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A/N: I would like to thank all those who have reviewed.

Just over 15 miles east of Newcastle, the North Sea
1356 GMT, 4 December 2001

The French fleet had arrived early and were preparing for the coming battle by loading the guns, doing some last minute maintenance and other general repairs and readiness checks. Aboard the destroyer Montcalm, the Exocet missile launchers were being loaded with the first salvo of four missiles. Since they had arrived, they had had the company of the Royal Navy destroyers Manchester, Gloucester, Edinburgh, and York, and had been going over the battle plans with command crews from the aforementioned vessels. What set the crews on-edge was how there had been nothing of the ordinary coming from the city at all, not even so much as a bonfire. However, from all appearances, the city was in absolute chaos, and it seemed that only military intervention could restore the city to order. It was at this time that the HMS Ark Royal arrived and the land-based forces signaled that all was in readiness, so the ships got into formation and turned their guns toward the city. As soon as the last destroyer had raised its guns into position, the formation let loose with a massive torrent of gunfire, and Exocet missiles leapt out of their launchers. Each individual shell screamed out of the barrels at just over Mach 2.2, and the Exocets swiftly accelerated to their ultimate speed of 315 meters per second.

It took less than a minute for the five-inch diameter shells to cover the distance of fifteen miles, and whenever and wherever they hit a titanic column of smoke and fire erupted out of the earth very soon after. It took considerably longer for the Exocets to traverse the fifteen miles, but they caused substantially more damage than their counterpart fire with their 165-kilogram HE warheads and individual guidance systems. After thirty minutes of bombardment, the destroyers ceased their fire and the air assault began from the Ark Royal. The flight crews had been on the deck of the carrier watching the destroyers' fire round after round towards Newcastle, cheering the lads on whenever they scored a good hit. Now it was they who would be getting the cheers, and they would be ridding the world of a terrible evil while attacking their own nation, which they were trying not to think about now. They climbed into the cockpits of their GR.9 Harrier VTOL aircraft and as soon as the jets had revved up they leapt straight off the deck and into the sky. The first three flights of six Harriers in each flight, loaded to the gills with bombs of every size conceivable, flew over the city, and as they did, they relieved themselves of their deadly cargo and then returned to the carrier to load up again. This went on for almost another half-hour, and then came the parachute troops turn, and the relatively most dangerous part of the operation so far. The parachute landing had the potential to be one of the worst in the history of warfare, as the winds around the city were erratic in both direction and speed, which made parachutist operations very risky. The troops could fall in the ocean and drown before they could get clear of their lines, or they might fall in the middle of the city and get their chutes snagged on tall buildings. However, contingency plans had been made for this type of situation and they would allow for safe landings and successful assaults... at least that was the hope.

Two minutes after the fleet signaled that it was time for Force Sigma to take the scene, almost six hundred special operations forces boarded 10 C-130J Super Hercules transport aircraft based in southwestern England. In a little less than an hour, they were over the drop zone and two by two, they began jumping out the open back of the plane and tumbled off into the jet stream at an altitude of approximately ten thousand feet. As each parachutist fell towards the earth, each one maneuvered them self to keep in sight of their comrades, and their squad leaders, and at about a thousand feet above the ground they pulled the ripcords to their chutes and by 700 feet they were floating peacefully towards the ground at a gentle 20 mph. As soon as they hit the ground, they let their legs crumple beneath them to cushion the impact, and in less than forty seconds, they were up off the ground and ready to fight for queen and country. Now we join a specific soldier, and we shall follow his progress through the next few hours; this soldier's name is Harry James Potter. Harry was one of the first on the ground, and it was his job as section leader to make sure the rest of his troops got on the ground okay. Once that function of the job was accomplished, he lead the way towards the metropolitan area, because the prevailing wind conditions had scattered their drop a bit, and they had ended up about ten clicks away from the actual city. As they got closer to the city, the magical components of the group felt the tingle of anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards that they had set up before the barrage to keep the enemy from escaping in-between the bombing, shelling and the Paratroop landings.

As they moved through the English suburbs, the main emotion from those they met while marching was confusion, and there seemed to be a bit of anger as well. With the confusion came some extremely troubling questions asked by the townsfolk, the most disturbing of which was 'why the hell are you invading your own country' as one middle-aged man so delicately put it, right before he was tackled to the ground. This sentiment and the question were repeated quite a few times, and it quickly became apparent that the townsfolk had had nothing but business as usual, which only increased the feeling amongst the troops that something, nothing they could put their fingers on, was very wrong there. The farther they got into the city, the more disquieting the situation became, as they found many destroyed buildings and dead civilians, but they did not see a single death eater body, anywhere in the streets or in the buildings they cleared and that was impossible. They cleared every corner building they went past, and station some people from first platoon to keep a look out for any enemy movement on the streets. After three hours of going through the city at a snail's pace, the three prongs of the assault force met up near the harbor, and they all had the same thing to report: nothing except destroyed buildings and dead civilians, both of which were most likely caused by the naval bombardment. It was clear that the reports given to the recon team and the military command stratum, entirely fabricated, were a massive and very deceptive ruse. It obviously meant to cause the Royal Navy and the British army attack defenseless citizens of their own country, causing a political nightmare and civil turbulence, and in this, it achieved its greatest effect. It was a masterfully executed piece of deception, on par with the famous Trojan horse in its cleverness and effectiveness, and it had certainly accomplished what it meant to do.

