Disclaimer: I do not own any of the ideas in this. except, you know, the main one of bringing it all together.


Chapter Three

"The Legend of County Meath?" Integra looked over the top of the newspaper at Walter, one eyebrow raised. "What's so legendary about people getting their heads cut off? They still seem to manage it today, I find."

The butler coughed. "I believe it is in reference to the Washington Irving story, Sir Hellsing: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. The Headless Horseman, riding out at night and cutting the heads off any unsuspecting traveller, then riding back to hell with his spoils."

"Hmmm." She focused on one particular paragraph. "If the shoe fits, then wear it, I suppose. It says here that the heads of the security guards were nowhere to be found."

"Correct, sir."

Integra mused for a moment. "This wasn't a Freak attack. It's not like them at all."

"Exactly as I fathomed, sir."

She nodded in acknowledgement, before going on. "If not, then can we assume that it was some other type of vampire? Perhaps – she gritted her teeth before going on – "a dearg-due?" It was the only type of Irish vampire she knew of, having learnt the various vampire legends of the world by heart before she had reached puberty; her mouth stumbled over the unfamiliar words, while her blood boiled at the thought of the creature supposedly related to her suggestion – the baobhan sith. Inevitably, her still bandaged neck ached at the very inkling of the disgusting creature. She had to force herself not to reach up to touch the wound.

"Ah…no," Walter replied tactfully, after some thought. "Apart from the fact that Alucard staked out the last remaining successor to that title back in the 1930s, and took steps to ensure that another would never arise, it emerged only once per year, and would have been content to seduce one man into her embrace, rather than several. Besides, it was exclusive to Waterford, where the original lady's tomb was."

"Of course." Integra sat back in her seat, and strained her mind. What could possibly be the cause of such foul murders? It didn't help that she had a splitting headache, from being unprepared for those mercenaries to start screaming like pansies when Alucard had walked through the wall, though she had done her best not to show any discomfort. Secretly, she had been rather amused that six foot tall, tattooed, muscle-bound soldiers could hit the same notes as a five year old girl. Still, their reaction had done nothing for her head. She wanted an aspirin.

No, on second thoughts, she wanted a good cigar, and then an aspirin.

"Sir Integral?" Walter's voice cut into her crowded thoughts. "Perhaps we could take into account that this incident isn't the work of a vampire?"

"Oh? Then perhaps an axe-man wielding a convenient cauterising machete?" she replied dryly, now fighting the urge to massage her temples instead of her neck.

"No, Sir Integral," he said patiently. "Perhaps some other supernatural being. Compared to the rest of Europe, we know relatively little about Ireland, or its underworld."

As she listened, an idea flowered into Integra's mind. Yes, they didn't know much about Ireland. She had already been reminded yesterday of that very fact; Ireland was supervised by the Vatican. To intrude there would be tantamount to breach of contract and treaty. But…

"You're right, Walter. We do not know much about the state of Ireland. But that will soon change."

The butler blinked in outright surprise, something he very rarely showed. "But, Sir Integral, our troops are not allowed in Ireland. The Vatican…"

"Yes, normally such is the case, Walter," she said smoothly, sitting back in her seat and steepling her fingers. "However, I have made up my mind that Anderson shall be accompanied by at least two members of this organisation, and while in order to escort him they have to set their feet on Irish soil, I do not believe that there is any particular line in any particular treaty concerning what one of those members does while the subject is being escorted from and to the airport. Why, if they are already there, then there is no law against them going…shall we say, sightseeing."

Walter stared at her for a few seconds, before she smiled, in what she knew Seras had supposedly secretly dubbed her 'someone's-going-to-die' grin, and his lips curved in reply.

"Sometimes, Sir Integral, you remind me so much of your late father that it is unearthly."

"Indeed, Walter. It will take more than Enrico Maxwell and his pet priest to take the dignity from me."


Seras felt as if she were teaching a group of rowdy little boys. She had never really been very fond of children, though she did her best to be generous towards them, and this was even harder when her audience was a group of grown men all seemingly about a foot taller than her, and many with brawny arms twice the size of her own.

Of course, she knew that she herself was probably stronger than most of these blokes put together – but it was the principle of the thing.

At the moment, they were performing less than well at shooting practice, supervised by her since the day had turned overcast and cloudy, allowing her to go outside again. It wasn't that they were bad at it – in fact, she grudgingly conceded, they were at least as good as her old comrades, and perhaps even better – but they simply wouldn't take this seriously. They hit the targets, certainly, but she had the sneaking suspicion that they were doing it more to show off, both to each other and to her, seeing what they could hit. Other girls who would be more impressed with muscled, tanned men (and who presumably liked guns) would have gasped in awe over one particular chap shooting all the fingers off the hands of one particular target, but she herself was more concerned about whether he could actually hit the head or heart every time.

"Look, I've told you about three times," she said exasperatedly, once this particular show-off had finished. "The creatures that you're going up against aren't going to be put off by being shot in the arm or leg, and certainly not by losing a few fingers. If you have to shoot them anywhere, shoot them in the head:" tapping a temple with her finger, "or the heart." She followed this up with a soft jab in her chest. "Got that?"

