Right, next chapter of this rather interesting piece. Evident of my way of working against the grain as always. Please read and Review!
"Forget Awe and fear. The only Words I have are 'How the hell did we miss that'"
(Captain Wrathwell at the second Blitz of London after spotting the Major's Massive zeppelin)
The halls of the Hellsing Mansion rang with thud of boot falls on the soft carpets as the pinstripe suit clad men made their way below the watchful eyes of the paintings that stared down at them from the walls. Through the softly lit main hall and climbing the winding stair case, Abraham Van Helsing's grim portrait greeted them as they passed into a long wooden clad corridor. Here, many more paintings of the Helsing line glared down on them from their gold clad frames.
A door opened at the end of the hall, the short, newly shaven face of the young Arthur Helsing appearing in the opening. For such a young face, the hardship taken by the 18 year old was too hard to comprehend. Seeing as the haggard Abraham Van Helsing who occupied the upper rooms of the mansion had passed down his mantle with such difficulty during this current armed struggle, it'd been up to Arthur to lead the war against unholy terrors like his own servant, the Vampire Alucard who was abroad under the watchful eye of young Walter at this time. He was too young for such a burden and it showed in his face. The fatigue and tired eyes which blazed with some hidden power, evidence of the determined and devout spirit the young boy had.
"Lord Winslow, it has been some time since you graced this house with your presence" Arthur's voice had an almost hard quality to it, the sharp tones he used were almost as if he was a man much older then himself, Lord Winslow coughed into his moustache, pulling his medals closer to his chest as around him, the other officials doffed their caps to the young man before stepping into the large room beyond the corridor.
Arthur waited until they were all seated around the large round table, their swords stowed beside their chairs and for a few, cigars been lit around the table, before he spoke. The war still had an effect on such luxurious surroundings. The windows were blacked out and most of the metal work had gone, leaving old wooden holders on table tops to stop the wax from ruining the polished top, even with the many rich men clustered round the table, dripping with expensive clothing. Arthur ground his teeth.
Still, among such conflict and suffering; the knights had long since lost their knightly values and instead taken up riches and their own scheming views to lose all self righteousness. In truth all the men had was his scorn, maybe his pity as those weak enough to lose sight of their goals to forward their own ends. For now he would have to bite his tongue; these men were his only allies in this dark time. Only Lord Winslow sat without a fat cigar, his cold blue eyes never moving from Arthur's own face.
Lord Winslow, his haggard face had lasted throughout World War 1 and 2, the large moustache slowly becoming streaked with grey as the years passed. Abraham had briefly mentioned what Lord Winslow's position had been on the round table, except Arthur couldn't quite remember. Just Abraham's words as he rolled away in his wheel chair, Walter rolling his eyes as he pushed the old man away…
"Stubborn Old Bastard"
"Why exactly have you requested this roundtable conference 'Sir' Helsing" there was a little too much emphasis on the Sir for Arthur as James Morgan, the current head of the British Espionage Agency spoke up. He was a thin man, his bony elbows resting on the wooden top as he pressed himself forward, his hooked nose putting Arthur in mind of some distressed witch.
"It has come to my attention that in this current crisis, several unsanctioned forces have been utilised and brought back into service…" Arthur rested his hands on the lacquered surface "…why exactly why weren't we informed and why are they not working alongside the main British Army"
"And what makes it your business to know the War office's motives. You listen for your orders from the Palace…" a rather bald gentleman spoke up "…and follow them, don't question our motives."
Arthur dropped into his seat at the far end of the table, pushing a proffered tray of cigars away from him. A disgusting habit, Arthur hoped no one in the Helsing line would smoke such awful things.
"Yes, but when it involves battling the supernatural it is our duty to carry out that task. Here I see another organisation with the same intentions doing our job for us…"
"Hellsing is null and void during this as your pet vampire is elsewhere. He is powerful I know, I know…" Commander Mclean of the Navy spoke up, his pressed blue suit covered with several medals "…but he can't be everywhere at the same time. We need to cover our bases and Hellsing lacks the man power to remain a secure asset for the British Government"
"Yes I understand, the paramilitary activities of the Hellsing Organisation are thinly spread, I admit but for this matter, I required a little more consultation. Why did you avoid speaking to my staff, or consulting myself?"
