The IDS-type Panavia Tornado is equipped with a Mauser BK-27 machine gun. This weapon fires slugs with a mass of 0.26 kilograms, at 1100 meters per second; the rate of fire can be set at either 1000 or 1700 rounds per minute. Hence, the muzzle energy is 315.8 kJ in each slug, sending almost ten megawatts of kinetic power against the target. By comparison, a typical Wal-Mart store draws an average of about one megawatt of electrical energy. The airplane has automated terrain following, allowing the pilot to focus on the strafing run, and preventing the airplane from crashing before the pilot can react.
Of course, neither Harry nor Kingsley knew any of this. But neither did their adversaries.
Kingsley, up in a plane, watched as the pilot in his plane flicked a switch. Images of the grounds below began to flicker across a screen, but with most objects looking like ghosts in a dark night—except for some large bright spots in one group, and a greater number of smaller, fainter bright spots in another group. Radio messages were being exchanged constantly, and the squadron leader seemed to be having some difficulties conveying the proper information. It did not help that not everyone had seen the pictures transmitted to the RAF station, so some of the pilots were trying to rapidly get information from others about that. Kingsley wondered whether they were always this disorganized, but quickly realized it was due to the ad hoc nature of this operation.
–What is that?†Kingsley shouted over the noise of the engine and radio, pointing at the screen.
–Infrared imager!†the pilot (whose name he still did not know) shouted back. –That’s the human and…giant hostiles, all right. The big spiders don’t show up well. Don’t talk now, I must focus.†Kingsley glanced behind him and was actually startled to notice another person behind them, equipped with several large screens and another joystick, which didn’t seem to be being used at the moment. That man was also completely focused on whatever he was doing.
The planes wheeled around over the grounds. In the darkness, Kingsley could only see two other airplanes, but they were turning as well, in perfect time with the one he was in. The acceleration was violent, and he began to feel ill again. This became worse when the pilot tipped the airplane forward, sending it plunging rapidly toward the ground, then pulling up at the last moment. Ahead of him, a strange noise began—
Harry, of course, didn’t know this, but the Mauser fired so rapidly that the explosions were not distinguishable. With a Seeker’s eye, he had seen black shadows speed past overhead, filling the grounds with a roar. Startled, the acromantulas reared, but any noise they might be making was suddenly drowned by a sound between a motorbike engine and a jackhammer, the continuous roaring blast of the machine guns. The light of curses being fired flashed through the grounds, but Harry saw no sign of any planes having been hit. In the flickering light, though, he saw that many of the Death Eaters had fallen, shapes distorted and unpleasant. The blasting stopped for a moment, allowing confused shouting to briefly gain mastery of the audible range: everyone behind Harry in the Room seemed to be yelling at once; the Death Eaters were shouting orders, casting curses, and screaming in rage or pain; and the giants released savage, blood-chilling roars that echoed against the forest and castle and forest again. Hermione nudged Harry aside so she could see through the window, closely followed by a suddenly roused Lupin, then…
Another two planes screamed low. The blasting began again. It was all so fast, only a few seconds had passed since the planes were still off in the distance. In the darkness, no one could really see the damage as bullets struck the giants, but they certainly saw the effects. Harry had counted seven giants standing outside the castle before the planes came. In an instant, four of them were falling like toppled redwoods. The planes rose away from the ground again; immense crashes arrived tardily as the dead or dying giants smote the ground, shaking the entire castle, sending many of the defenders, struggling to rise, falling into and over one another. Harry clapped his hands over his ears against the incredible noise, and nearly fell over backward himself; Hermione seized his cloak and yanked him back upright. Lupin clutched the bars of the other window, holding on firmly, as the shocks swept on.
Among the many things the acromantulas could do well was see in the dark. They saw the effects of the planes’ attacks, and it was only the sheer volume of their leader’s terrified hiss that let Harry’s ringing ears hear it. The massive spiders scattered in a black tangle of limbs toward the forest, running faster than Harry had ever seen them go, not looking back. Curses continued to fly from the group of Death Eaters in the grounds, but Harry saw no sign that any of them had hit the planes.
One of the remaining three giants promptly booked it for the forest as well. The other two released fresh massive, bellowing roars and charged at full speed towards Hogwarts Castle. But two more planes could just be heard over this noise, tearing downwards to attack. Neither giant reached the castle.