The team had expected to be fighting for up to two weeks, and if it had taken longer than that, the regular army would be called in to lend a hand in taking the city from the rebellious magical forces. Now however, they a full battalion of elite Special Forces with no mission, and no prospect of an assignment in the next few weeks because they expected to have been in support operations of the army. Throughout the entire 'assault' the collective total number of times a weapon had fired amounted to no more than eight, and five of those had been caused by happy trigger-fingers and non-existent noises heard in alleyways. It was either the single greatest achievement in the history of land warfare, or the most embarrassing and perfect deception since the battle of Vicksburg in the American Civil War. Almost immediately people started pointing fingers at one another, they all started screaming out how they were not the guilty party here, and each one of them knew that someone would be wrung out to dry for this debacle. The debate quickly moved into a nearby pub that was still intact, and the pub had record business as everyone who could fit in the establishment became thoroughly plastered, which they really needed. The so-called happy hour lasted for the rest of the day and well into the night, and the next morning the beleaguered troops had hangovers that lasted until the following week.

Toulon Naval base, Toulon, Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur, France
1847 GMT (7:47 PM EST), 4 December 2001

It had taken nearly three days to gather all the sailors of the French Charles de Gaulle battle group from the various bars and wineries around Toulon, and it had taken a further day to alleviate them of the unbridled alcoholism that had taken much of the military by storm. The military had heard about the freeze on their paychecks, and in consequence, almost ninety-eight percent of them decided to go on a bender of insane magnitude, because if they were going to hazard casualty to their person, they should at least be paid for it in their reasoning. The high command had a very different view of the situation however, and that view was directly at odds with that of the common military service member. Naturally, when the various commanders of the military issued the orders that restricted military personnel to their respective bases, the subordinates paid them no heed, and the local police forces rectified the situation. Now the French navy was preparing to sail for positions in the English Channel, to hassle the Dutch and Danish aggressors, and to be an all-purpose aid to Coalition forces in the vicinity. The four Rubis class nuclear submarines FS Rubis, Casablanca, Améthyste, and Perle would lead the way acting as a screen and afterwards join the USS Valhalla on tour of duty in the North Sea. The FS Charles de Gaulle would take a position about 70 miles north-northwest of London and would serve as an anchor for conferences between the different arms of the various national militaries.

The French Army would be moving relatively quickly to the Northeast of the country to counteract the Dutch forces moving across the Belgian border. However, like most of the world, the French held no illusions as to their combat effectiveness being even average nor that their leaders were particularly bright, the latter being wondered about quite often. Even in simulated combat environments, the upper French army commands were obnoxiously cautious, and once they even surrendered... to civilian police who were not even involved in the exercise. That was not even the tragically sad part of the tale, for the captain who had surrendered a full infantry company to civilians, found himself soon after promoted to the rank of colonel, instead of attending his own dishonorable discharge hearing, as he should have. In short, the men and women of the French armed forces tried desperately not to remember that large black mark on their history or anything related it, and in general, they categorically denied it ever happened, even when talking to the man it happened to. Thankfully, the largest part of the French command echelon had more intelligence and bravery than that particular yellow-bellied coward, and they were much more competent in command than the moron of a colonel was as well. Overall, the French forces hoped they would be able to push the comparatively small Dutch army back through Belgium and then take care of the Dutch on their own soil, without the aid of the other militaries of the European Union, but they doubted they would.

Southampton, England, the United Kingdom
2042 GMT, 4 December 2001

The scene inside the temporary capital was almost comical, as people watched television screens showing a broadcast of CNN, detailing a video they had just received that was apparently from the Dark Lord. The tape, sent directly into the office of Ted Turner via portkey, had on it proof that the dark lord was entirely round the twist or very, very stupid, or possibly both. The content of the tape was one that nigh on made it a certainty that the Coalition would receive the aid of Israeli forces and near unanimous support from Jews from all nations on the planet. When the actual recording played, several people burst out into uproarious hilarity at the language used, which was neither lewd nor coarse in temperament but lacked all sense of diplomacy. The main phrase reiterated several times by the Dark Lord, who was the orator on the video, was that he was the enactor of the 'Final Solution' to the quandary of the mundane peoples of the world and the magical peoples who sprung from their stock. He called upon all the magical peoples of the world to rise up and join him in his inevitable triumph, and those who chose to resist him would die in the most horrible manner conceivable. Although the severity of the communication was somewhat blunted by the fact that the Dark Lord looked almost exactly like the American singer, Michael Jackson, albeit without a nose and with bizarre eyes. By the end of the broadcast, the Queen was seriously considering sending Lord Voldemort a basket of fruit in thanks for securing the Coalition another valuable ally... and just to make him madder than a wet hen as secondary reason.