"Because…" Winslow spoke up "…Alucard offered all the info we really needed. He deemed it to better his interests so he came and spoke to us at his own free will. You were involved in some parts however when it came down to it the only true asset we received were the Russians. Hellsing, at that point only gave us limited scope unlike the Russians who had fought more then just Ghouls and Freaks built by the Germans"
"You are referring of course to the Nightwatch I presume" Morgan's weasily voice echoed across the room, Winslow's eyes disappearing into shadow as he furrowed his eyebrows.
"Yes …." He said after a time "…For us, I refer more to a group which has been working for our better interests for a number of years now. For their part, I must say, under my command they've been allied with you 'Sir' Helsing"
Arthur almost took smoking up as a habit at that point as he steepled his fingers, trying to break the gaze of Winslow across the table.
"Then stop with the subterfuge, the sneaking around and the internal espionage and tell me…" Arthur Helsing took a quick look around the room "…who are they?"
Captain Andrew Wrathwell mounted the small metal steps and rose into the cockpit pulling his hood back. He had to stoop, like most in the confined space, catching the back of Billy's chair in one iron gauntlet as he lowered his head to stare grimly through the quickly frosting glass.
"Sir?"
"Any sign of our target…" he spoke with the voice of some old British aristocrat, the haughty tones sounding loud and clear over the rattling engines and mounting wind "…there must be something in view at this point."
Beyond the rapidly freezing glass, rocky cliffs stole by beyond the howling winds, the waves below were not calm any more and dashed against the cliff walls like some cage animal. Ruins were visible to through the lashing rain, where large shadows filled the cliffs with eerie shapes cast by the ruined walls and fallen arches.
"The maps show some kind of large settlement near here…"
"What ever it was, it's not there now. I haven't been picking up any trace of radio signals or visuals of lights down there…." Billy's co-pilot spoke up, hands solidly wrapped around the throttle as he struggled to hold the plane steady "….what do you want me to do, Sir"
Wrathwell took a quick breath as the cliffs reared up above them "Find us an area of open ground and drop us there. Then get the hell out of here. I think there will be something big going down here tonight and it's not worth risking any more lives then we have already."
He left, staggering slightly as the plane bucked and rattled and disappeared down the metal gantry into the lower levels of the plane. Billy and the Co-pilot exchanged glances, Billy, his face dribbling with perspiration crossed himself, his hands resting on his beating heart as if to quell it.
Wrathwell's metal clad boots dropped down with a clump onto the deck plates.
"They're scared of us you know." The leering face plate lent from the shadows as knife wielding woman unfolded from her hiding place.
"Who…"
"The pilots, they know very well who we are…"
"They have a right to be…" Wrathwell moved on, hearing her fall in step behind him "…after the rumours the War office spread, it's lucky to get flight staff at all"
"You call them rumours?"
"Well, for their part, they truly have no idea what we are capable of, just guesswork and old stories"
"If you say, Andrew…"
Squad Hermes rose to their feet as Wrathwall stepped into the noisy space of the bomb bay. There were seven soldiers in all, including himself and his deadly follower. Lieutenant Lyra Seward stood close to the door, the sleeves of her thick tan M42 Great coat covered in scrolls and wax seals, the collar turned up to cover the lower portion of her face, her black tresses tumbling down the nape of her neck before been held in place by a thick silver hair grip. She had several thick volumes secured to her waist, their covers bound with chains, alchemical gauntlets adorning her hands, their surfaces carved with hundreds of runes and spell circles. She raised her burning blue eyes to the Captain as he entered, her perfect lips nearly folding into a small smile.
Beside her, Private Alfred Renfield stood at the ready, clutching a large trench gun in gnarled hands. He should've appeared young, Wrathwell knew his age from the squad records, but his face seemed to be creased with years of torment, his blond hair unkempt and face unshaven. He was wrapped in a thick black cloak, leather plates visible under the loose material.
