Berlin was a dark city that night. From the once bright streets, a true pall of fear hung over the populace as, confined to their homes, the Germanic public watched in fear as their empire fell. In each home, the lights were dimmed as entire families clustered round radios, the propaganda silenced as the Government collapsed, the Furher, gone.
The vast form of the Zepplin hung high above the dark city, its many windows blazing with light as search lights panned over the city streets far below. It was massive in size, dwarfing some of the largest royal navy frigates in its size, the grey coloured fabric and gondola adorned with swastikas and the straight red German empirical flags making it seem even more ominous. Through the thick plate glass of the gondola bridge window, pilots were lit by the glow of their workstations as behind them, engineers sprinted across the well lit metal planking of the deck and the large two headed eagle carved into the floor.
From her seat on the bridge, the muscled form of Kommandent Zorin Blitz shifted within the tight, grey German uniform as she linked her fingers both her golden eyes fixed directly on the night sky directly in front of the zeppelin windows. She ran a tongue over her sharp canines, impatient, her fingers itching for the large scythe waiting at her side. Just a little bloodshed would tide her over, not this endless waiting.
To the Captain who waited at her elbow, she was a thing of terrible beauty. She'd always been blessed with a fine, porcelain face and perfect features beneath the tied back blonde hair. It had made most the men lust for her, even if behind that perfect face lurked something……darker.
For most, the form of their Kommnadent was one of desire, to others it was thing of fear. The pure cruelty which lingered behind those eyes could turn mens' minds and souls. A fear illusionist, the SS found her services to be of great value and when involved in the torture of suspects, she was highly sought after, digging deep into the weaks' minds and destroying them, entirely. She would relive all their fears, their pains and turn it back on them, making them do unspeakable things to themselves and those around them. She revelled in pain and torment, that perfect face becoming cruel and cold and twisted as she watched POWs writhe in agony as friends beat them to death, unable to control their own actions as their sanity fled.
And she just sat there, in that uniform, the high jack boots well polished, Dormant. She had her legs crossed as one toe slowly moved up and down, the only evidence of the rising impatience.
"I make you nervous, Kapitan….?" She didn't break her gaze out the front window, speaking through laced fingers.
"Yes, mein Kommandent. It is not usual for one of your office to be supervising us aboard this ship. I am not used to such individuals such as you, especially those working for the SS" He stopped, feeling as though he'd said too much.
"Gut, Gut…" she said softly. It had just been conversation, to break the gut wrenching boredom she'd felt over the last few days. She could see the Allies from her and wanted to push the ship further into the fray, to drop the bombs and wreak terror and chaos on those below. She bit her lip, a thin dribble of blood spewing forth from the corner of her mouth as a sharp canine dug in. She could smell the fear, the faint stench of sweat could be easily detected from the well shaven Nazi officer as he stood there, stopwatch in hand as droplets of moisture ran down his neck to soak into the too tight white collar.
"…how much time?"
"It iz vone hour till launch, mein kommandent"
The Lancaster swung east just as the moon crested the horizon and swung low across the tree tops of the large sweeping forest on the borders of Germany. Within the rattling, smoky interior, the shrouded Templar stood ready, the clatter of weapon priming the only noise. Renfield could feel the seething itch of claws beneath his fingers as the bloodlust made his hair bristle. Across the way, Holmwood slowly pulled together last of his weapon packs and tied off a thick leather belt about his shoulders, his thick crystal glasses catching the light as he checked his equipment.
"So, Captain…" Marian lent forward in her seat as beside her, Harker started from her nap "…what's the game plan"
Wrathwell raised his head from a thick volume spread across his knee, the bare, brown leather jacket squeaking as moved in his seat.
"Game Plan…." He paused, turned a page and fixed the sniper with a beady eye "…game plan is like so. 'is Nibbs has got a bead on a rather interesting Nazi project currently in progress over Germany. The usual, bog standard occult warfare kind of thing. Not exactly war changing stuff to begin with. More running round campfires wailing to be useful in combat. However, when there was a merger the Lezte Battalion last year that got the ball rolling and with Vampires on staff, it seems they were able to get something to work…"
"He speaks as if it's nothing at all…" Lyra murmured the shrouded form of Shia'ra beside her. The cabalist grunted, her eyes closed.
"He just has seen it so much after living so long; I guess it just gets repetitive after a time. There will always be one crazed warmonger who tries to change to world through some 'other' means. And that man will run into Wrathwell or some other 'Hero' at some point who will either put their nose out of joint and send them scuttling away or kill them out right."