Istanbul, Turkey
2307 GMT, 4 December 2001 (1:07 AM, 5 December 2001)

The terrorists responsible for the bombing of the medical facilities located at the Hagia Sophia had been caught near midnight, and they were quickly convicted by an irate mob in the streets of the city, and sentenced to death soon after. The few police on duty at that time of night were of little help in quelling the anger of the lawless crowd; their remarks about sending them to the city jail and allowing real justice to take place only exacerbated the ire of the rabble. Soon, they were to share the fate of the terrorists who they were previously defending, because someone irrationally declared the police to be in complicity with the criminals, as the police officers attempted to save the murderers from their rightful fate. Within the hour, there were twenty broken and bloodied bodies hanging from lampposts around the city, and when daylight broke, the city started to tear itself apart. When the police forces saw their comrades strung up with no respect for the uniform, they quickly broke out the heavy weapons available to them and went on a witch-hunt -no pun intended- for the perpetrators. They met the reveling crowd, soon a fully pitched battle waged across the streets, and angry mob met angry police. Some of the police were downed by lucky shots, and very rapidly, they were stripped of their assault rifles and body armor, which then protected the rabble assaulting the police. After three hours of battle, the mutinous crowd came out on top, and soon the little riot took on a cause far from its original intent. Socialist revolutionaries seized upon the peoples anger at their governments failure to protect them from terror and their despair over the economic situation, and whipped them into a seditious frenzy. The movement soon gained strength and size as more and more people joined in, venting their frustrations over increasingly minor problems and their seemed to be no end in sight to this social insurrection.

Albany, New York, the United States
0015 GMT, 5 December 2001 (7:15 PM EST)

Unlike the ruins of London, what remained of New York City had remained unexplored due mainly to the torrential precipitation system surrounding the area that had made nearly all motor vehicle travel impossible. Only the most sturdy and powerful of vehicles could make their way safely through the flooded streets, and the mud that had a staying power similar to super glue. The rain had not let up for ten days, this had the unfortunate effect of irradiating just about everything within sixty-five miles of NYC, and it killed off about 40% of the plant life in the area. The entirety of the New York National Guard reassigned to active duty, and almost one-third of those forces would be searching for survivors in the wreckage and the ruins of NYC and the surrounding area, and stabilizing the explosive circumstances in the area. The few vehicles on-hand at the staging area that could make it safely through the weather conditions were four M60A3 Patton tanks, three Bradley assault vehicles and a platoon of eight M1A2 Abrams main battle tanks, so the capacity to move troops into the affected areas was strictly truncated. With the vehicle forces anticipated to arrive in the next three days, the transportation capacity of the rescue force would increase by about 600%, and their capability to fight out battles with any challenging force they might meet would increase by a factor of twelve. However, they had received orders from the governor that stated they were to move into the area without further ado and with extreme haste, whether they were ready or not. As each of the vehicles heavy diesel engines started up, the crews thought about the downright lunacy of sending tanks into burned out neighborhoods and areas where people would not, and most likely could not, fight them.

The commander of the expedition force, Lieutenant Colonel Henry Longstreet of the United States Marines, was furious that command had relegated him to a mission that was more of a babysitting job than anything else was. He had received commendations for tactical excellence and superior command ability at the Virginia Military Institute, and now his talents wasted on missions that any monkey in a uniform could perform perfectly. He wanted to strike back at the people who had incinerated his mother, father and younger sister along with every body else in the Lower East side of Queens, but he was told by his commanders to get grief counseling. After almost three days of constant arguing with his commanders, somebody finally put him on probation and told that if he wanted to stay at his current rank, then he had better shut up. There was a bright light at the end of the tunnel though, as his commanders had promised him that if he worked without complaint for the next three months, they would transfer him the First Division and into a combat command. He had also extracted from them a promise to put him in charge of one the first operational M1A3 battalions the Marine Corps were sending over to Southeast Asia, a choice assignment in anyone's book. Slated for an assignment in the Far East and a command position of one the best armor units on the face of the globe, he was willing to allow this insult to his command ability and intelligence to slide.