Beside him, Marian Westenra clasped her sniper rifle to her chest, her usually mischievous face eager, short blonde air dyed white with peroxide. She was clad in several metal plates leaving the hips and head bare. This was daubed with mud, a long dull brown cloak hanging from her back to act as makeshift camouflage.
Stood opposite, Joseph Holmwood pulled his comm. pack onto his back, his tool kit slotting into place beneath it, the leather straps pulled tight. His short brown hair was tucked under a dark green cap, metal sided welders goggles hanging round his neck. His lined face was set in a look of great expectation, his manner determined as the engineer stowed his polished M35 submachine gun into its holster. Wrathwell squinted at the small squad.
"Where's Shia'ra?"
"Here." The heavily accented voice rolled across the space as behind Wrathwall, the shadows moved and Shia'ra, draped in the usual black cloth niqab rose from the entrance to the front of the plane. She had a leather satchel strapped to her back, steel greaves emerging from the base of the knee high robe. Her hands were covered in runic tattoos, the scrawling script rising up into the wide sleeves and disappearing from view under the thick cloth.
"Full squad here and ready to be deployed…" Harker's razor sharp voice sounded from behind him as the female ninja scratched at the base of her mask, eyes flashing beneath the gauze which covered her face. "…what are your orders, Wrathwell?"
"Captain" Wrathwell muttered darkly.
"Loverboy…" Harker purred.
There was a murmur and several sniggers followed by a short string of coughing from Marian who was struggling to hold onto her rifle. Renfield rested a warning hand on her shoulder. Wrathwell ground his teeth.
"Five days ago we received a secret transmission from our sources in Germany referring to a certain project. This was immediately forwarded to us. Hellsing has been rendered null while Alucard is in Germany so in his place, we've been called in. And High command deemed it correct to have a show of force to show the world that we've still got it."
"Even though we're classified…"
"Well, at least prove to the War Office that relying on a small organisation with credentials is a fool's errand when we have the man power and the expertise."
"It'll give the Vatican something to chew on too…" Holmwood fiddled with his thick goggles "…they've been breathing down our necks from the beginning"
"Anyway, the transmission referred to a group known as Millennium and the Cromwell Project. From what we're told, the Nazi's plan to punch a hole into the Deathly Realms and harness the power most real vampires consume and control, I am not souly referring to the half arsed variety which don't know their backside from their elbows. Once they have the hole, opened through some kind of blood ritual they plan to turn ghouls into super soldiers and existing 'Freaks' into something more…." Wrathwell pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb "…for that matter, this is a search and destroy to stop that portal opening"
"Why exactly here, Skip? Why Norway? What's so special about this location?"
"Its where several Ley lines gate in one singular whole. An old cathedral marks the spot where the first vampire walked the earth, effectively binding itself with death before it left. Unlike popular rumour, Alucard was not the first. It bound itself to a large altar in the central section where the ley lines meet and is the weakest point between here and the Vampire King's realm. It's had a particularly dark past, built by the Vatican in the early 1600s it was ruled by a rather officious priest who went mad with power, deemed the entire population of the nearby town as heretics and burned the place to the ground. From that point on the earth was tainted with the blood of many a virgin as their souls were sacrificed to God in a belief that it would instil divine penitence on the world and punish all for their sins, especially protestants. The Pope then realised the folly of his actions and deemed enough was enough, sending soldiers to raze the place to the ground. When they reached the cathedral, all they found were corpses, blood and crazed worshippers who'd turned their blades onto their own flesh in a belief that it brought them closer to God. The place burned that night, the priest holding a hellish sermon above the burning flames as he burned with the place he believed to be holy. And the Altar remained, as if watching the world around it collapse. As the place fell, it remained."
The Lancaster juddered as the squad held its breath, Wrathwell fishing a large paper folder from the folds of his coat.
"Here we go again..." Renfield muttered to Marian "....just leave it to the Catholics to screw things up. We've already got one bastard after our hides"
"Hunter Maxwell has got his name printed on one of my bullets..." she murmured back, thumbing the safety catch of her rifle. "...dress wearing wanker, even Shia'ra has better dress sense"
"...and that 'holier then thou' attitude..." Holmwood muttered as Wrathwell pulling yet another piece of paper from the folder, blinking at the scribble owlishly.
