Ich hatt' einen Kameraden,
Einen bessern findst du nit.
Die Trommel schlug zum Streite,
Er ging an meiner Seite
In gleichem Schritt und Tritt.

The Graf Zeppelin II had crashed.

All the video screens were broken.

Cockroaches scuttled across cobwebbed machines.

Dust and dirt smeared the insignia of a once-great empire.

In his chair sat the Major. He had not moved from that spot for some time, becoming unkempt and dirty. His once perfect hair was now messy and grubby, and dust and stains splotched his uniform.

SS-Sturmbahnführer. Blitzkrieg. Ewige Krieg, für das Reich!

Sieg heil.

"Sieg heil…" he repeated, a sad, ironic smile creeping onto his face. Once, that was what he stood for. Now there was nothing.

Eine Kugel kam geflogen:
Gilt's mir oder gilt es dir?
Ihn hat es weggerissen,
Er liegt vor meinen Füßen
Als wär's ein Stück von mir.

They were all gone now. The Doctor, the Captain, Rip…all of them dead now forever. The war was finished, and so was he. Alone now, in the lifeless shell of his once glorious war machine.

Alone, except for one…

The Hitler Youth catboy crept into the room, being careful not to make too much noise. He had learned by now not to disturb the Major in this state.

Schrödinger, too, had become a mess. His uniform was fading in the constant darkness and the fur on his ears had become ragged and flea-bitten.

He stood there awhile, studying his fallen leader. He remained now in shambles, a mere shadow of his former self. Schrödinger had also lost his sheen and joyful misdemeanour. He only slunk about now, a stray cat wandering.

The Major did not acknowledge the catboy's entrance. He did not move.

He could not leave his post here. To do so would admit defeat…to admit victory to Hellsing. He had been in hiding this long, waiting for them to make the next move. But no moves had been made. No-one had come to finish them off. They were alone with only their thoughts as company. No words were ever said between the last survivors of the Letzte Battalion.

The Major clasped at the Totenkopf on his lapel. The symbol of unwavering loyalty, even in death.

"Meine Ehre…ist Treue…"

He glanced over to the catboy in the corner.

"Schrödinger."

Schrödinger pricked up his ears in surprise.

"…Sturmbahnführer?"

The Major blinked slowly. The words were difficult to say.

"Go toFrau Hellsing. Tell her…we surrender."

Schrödinger drooped. He knew what was coming.

"…What then?"

Major turned his head to face the HJ-Oberstammführer.

"You may do as you please."

Schrödinger saluted solemnly and disappeared into the darkness for the final time.

The Major pulled out, with some difficulty, a pistol from his pocket. He would die an honourable death, like his Führer before him. He would not give Frau Hellsing the pleasure of seeing him defeated.

He put the pistol to his temple. His hands did not shake, and his gaze did not waver from the broken video screens before him. He was not afraid of death. How could he be? There was nothing left here for him. He had to accept his fate. The war was now over, and it was Hellsing who had been the victor.

I shall perish in hellfire, as did my great Führer.

Let nothing be left of my body that the victors may use as a trophy.

He raised his right hand in the proud salute he and all of his crew before him had been taught to use.

"Sieg heil!"

Hail victory. A victory that would never come.

The trigger was pulled and the bullet fired. The sound echoed throughout the hall, a painful shock out of the silence. The vampire's blood splattered against the chair and floor, onto the large swastika flag behind him, staining it a deeper red.

As he felt death consume him, the Major could only laugh. Hellsing may have won, but it was he who had the last laugh. He had not lost his dignity.

Schrödinger still remains. Millenium will rise again. Our Thousand-Year Reich will come. Just you wait…

Fire consumed the cackling Major as it had his comrades before him. He let the pistol drop to the ground, a memento of his presence.

And at last, there was silence in the ruin of the Graf Zeppelin II. Only the insects remained, to bury the last remains of Millenium's empire.

For now.

Will mir die Hand noch reichen,
Derweil ich eben lad'.
"Kann dir die Hand nicht geben,
Bleib du im ew'gen Leben
Mein guter Kamerad!"

Millennium will rise again.