Lyra sat back as Shia'ra spoke. She daren't as which died, but with the usual pessimism that befell all Templar, she guessed it was the 'Hero'.
There was snap from the other end of the rattling space. A 50th Collumnist leant forward in his chair, a rifle resting on his knee from where he'd been polishing it and seemed to fix Wrathwell with a glare from behind his blacked out gas mask which covered his face. He was clad in the usual battle armour of the British Army, the green felt covered with ammo pouches. A thick tube ran down from the gas mask into a pouch on his front, tied onto a large, ceramic breastplate which encased most his upper body. The gasmask left no impression of a face beneath and the back of his head, where the leather straps holding it in place were in fact covered with a thick green scarf.
There were no clues to the human underneath, but in some wish to make it evident, the soldier had written 'Brent' in white paint onto the side of his helm, just above the brim. They'd all done that, each of the faceless 50th Columnists who occupied the rattling space. Apart from Wrathwell and his squad, there were seven soldiers, each wearing gasmasks and each armed to the teeth.
"Vampires, we weren't informed about them…"
"Wasn't in the report…." Wrathwell said matter of factly "…it's just a guess of mine."
The trooper didn't reply and signalled to the others with a circle of his fingers. Each fiddled with the breathing pipe pouch. There was a hiss of air from behind the gasmasks and each sat back again.
"Just to be careful, we're going to maximum dosage, Captain…" he paused, his voice becoming a little more forced "…use….us….wisely"
"Anyway…" Wrathwell continued, giving the soldier a funny look before speaking "…we've got a whole load of bad mojo to deal with. Using the gyroscopes we found in Norway, they've made a bomb. One to be used in the worst of circumstances…"
"Like been invaded by the Allies…"
"…yes, like been invaded by the Allies…thank you Marian…." He said sarcastically as the sniper grinned happily "…however, the really this wasn't found earlier is because we were unable to pin it down to one exact location."
"So, what….?" Another columnist lent forward in his chair, 'Pike' written in spidery white letters on his helmet "…they keep moving Labs"
"No, they keep the moving the actual Lab…" Wrathwell said, linking his fingers "…the entire thing is one big zeppelin, currently hanging over Berlin."
"We got the dibs on its whereabouts when several artefact shipments, lab equipment and Tesla coils were shipped to an airfield just outside Warsaw…." Harker folded her arms across her chest she spoke, the iron mask barely moving as she spoke "…then the Airship sent a plane down and then the Shipments disappeared from the hanger. It never lands, never lands for fuel and just floats there, occasionally sending planes to pick up troops or…" a faint shudder passed through the room "…POWs. We don't know what goes on up there and Sod knows where the hell they're getting food, apart from the Vampires aboard, who we believe are been fed the POWs."
"Damn…." Lyra murmured, tugging at her heavy backpack strap resting against her knees.
"Or something worse. The SS are on board and I bet that means they have an operative from the Thule Society, or the Millennium Project."
"So, are they going to drop it here…?" Holmwood pulled the leather straps over his shoulders and rearranged his main tool pouch strapped across his chest.
"They'll drop it here, decimate our forces probably perhaps. Our intelligence is rather sketchy after that point, more guess work and prayer then anything we can use, The Nazis' certainly had more of a sealed drum view of intelligence it would appear. After seeing the freakshows they've pulled through in Essex, Scotland, Norway and Poland, this'll be no different…Unless…" there was lengthy pause, his last word lingering in the rattling compartment "…and I get that horrible feeling that, all that time in the air, not landing for fear of been spotted by our spies, that this could be something else. God knows what they've been cooking up, up there"
Winslow stepped into the cold evening air outside the Hellsing apartments paused. He tilted his head back midst the ruined street and raised a hand to the sky. There was a crack of black wings and a raven, its feathers glossy in the black sky, alighted gently on the idling staff car on the far side of the road.
Winslow fixed the bird with a cold glare. "Tell Commander Kraskov of the Russian Army that we are ready for their help in the push to Warsaw, have him send me the relevant papers once he deems it necessary…." The bird squawked and made to fly off before Winslow raised a hand, halting it "…and remind him, that he must not take us lightly"
It was gone in a cloud of feathers, the shape of the bird seeming to distort, becoming larger before it was lost in the pitch dark sky. Winslow turned to the silent Sergeant at his elbow.
"Inform the Men that it is time to move out, I expect they're getting rather restless"
"Yes, Sir"
"And…" Winslow summoned the cane from the air with a snap of his fingers and rested a hand upon it "…take the staff car…" The Sergeant looked surprised as the older man began to walk away "…for such a lovely evening, it would be a shame for me not to walk the streets for a time. Send a car for me at dawn"
"Where will you be Sir?"