The mercenary gulped, muttered something in the affirmative, and turned back to his target, flushing.

She preened for a moment, thinking that she had really made an impression, before realising just how the impression had been made – with her bust.

Idiots, I'm surrounded by idiots!

Scowling, she made her way onwards and out of the concrete maze.

And here was another problem.

Captain Bernadette – whom she had secretly dubbed 'Mr. Pervert' – was among a group of Hellsing's new troops, glaring ruefully at a far away target. As she approached, Bernadette raised the firearm, aimed and fired; and as she expected, the charge fell woefully short of the mark, namely a jeep of hostages surrounded by a group of crudely painted Freak vampires.

"What's the matter?" she asked, as she walked up. "Is the target too far away or something?"

"Yep," Bernadette said cheerfully, belying his apparent strop, stepping back. "Unfortunately, we haven't all got telescopic sight or some such thing." He seemed to have quite gotten over his nervousness at the sight of her fangs and what they meant, worse luck, which meant he was ogling her breasts yet again.

"You could have fooled me," she said sweetly, stepping forward. "Let me show you how we do it here in Hellsing."

"Be my guest," he replied smartly, holding out the gun, purposefully gripping it by the stock in such a way that her fingers would have to brush over his in order to take it.

She raised one eyebrow and took it by the barrel, ignoring the heat of the metal. She held it in one hand, sighted down the barrel – ah, this is so easy! – focused, and then fired. She smirked at the satisfactory explosion that flared in the distance, right on target.

"See? That's how you do it!" she said, turning to Bernadette…

…who was smirking all over his stupid, handsome face.

"Look again, mignonette," he said, pointing towards the flaming remains of the target. "You hit the hostages as well!"

Sniggers broke out among the mercenaries around her, and she felt her face turning red, improbable as that was. She didn't even need to look at the target to see that what the captain had said was true.

I hate you. So much.

I'll show you. Arrogant twit.

"Yes, Captain Bernadette," she said smoothly, tossing the gun back to him, hiding a grin as he nearly muffed catching it. "I did. Sometimes, it's the only option if you wish to be truly merciful." She turned to look at the rest of them, including the ones who were trooping out of the maze to see what all the fuss was about, now ignoring Bernadette utterly. "You lot may think this is only a game, perhaps, a game where you get paid richly for playing, and perhaps not. Perhaps I'm only making assumptions. But you've got to understand what Sir Hellsing will be expecting you to go up against. These aren't human beings you'll be fighting, though God knows humans are bad enough on their own. These are things that'll tear you apart without remorse, and what's more they'll be sadistic enough to enjoy it. If you're stupid enough to let them, they'll gut you and drink your blood, probably while you're still alive." She had their attention now; all the shots had ceased as all the men stared at her. "And that's not even the worst of it. It's true that I blew up the hostages, but I've had to do worse, believe me. You're soldiers; you've only fought other soldiers. But now you're going to have to shoot things that were once civilians, in the head or the heart. Whenever these vampires drink blood, their victims will become ghouls; even little children, even babies. In real life, those hostages would probably have been mindless, shuffling zombies by now. Finishing them off would be a mercy. This is not a game, gentlemen. This is real. So stop arsing about, and for pity's sake stop showing off, otherwise you'll be caught and drained by the enemy, and then we'll have to shoot you in the heart or head, regardless of our feelings about you."

"And if we don't stop arsing about, do you drain us anyway?"

Some dark, dripping, raging part of her mind took over very quickly indeed, as she turned around, reached forward, grabbed hold of Captain Bernadette and hoisted him up with one hand, his grin turning into a gasp of shock, as if he were nothing more than a blood bag. Which he was: a great big blood bag, just waiting for her teeth to puncture and her mouth to suck, to suck all that gorgeous, sweet smelling, sweet tasting blood…

No. I'm stronger than that.

She shook off the red mist that had begun to creep into the corners of her vision, as well as the mysterious dampness that had begun to grow there as well, and instead contented herself by saying, as calmly as she could, "No, you don't. Luckily for you lot, I only drink packaged blood. Colleagues are strictly off limits, even if I am extremely pissed off with them." She placed the suddenly pale, sweating man gently back on the ground, and then standing up on her toes to whisper in his ear. "That's by choice, by the way, not just because of duty. However, Sir Hellsing does allow some sway to the more unusual members of her forces. Who knows? Maybe she'll look the other way and allow me to kick your teeth in if you ever so much as dare suggest that I'd turn on my comrades."

She stood back, and saluted. "I'll leave you to it, then. Gentlemen. Captain."

Seras took the long way back to the mansion, working off her anger and frustration. That jerk. That creep. How dare he? Just because I'm a vampire, he thinks I'd drain them all without a whim…

Mind you, she hadn't exactly decreased that fear. More likely increased it. Nothing increased an atmosphere of danger like holding someone off the ground with one hand without any apparent effort, and then whispering threats in their ear.

That isn't like me at all. It must be Master…Alucard's blood again. She sighed. It was going to take a lot of work to improve this awkward situation. It wasn't as if she was out to scare the new troops into cooperating. She wanted to get on with them; really she did, despite the thoughts she couldn't help having at the time. She was even willing to attempt to be cordial with the Captain, if only he'd get his mind out of the gutter and off the 'blood-sucking fiend of the night' business. This, again, was going to take a lot of work, if she was any judge of character.