Above all this, Kingsley gripped anything he could grip, as his airplane began its run. The pilot had to radio the man behind him to do…something, that Kingsley was blocking him from doing. The infrared scanner showed the Death Eaters setting up some sort of formation on the ground, trying to get space between themselves, but they couldn’t do it fast enough—
Kingsley’s stomach seemed to flip as the airplane went into near free fall for a moment or two, then levelled off a frighteningly low place. Though he couldn’t see it, the man behind him pressed a button, sending this incredible rattling blast resounding through the airplane. The Death Eaters replied with a (partly) cohesive volley that was a moment too slow, flying far behind the airplane, as it started to rise again. It was hard to tell what had happened on the ground; it took a while for dead bodies to get cool enough for their IR emission to drop, and of course the wounded never would.
The squadron leader frowned as he listened to the hasty reports coming in after each pass, as did the PM and members of the Defence Council watching and listening from COBR. There was no good way to determine damage, was the trouble.
–Sirs,†he said respectfully, punching up the correct line, –I am requesting permission to use a Paveway unguided bomb, sirs. I believe that that will neutralize the remaining hostiles outside the castle, unless they disperse further, sirs.â€
The Prime Minister hesitated. –Contact Mr. Shacklebolt,†he said after a moment. –Ask him.â€
The request was quickly relayed to Kingsley. He was aghast. –Tell them,†he said, –that that is a very bad idea. The castle could be damaged, and if parts of the castle collapse it could injure or kill our allies inside. Besides…it is rather…indiscriminate. This is still a law enforcement matter; that is, they should be taken alive, when possible.†He realized this was somewhat belied by the use of machine guns, but there were right and wrong ways to do things, nonetheless.
The pilot quickly relayed this to the squadron leader and COBR. A long pause followed over the radio, as the jets wheeled around the castle. Curses flew here and there, but the airplanes could not be seen at this distance, let alone hit.
–I am afraid not,†the PM said finally. –As I understand very little of this…I will do as Kingsley advises. I agree that the risk is too great…and I do not see the benefit.â€
–Sir, should we pursue and destroy the remaining monsters, sir?†the squadron leader asked. Kingsley heard this, and would have quickly stood in another situation. As it was, he seized his pilot’s shoulder. –Tell them,†he said at once, –that those creatures are rare, valuable, do not appear to pose any further threat, and just as, I believe the word used was, sentient as you or I.â€
–Ah, sir— –
–We heard you, Mr. Shacklebolt,†the PM said with a slight smile. –Squadron leader—what is your name, by the way?â€
–Sir, Squadron Leader James Dursley, sir.â€
Kingsley raised his eyebrows. That seemed a rather improbable coincidence, especially if they were in fact related. Perhaps it was some effect of Lily’s protection? No, impossible, that broke months ago…
The PM, meanwhile, could be heard engaged in a hasty discussion with the RAF brass. Furious but incomprehensible muttering could be heard over the radio. Blair spoke again after a few moments.
–Mr. Shacklebolt. Are you certain that the…acromantulas…will not return?â€
–It does not matter if they do! We cannot forego such a fascinating opportunity—their exoskeletons shouldn’t be able to support them, for crying out loud! I need living— –
–Mr. Davies!â€
–Prime Minister.†Kingsley answered, –If I understand this ‘night vision’ screen correctly, the acromantulas are moving as quickly as they can away from the battle. I doubt that they will return; they have no particular loyalty to Voldemort, and cannot be Imperiused. No doubt they were promised a reward in…well, let us just say that I do not think they will return.â€
The Prime Minister spoke again. –Squadron leader—†He was interrupted by noise on the other end for a moment. –Air Marshal, your concerns are noted, but I have made a decision. Squadron leader, take your aircraft and return to your base. You will remain on alert, and be ready to take off again promptly; those orders will also be transmitted to the base.â€
–Sir, very good, sir!†Sqd Ldr Dursley answered. He felt a strong impulse to take one hand from the controls to salute, but his pilot’s instincts prevented this until he realized a moment later how foolish that would be. He then began, as crisply and precisely as he could (the prime minister and Chief of the Air Staff were listening!) to issue the orders to leave the holding pattern and return to Lossiemouth.
While all this was going on, Harry and Hermione were trying to avoid being knocked down and trampled by the people pushing toward the windows from behind them, i.e., almost everyone else in the Room. A moment later, the windows expanded, still with the bars in place, allowing people to spread out for a better view. Railings grew around Harry and Hermione, holding the crowd back, and allowing them to move away from the windows.
