A few notes prior to starting...
1) The following takes place in between the events of the ending of the main events in the Hellsing: Ultimate series, and the epilogue of what goes on thirty years afterward when we see Alucard's return and what not. The exact time I shall leave a secret, because I'd like to leave that up to you to guess. Not to mention I've not thought it up myself, yet...
2) To make things easier for myself, the writer, as well as you, the reader, I have taken the liberty of making chunks of text in a chapter – a 'scene', if you like – separate via the use of some ellipses. A simple ... in between lines of text indicate a 'scene change' which makes things easily flow and easy to follow without making a whole new chapter every couple of paragraphs. Do bear in mind that there are none in this first chapter due to the pathetic length, however.
3) I greatly enjoy reviews, more specifically, any constructive criticism you can provide. I am far from a good writer, and can use plenty of improvement with the help of readers giving me feedback and pointing me in the right direction.
With that out of the way, let us begin. I hope you enjoy this horrid tale.

In a large grassy field, the infamous trump card of Millennium – the Captain – would awake with a powerful twitch. Wide-eyed, he quickly looked around at where he was the best he could from his position. Flat on the ground on his back, he didn't exactly have a fantastic view. Terrified and confused, he sprung into a more upright position. This was a bad idea, as he suddenly felt a great pain in his chest. The silver shoved there by his vampiric opponent's other half had gone, but the damage it had left behind was severe. He wore his coat, but it was open, leaving most of his chest and stomach open to the air. Blood was pouring from the hole in the left side of his chest, though not by the amount it was when he-

Wait a second, he should be dead. He -was- dead, right? Well, obviously not. This perplexed the wolf man about as much as his location did. Looking at his wound for another moment, he determined that there were no traces of silver left. The burning sensation he would feel should the pure metal touch his skin was not present, either. All that was there was the throbbing and aching of proper damage which was caused by that element.

Keeping his coat open, the wolf-man got up to his feet. Being as tall as he was, he could get a good look around. Standing in place, slowly turning in a circle as he scanned all that he could spot near and far, he came to the conclusion that he was in the middle of nowhere. What a helpful discovery indeed. Something that did interest him, however, was a white house across the field. It had two floors, and even from this distance, the man could tell that it was rather old. Not to mention it was of Welsh or English make. Well, probably. Now he was just guessing. He needed assistance for his wounds. Mainly the one which was causing his uniform to turn from a forest green to a dark scarlet.

As he limped forward, he discovered that his arms had returned – and he was using them to absent-mindedly check himself over. He had his guns, a couple magazines, and his dress ribbons. Odd, he didn't have those on his person when he was last conscious… It was as he slowly made his way to the one dot of civilization that his mind quickly wandered to the question of, 'Did any of the others survive?' Followed quickly by the more pertinent question with an answer he moreso wanted, 'Is Schrodinger okay?'

Both he and the young boy were rather close. In spite of their obvious differences – the Warrant Officer being spliced with a feline, and Hans a proper Werewolf – the two bonded quite a bit. The opposites attract rule was certainly in play, here. The quite, reserved Captain becoming fast friends with the cheeky and chatty 'kitten' in their ranks. The Captain always acted in defense of the boy, forming a very close and personal attachment after a rather short period.

As his mind wandered, and he slowly drew closer to the building, he then came to the idea that it may have been his love himself that saved him. Even though the savior all of them – save for the neko – wanted was a death in battle. Hans himself was well over one-hundred and fifty years old, after all. Having to constantly deal with being the number one soldier for these Nazi's and doing things which were standard as could be for the Third Reich were draining on him for sure. He was not a cruel man by nature, like the Major, the Doctor, or that annoying loud-mouth Yan Valentine. No, he wanted to help people if possible instead of shooting them or worse. Although, he really had no choice. This was the life he knew, but now? Now it was gone as far as he knew.

It was as these thoughts all drew to a close that he arrived to the front door of the lonely home in the middle of these plains. Giving a knock on the door, he awaited a reply, his free hand coming over his chest to close the half-open coat without him having to button it…

As amateurish as even I am, I must say that 'chapter' turned out quite a bit shorter than I expected. It's purpose was to be a taster, anyway. Not to mention the fact that the last time I wrote up a proper story and put it up anywhere was two years ago. Do bear with me, I promise the next chapter will be of proper length. Think of this as a prologue, if you like.