants effectively. Was this muggle machine that help, he wondered? Regardless, the giants were advancing on it, leaving his people free to engage the Death Eaters. Still, they had to do something… against three enraged giants, nothing could last long.

"Everyone! Blasting curses to the knees of the nearst giant on my mark! Then engage the Death Eaters!" He bellowed, his deep voice cutting across the other sounds of battle. Spinning on his foot he levelled his wand on the leg of the nearest giant. "Now! Bombarda!"

No less than ten curse bolts shot out from various points around him, cutting across the giants legs. A couple missed, but the rest slammed into the legs of the beast. Kingsleys own bolt struck true against the back of the knee, before two others finished the job he started. The Giant yelled in pain and surprise as it pitched forwards as the leg hit could no long support its weight. Blood gushed from the ruined hamstrings as the ground shook from the impact. As if in counterpoint to their attack the Muggle thing fired again, sending another giant reeling backwards. As he turned to engage the Death Eaters who had overcome their shock he heard another shot, but no cry of pain.

"Shit, get us moving!" Jones yelled as the last giant stomped towards them, the ground shaking under the footfalls. The other giant was pitching forwards to lie face down in the dirt, the two shots to the chest having killed it.

Up front, sat in the tiny, cramped drivers space of the tank, Keens took one glance outside before slamming the tank into reverse. The whole fifty-two ton machine lurched backwards, tossing the crew about even as the stoned bladed axe the last giant wielded swung down to bury itself in the dirt where they had been.

"Stay still, bug! You hurt my boys! You pay! I take your head!" The giant roared, glaring at the strange… thing in front of him. Headtaker had never seen any creature like this before. He wasn't sure which bit was its head, but he'd have great fun finding out! Pulling his axe free, he swung again, only for the thing to jerkily turn and move off to the side, dodging his axe again. "Argh! Keep still so I can cut off your head!"

Jones, having enough of the bellows, popped his hatch and stood up, emerging into the evening sky. Grasping the pintle machinegun that a previous crew had added in years gone by, he swung it about to aim at the towering mass of enraged beast. "How's this for our answer!" He yelled back before sending a stream of 30-cal rounds at the monsters face. Headtaker yelled in pain as dozens of sharp pinpricks jabbed at his face and next. He swung his axe again, this time level with the ground, and connected with the tank's turret. The thick armour withstood the impact, the stone blade breaking apart, leaving a sliver embedded into the metal. Pulling his weapon back, Headtaker looked baffled at the shattered rock blade.

"My axe? How you break? Nufhing break ma Axe before!"

Jones grinned. "Guess you never faced heavy armour before then!" He taunted.

Headtaker roared in outrage before leaping forwards, hands outstretched. Keens did his best, but the giant was faster, his meaty hands clamping down on the sides, fingers thicker than a man's leg pressing in against the wheels. "Come ere you!" he bellowed, his breath washing over the struggling tank. Jones staggered back, coughing. The giants breath stank!

Grunting, Headtaker tried to lift the tank, but even giants had their limits. Jones was quick to act, re-aiming his gun before firing off another stream of rounds at point blank range, joined a moment later by MacDonald firing the 30-cal fitting co-axially to the main gun. Both guns tore into the giant holding them, stabbing into his skin even as he pulled them closer. Headtaker turned his head about, trying to avoid the stings, as he moved one hand to grab the front, before lifting the other up high, the hand closing into a fist. Jones glanced up before dropping back inside the turret… just in time as the giant's fist came crashing down in a ringing impact that stunned the crew. After a few moments Headtaker raised his fist again. This time however before he could hit them again MacDonald fired again, and this time several rounds cut into his eye. Screaming in pain Headtaker let go of the tank to clap both hands over his eye, allowing the tank to lurch backwards out of control for a moment before Keens was able to halt it. After a few moments to regain their breaths, Jones stood up again to look at the giant that was kneeling before them.

"So long buster." He rapped on the turret, and the barrel elevated once more to point right at him. Jones rapped again.

The AP shot burst forth from the barrel, and smashed through Headtakers chest, punching right through his breastbone to pierce his heart. Headtaker felt a terrible pain before everything went numb, and darkness took the rest of his vision.

As the giant's body slumped down Jones turned his attention back to the battlefield. The numerically stronger Auror had almost got the Death Eaters surrounded, but so far neither side looked likely to win. The black robed Death Eaters were hunkered down and hurling curses about. Curses that Jones could tell were lethal ones, based on the briefing they had all received from their Advisor Bellatrix. The Aurors, in contrast, were moving about independently, but only firing back stunners. Each time one of the Eaters fell, another would wake them after a few moments. Only a couple of the Aurors were using serious curses, but on their own they had minimal effect.