–I can hardly blame them,†Hermione noted, noticing that George was now on the ground with a boot print on his back, swearing loudly, –but I really wish that people would think sometimes.†She flicked her wand, hoisting him to his feet.
–Why, many thanks, my fair lady, and none for the rest of those gits,†he said cheerfully. –Sweet?†He pulled some bright green thing from one of his pockets. Hermione and Harry rapidly shook their heads. –Now. What’s all of the fuss about?â€
–Muggles in airplanes are attacking the Death Eaters,†Hermione informed him. He immediately turned around and raced toward the windows, nearly knocking someone over himself. Harry chuckled.
Lupin forced his way back through the crowds. By this time, the planes were flying away, leading to disappointed groans from those who had not seen what had happened. A hubbub of talk broke out, as those who had seen the strikes explained the situation to those who had not.
–Harry,†Lupin said very seriously at once, –I have to ask you to do something. Open your mind to Voldemort. We need to know what he is thinking.â€
The need to open anything vanished a moment later, when blinding rage hit Harry like the burning-hot treasure (was that only this morning? It seemed like weeks), blasting through his defenses and bringing him into Voldemort’s mind and body, pale white fists clenched, air hissing through slits of nostrils
–You are lying!!†Harry screamed, insane with fury, yet knowing the man was not lying, and the fear trickling from that thought kept him from killing the worm in front of him—he, Lord Voldemort, might yet need him. –Muggles cannot do this! How could this happen?!†Harry’s nearly-stifled psyche noticed that he could hear the voice in two different ways; it was so loud as to filter through into the Room. Harry and Voldemort’s arm swung again, –Reducto!†the curse smashed into the door, stone flying, bars bending—
By an immense effort of will, Harry separated Voldemort’s mind from his own. He did not need the link to hear Voldemort’s voice, a wild blending of rage and triumph, and shouting: –With me! Now!†Lupin and one or two others began screaming orders at the bulk of scared and confused witches and wizards by the windows, trying to spread them into an arc around the door. At least a few of them could pull off effective Avada’s, and if Voldemort was foolish enough to charge in first…
A tremendous blast struck the door all at once. The stone crumbled, then suddenly shattered, chips and chunks flying, a great cloud of dust all that was between them—
But before anyone could do anything, the stone was replaced with clean, shining metal that ringed the Room of Requirement. Anyone watching the ceiling would have seen it appear across there an instant later, then some kind of glass replacing the bars over the windows. The doors were now very odd constructions; each was a kind of very oblong dome made of a single layer of more of the strange glass, then more metal, swinging from its narrow end by sleek, modern hinges. Voldemort blasted the new door several more times and did not put a dent in it.
–What the ruddy hell?!†Ron, who had just now finally woken up, demanded.
–It’s the airplanes!†Hermione shouted, sounding like that little precocious smartass from all those years ago. –The Room must have, in some fashion, observed the material comprising the airplanes and replicated it to support the walls! Combined with magic as the stone was, the strength will be superb.â€
–Blimey, I had no idea it could do that,†Harry said gingerly, massaging the violent pounding headache he now had.
–Until a few moments ago, it could not,†Hermione explained, her excited voice hurting Harry’s head. –It…adapted, like a living thing…â€
–Perhaps in a way it is,†Lupin said. –Or perhaps it used our minds, drawing the idea from us as a…â€
–Collective consciousness?†Hermione suggested.
–Yes, something of that nature.â€
Voldemort was now screaming and blasting wildly at the door and walls, without any noticeable effect. If the aircraft metal—Harry had no idea what it was, come to think of it, probably some kind of alloy composite or whatever those were called—was as thick as the stone had been, it would be very strong.
Back in England, COBR had been busy. A squadron of Britain’s finest soldiers, the SAS, were rapidly boarding helicopters. There was officially a squadron in Scotland already, but they were unofficially in Eastern Europe at that moment, trying to do various things to which the UK government firmly denied any connection. And as many military commanders have found, soldiers who only exist officially are not really any use at all. Two more squadrons of SAS, along with various other British Army units, were moving themselves and their equipment into personnel carriers, preparing to head for London. The Metropolitan Police were issued orders to establish a cordon around a certain area of London, which included a vandalized telephone booth with some very unusual connections and a public toilet with equally unusual traffic patterns, and to clear civilians out of there, with a story about a major gas leak. Large mugs of black tea (they were not yet ready to resort to coffee, which the Science Adviser described as –American liquid cocaineâ€) were brought into COBR, the main command and control room at Lossiemouth, and various other offices throughout Britain. This would be a long night.