"...and that. I mean its just so showy, you could see those Knights of Malta a mile off. It took them all five minutes each to introduce themselves. I don't want to listen to some zealot screaming how he's going to top himself for five minutes"
"Specially seeing as there were five hundred of them"
"Most of our lot had packed up and gone home by the time they were done. Couldn't quite run fast enough in those stupid white robes to keep up with us."
Wrathwell coughed, Renfield snapping back to attention as Marian chortled to herself behind his bulk.
"In recent years, it has stood empty, been used occasionally for pagan festivals where animals would be sacrificed, their blood scattered across the altar…." He paused, turning a page "…there were no survivors"
Marian whistled, Holmwood's face whitening.
"And now by some ritual, and I bet it will be bloody, the Nazi's hope to harness it to their own ends, using to open some portal from this world into the next."
"What are we looking at Captain…?" Shia'ra spoke
Marian coughed again, brushing Renfield's arm off her shoulder "Big…..Bad Mojo"
Wrathwell hefted his claymore as the ringing of bells began to fill the space. The rumble of engines slowed as the cross winds ceased, the craft beginning to slow. Wrathwell pulled the straps tight, securing the large sword, its pommel sticking over his right shoulder.
"Squad Hermes, who are we?!"
"Knights Templar…" Arthur Helsing breathed "…after half a millennia in hiding, you dispatched a squad of Knights to deal with a modern day threat. Do they know what they're dealing with?"
"Very much so…" Lord Winslow leant forward in his seat, arms crossed "…you see, unlike knights of yore; the old romantic view of knights in shining armour, we thought different. Rather then having, lets say, the old variety, we fight fire with fire, magic with magic, bullet with sword and blade with bullet. In fact…" he sneered rather unpleasantly "…how do you put it when you try to persuade us that your 'Vampire King' is necessary. Oh yes that was it '…humans make poor vampire hunters; they are easily corrupted and cut down in the field of battle. The best way to slay a vampire is with another more stronger vampire…' Except we've gone one step further…." The sneer widened "…rather then choosing from the ranks of the undead like you, who crave power through eternal life and the joy of battle, we chose something rather more alive and I assure you, like your 'pet' the squad who are dealing with the Nazis are just as monstrous, just as deadly and at this very moment in time, on their way to their mission objective."
Character Profile: Cabalist Shia'ra
Age: 24
Height: 5ft 8
Hair Colour: Unknown
Eye Colour: Red Flecked Hazel
Religion: Muslim
Preferred Armament: Tokarev TT-33 Pistol, One Multi Filament Cabal Knife
Apparel: Standard Templar Breast Plate, Traditional Niqab (Worn over the armour), two mercury Bracelets on either hand with inlaid silver weaving.
One of the youngest members of Squad Hermes of 24, the young Muslim is one of the few Multi-faith soldiers working for Lord Winslow. Renowned for her healing abilities, she was revered in her home village in rural of Kazakhstan as a direct link to Allah and a holy gift. This however as short lived after it was found that the blood held within that human vessel was tainted with black magic allowing the smallest cut to become dark portals to other realms.
From this, awe turned to fear as uncontrolled, the dark spirits prevalent in her blood left a bloody swathe through her home and surrounding village, vast worms of macabre energy exploding from holes of dark matter to tear asunder any who could not run fast enough and dragging them back to a gruesome death. And all because of a nose bleed…
Knowing of her 'powers' she was found by the Church in 1928, hiding in caves to the north of the abandoned village which had once been her home, Shia'ra was brought to a sanctuary in London, to study under one of Britain's greatest cabalists, Sir Lenord Winslow. There she learnt many arcane arts, controlling the energy contained within her blood to move to her will been able to seal portals, lock doors, bind spirits, summon creatures and heal wounds.
However, even now her blood is still a danger to her squad mates; she constantly wears her traditional Niqab which is soaked in a mercury/Silver/water mix, her hands tattooed with Cabal runes to control the Blood Energy so that the accident which occurred at her home will never happen again.