Jones shook his head in disappointment at the poor judgement the Aurors were using. They were acting more like a Third World militia than a serious force. "Let's get over there and show them how it's really done." He yelled into the tank, and with a lurch the Centurion advanced again, accompanied by the squealing of metal. Jones winced before sitting down. "Status report people."

"Drives okay, but the wheels are fouling." Keens yelled back from his seat up front. "Once we get back to base I can fix that. That beast forced them too far inwards."

"Loader all okay." Summers reported.

The turret shifted about them, jerkily. "Turret ring's jamming sir." MacDonald reported. "Might loosen up with use. Weapon checks out."

"Okay people, we're still in business." Standing up, Jones looked over the field… and saw movement to the right. "Hey, watch out!" He yelled out of reflex, despite the Aurors having no chance of hearing him.

Two of the Aurors had moved too close to the wounded giant that they had crippled earlier. Seeing a target, the beast swung it's tree trunk club, catching the one like a golfer would. The Auror was flung through the air to crash into a strand of trees, where his broken, mangled body collapsed to the ground. The second clearly was shocked at the sudden attack, as he froze, staring at his buddies corpse. His stationary form was too easy a target for a Death Eater to miss, and a green bolt shot out and impacted him squarely. The Auror collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Damn it." Jones grunted before sitting down once more. "Let's finish the last one off. Right sixty."

Kingsley cursed as two members of his team died within a minute of each other because of their carelessness. He was also frustrated that the others still were only using stunners on the Death Eaters. Dodging a sickly purple curse, he once more cursed Dumbledore and his 'Don't kill under any circumstances' preaching's. His views had permutated almost every level of their society, meaning that even in the face of lethal attack, the Aurors were reluctant to respond in kind. Against non-human creatures, such as the giants, they did not have the same hang ups. But the Death Eaters… It was enough to make him despair.

The report of the muggles big gun firing again prompted him to glance over his shoulder, to see the metal behemoth approaching. The remaining giant, which had been bringing its arm back for another swing, dropped flat to the ground, one hand clutching at its neck even as blood spurted out. Taking several long steps back, Kingsley gave the machine room to enter the circle, drawing attention with its size and the noise it made. The Death Eaters began to rain curses on it, but they just splashed over its front, not even harming it. Kingsley found himself swallowing nervously. This… thing was advancing into the teeth of what several wizards could throw out without flinching, and without effect. Any lingering thoughts or myths that the muggles were helpless against wizards disappeared from his mind.

The machine halted, and for a moment the Death Eaters stopped casting, staring at the dark metallic beast that rumbled threateningly. Then a men popped up from the top. "I suggest you surrender now boys." Jones called out, as the long barrel of the tanks gun lowered ominously to point directly at the Death Eaters.

Two of the smarted members began to step away, lowering their wands. But Macnair snarled and stepped forwards. "Filthy muggle! Your dirty blood will stain this earth, but you will beg me to end your suffering!" He roared out the blasting curse, prompting a half dozen other spells to shoot at the stationary tank. Five explosions rocked the machine… but as the smoke cleared the wizards were shocked to see that the tank was still there. A few blast marks dotted the front plate, and the corner of the right track guard had been shorn off, but overall the effect was negligible.

Jones, having dropped back inside as soon as the first curse was yelled, stood back up. "I take that as a no. Our turn now! Fire!"

The two Death Eaters who had stepped away now threw themselves away from the group, having at least an idea of what was coming. Macnair, enraged beyond reason, charged forward even as the muggle had spoken. That was the only reason the three of them survived when the high explosive round detonated in the midst of the grouped Death Eaters. Shrapnel tore through the group, shredding bodies in an orgy of bloodletting and destruction. Bloody fragments pattered down all around. The two Death Eaters who escaped the blast lay on their bellies, their wands tossed away as they grovelled and prayed for the Aurors to arrest them. Anything was better than facing that metal beast!

Macnair however was not even aware of the events behind him, even as some fragments lodged in his back. Yelling with wild rage he ran up to the tank, axe held high. With all his might and momentum he brought the blade slamming down onto the front, his mind envisaging it cleaving through the skin to the soft muggles that were hiding within. Then the shock of the impact ran up his arm and stunned him. Glaring he swung again, his enchanted axe only producing a clanging sound as it struck.