"Officer Victoria?"

Looking up, she saw with alarm that she had almost walked into Sir Hellsing, standing in the French doors that served as the main entrance from the mansion to the grounds that sprawled out behind the main house, cigar in hand and one platinum eye brow raised. Quickly she drew herself up to attention. "Good afternoon, Sir Hellsing!"

"And good afternoon to you too, Victoria." The knight raised her cigar to her lips, sucked in, and made a face. "Disgusting, these things. Well, and how are the new employees doing at their target practice?"

Seras was rather surprised to be asked this, but considering she was probably the closest thing Sir Integral had left to a senior officer, it was perhaps not so astonishing. "They're certainly enthusiastic, sir, but I'm worried that they won't really take it seriously until a few of them get knocked off in combat." She paused, and then decided to voice her primal concern. "Besides, I think they're all worried that I'll suddenly go berserk and tear their throats out."

The other eyebrow was raised. "Really? And whatever gave them that idea, Officer?"

She made her face as deadpan as she could, though at the same time she knew that her boss never missed a trick. "Couldn't say, sir."

"I'm sure you couldn't. Well, you will be pleased to know that your hands wills be washed of them for a while at least. Events have come into play, very swiftly, and I will need both you and Alucard to escort a certain member of the Vatican across the Irish sea to the Emerald Isle. Walter will take over their training, at least for the moment. Is there something wrong, Victoria? You look a little flustered."

"I…both of us, sir?" she managed to get out, after trying to make her tongue work for a few troublesome moments where it had frozen up in surprise. "But why? Won't you need at least one of us to stay here, in case more Freaks turn up?"

"No, Officer, I won't, for three very good reasons. Number one, Freak activity is practically non-existent for now at least; whoever or whatever was instigating the attacks seemed to have cooled their offensive, for now at least, allowing us some time to train the new troops and to concentrate on this pressing matter." Sir Integral dropped the cigar and trod on it to put it out, never taking her eyes off her. "Number two, you will come to see in time. And number three…well, number three is that you and Alucard are really the only ones who can handle this particular Vatican representative with any efficiency, should things go wrong."

She had a very bad feeling about this. "Forgive me for making assumptions, Sir Hellsing, but this Vatican representative…it wouldn't happen to be Anderson, would it?"

"Correct, Victoria. So I am certain you can see why he would need a special escort. Of course, this is a strictly diplomatic mission, but we both know how easily such missions can escalate into blood baths." The taller woman leaned forward. "I have every confidence in your being able to handle the situation, Victoria, so don't let me down."

This was probably as close as Sir Hellsing would come to a compliment, so Seras could not help but feel flattered. "I'll do my best, sir."

"Good." Sir Integral striaghened slightly, but still kept her eyes trained on her face, which she was less than comfortable with – even if she was on better terms with her employer now, those ice blue eyes still chilled her. "One more question, Officer Victoria – what do you think of Captain Bernadette?"

Is this a trick question? Seras decided to tread carefully. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Permission granted."

"Personally, I believe he is certainly a hard-working, well-experienced, well trained officer, with good control of his men and a quick understanding. However, he's also brash, rude, filthy-minded, filthy-tongued, stubborn, perverse and a complete and utter wanker, sir," she reeled off, resisting the urge to tick the traits off on her fingers.

"Dear me," Sir Integral said lightly. "I see he had made less than a good impression on you, officer. Well, you will be not be as pleased to know as I had hoped that he'll be accompanying you to Ireland."

It was all that Seras could do not to scream out "WHAT!?" at the top of her undead lungs. All she could do was gape wordlessly at her boss, who was now smiling her thin, 'now-someone's-going-to-die' smile.

"I believe it really is for the best, Victoria. Showing the leader of our new troops the ropes of our duty is of extreme importance, since it not only helps to impress the aforesaid duty upon his comrades as well, but while they are sperated they will be without a leader and therefore more willing to imprint upon and listen to the temporary leader we will provide for them, in the shape of Walter. Rather like taking away the leader of a troop of ants, I find. Paladin Anderson's plane leaves at ten o'clock tomorrow, Officer Victoria, so I recommend that you find some warm clothes – I hear tell that Ireland can be quite cold at this time of year. The wind finds its way in like icy fingers. Best wrap up well, in my mind. Good afternoon, Officer Victoria."


Seras might be acting a bit OOC, but you try to be nice to or about a bloke who repeatedly sexually harasses you, if only with his eyes, and then makes accusations that really hurt your feelings as well as your morals. Not so easy, is it?

Dearg-due: Located in Ireland. A Celtic legend says that a famous female called Dearg-due (Red blood sucker) is buried near Strongbow's Tree in Waterford. In Scotland the vampire legend was called baobhan sith, and lurked in the mountains. She purportedly arises once a year from her grave to seduce men into her embrace and drains them dry of blood. The way to prevent the undead from arising, according to Irish legend, is to build a cairn of stones over its grave.


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