"Hyde Park, I have a rather important meeting I must attend"
The last lingering clouds were ripped from the sky as Harker mounted the roof of the plane and clamped her legs round the ridge of metal which ran along the spine of the plane. Her mane of hair was billowing behind her back as the plane swooped low, the night air playing round her form as she raised her arms. Forbidden, ancient words began to flow from her lips as shimmering energy cascades rolled along her arms, her finger tips sparking with green sparks. The clouds wheeled away, exposing the cold space beyond as the stars began to glow with renewed vigour.
The moon, once a pale orb began to glow a sickly green as the winds began to howl around the plane. Inside, Wrathwell blew on his hands as ice began to creep down the interior. Marian shivered, pulling the grey cloak around her form as her hair became solid with frost. The better armoured soldiers within the plane's interior seemed to ignore the freezing air, their own armour becoming covered with frost swirls, encasing their forms.
"Witching hour…..damn…." Marian murmured through cracked lips as dragons' breath boiled from her mouth "...I thought elves were all flowers and trees."
"Don't, on any account, get Wood Elves mixed with actual Elves…" Wrathwell raised his eyes to the ceiling as the plane began to rattle loudly, the weight of the ice causing the plane to sink. "...from here on in, its all ice and snow."
The freezing air cut through the walls of the zeppelin as the moon began to glare eerily down on the now freezing city far below. One of the officers on the bridge of the zeppelin lent forward in his seat as his glasses began to show the tell tell signs of frost.
"I've never zeen ze moon zhat colour before…" he murmured. Even in the heated interior of the zeppelin, the fingers of frost were running clearly over the walls. He could hear the walls creaking as the ice began to build on the windows. "…or zhat size".
The moon indeed was growing, the moonlight now bathing the exterior with green shades. Ice sparkled on the metal surfaces as the fingers of moonlight caught. It was creeping along the plating and running along the thick metal wires securing the gondola to the balloon high above.
Zorin saw it too as she heaved herself upright. That creaking sound, that crackle of frost had drowned out the engines and all other noise from the rest of the ship. They were encased, in a coffin like frost which obscured her vision through the main windows. Across the board, gauges were reporting record low temperatures in the lower decks and the engine rooms. Even now, she could see the gauges dropping as fuel in the pipes themselves, began to flow more sluggishly as the fingers of frost touched the fuel pumps.
"Ve're losing power to aft engines, Kommandent!!" alarms began to sound with the bridge as the clank of boots began to sound down the metal halls as other soldiers ran to steady engine nodes as the ice forced them loose.
"The fuel pumps are freezing up!!"
"Vhat!!..." Zorin seized the soldier at her elbow and wrenched him up to her face "…vhy is zat happening, Captain!?"
"Ve don't know, Kommandent…its impossible…" he said, panicked "…zis zeppelin vas designed to withstand most of the elements but zis is different. Zis goes beyond most of the temperatures ve've ever recorded, even zhat high altitudes!!"
She snarled dumping the terrified man to the metal planking and turned on her heel. "Zen vhy aren't ve dead zen? Vouldn't such low temperatures kill uz azvell?"
"Itz almost as if it's targeting certain areas, to cripple uz vhile avoiding the bridge"
"Vhat do you mean, you cretin!!?"
"Zat something iz controlling it!!"
"Nein…!" Zorin whirled around, her single iron cross jangling round her starched collar. "…evacuate the engine rooms now!! Pull everyone to thee warmer areas!!"
There was a groaning creak out the bridge window as the large shape of the balloon began to swell under the weight of the ice, the bridge beginning to pitch ever so slightly. It was so cold beyond the plate glass frames that snow was beginning to fall from the pitch dark, cloudless sky.
"Zhere are foul vords on the vind…." Zorin could feel her hearing straining to pick out the murmurs over the wind "…something is calling to uz from outside."
From her position mounted on the top of the plane, Harker cackled, the snap of her laugh lost on the winds. Her hair was a sparking sparking mane of violent red as it broke free from its bindings as eldritch lighting ran along her arms. The plane was increasing in speed as the pilots spurred it on. Ice and snow was pelting the hardened metal of the pitch black plane as the Elf, her pointed ears exposed bowed her head into the storm as her iron mask shed the ice. Behind the eye pieces, her eyes were literally burning as green flames erupted across her face. And beyond that, behind the black iron and the green fire, was a horrible, evil grin which split her face in two.