"This guy doesn't know when to quit." Jones muttered. "Keens, dissuade him."

Down in the front Keens, thoroughly annoyed at the loud clanging sounding over his head, gunned the engine. The tank lurched forwards, bumping into Macnair causing him to stumble back. He swung again, the blade scrapping across the metal, and Keens gunned it again, this time only using the right track. Macnair fell back, his axe falling from his hands. Yelling with a berserker rage he drew his wand and unleashed another blasting curse at point blank range towards the now visible underside.

Keens jumped when the blast came from underneath him. Frantically looking down, he was relieved to see that the hull had held. Hearing another curse being yelled, Keens had finally had enough. He backed the tank back a few paces, before engaging forward drive once more.

Macnair fired off another curse as the tank backed away, and was starting on another when it came forwards again. He only had a second to realise the danger he was in before the right treads came down on his feet. The weight of the tank crushed the bones in his feet to ash almost instantly, the pain knocking him out of his rage. Screaming in pain, he reflexively reached down with one hand to his feet… only for more treads to come down on his hand and thighs as the tank continued to move forwards. Eyes wide in horror, Macnair screamed for mercy, his free left hand scrabbling for the comforting presence of his axe. He could still hear its cries, its desire for blood…

His fingers brushed the handle as his world went dark, his last vision that of metal plates falling onto him.

Kingsley swallowed back bile as he approached the again stationary and now silent tank, taking great pains to not look at the arm that stuck out from underneath its treads. Most of the Aurors had lost their dinners at Macnairs death, and any fight had long gone out of the remaining Death Eaters. Of the five who'd been caught in the blast, three had been blown to bloody ribbons. Another had died before they had reached him. The last had still been alive, barely. They had started to prep a portkey to send him to St Mungo's, but even as the anti-portkey wards were dropped the Death Eater died. Personally Kingsley thought it was better that way. Not even magical healing could repair the damage wrought to his body. Even had he lived, the Death Eater would have been missing three limbs and been reduced to eating through a straw for the rest of his life.

As he approached, Kingsley watched as the four men who had emerged from within the machine went over it, apparently checking for damage. None of them seemed to care about the arm that stuck out from underneath, casually stepping over it like it was a tree branch. It was blindingly obvious that they were muggles, just from their dress. This put Kingsley in a dilemma. On the one hand standing orders were that any muggle catching sight of anything magical in nature, no matter how fleeting, was to be oblivated. But these four had saved their lives. Kingsley knew that if it hadn't been for their intervention, he nor any of the other Aurors would have seen the dawn.

As if sensing his approach the one turned to look at him. Kingsley took in the thin face with the moustache and close beard. "I guess you're the one in charge here." He said simply.

Kingsley nodded, recognising the voice as the one who'd called on the Death Eaters to surrender. "I am. I just wanted to say, thanks for saving us."

Jones smiled. "Hey man, it's what we were called in to do."

Kingsley frowned. "Called in?"

Jones looked around. "Where's that… there he is." Kingsley turned to see a fresh faced Auror, still wearing the trainee robes, come running up, puffing and panting. As the young man tried to get his breath back, Jones turned back to face the imposing Auror. "This lad here is our magical escort." He smirked. "Besides, we all knew about your world before today."

Kingsley was stunned. Just what was going on here. Turning to the trainee, he levelled his most imposing look on the young man. "Explain this rookie."

Peterson gulped under the towering black man's stare. "Senior Auror Sir, Madam Bones ordered the deployment."

"Madam Bones?" Kingsley frowned.

"Yes sir. Part of a joint project between herself, the muggle Military, and Harry Potter." The last name was said in an awed tone.

Kingsley sighed. "I see." He said, purely to give him time to think, as he didn't see at all. "I think, once we've got back to the Ministry, that I'd better have a talk with Director Bones." He walked away, shaking his head slightly.

Peterson looked back at the crew as Summers walked around from the front. He followed Jones over as the older man stepped over to meet him. "crazy fool actually thought he could damage a tank with an axe. I'm telling ya, these wizards are nuts!"

"Hey, don't blame me. I doubt any of them have even seen a tank before." Jones commented.

"Ugh, excuse me, but who are we talking about?" Peterson asked nervously.

From above MacDonald answered in a deadpan tone. "You're standing on him."

Peterson looked down.

Kingsley paused at the scream, and looked back to see the trainee leaping backwards away from the arm that stuck out from underneath the metal beast, the fingers just brushing the handle of a massive axe. Shaking his head, Kingsley turned back to the clean-up operation.

The kid would learn.