Fort Tourgis, Alderney
In the northeren parts of the Channel island Alderney, lay Fort Tourgis. It was build in 1855 as a defense for the Alderney Breakwater, a huge construction at the time. It was later occupied and reinforced by German forces during WWII, who turned it's cellars into a massive underground network of tunnels and bunkers. A recent attempt of a developer to turn the fort into flats, fell through because negotiations were stalled.
It was the most diplomatic way of saying 'Sorry, but it's already used by a semi-secret paramilitary international organisation that defends Britain and the entire Earth against exterrestial threats.'
UNIT wouldn't like to share it's primairy Channel-based headquarters, with yuppies from London. They turned the former British, temporairy German, and now British fort into a high-tech observation post for paranormal activities on the Europan mainland and the waters of the English Channel. It also served as auxillary command centre, if England would fall under a alien threat and UNIT was forced to retreat and regroup.
Tourgis had a small staff of at most 8 personnel at a time. And because of the sheer boredom their task involved, as nothing happend in the Channel for nearly 30 years, half of that number spend their time outside or with the villagers of the nearby St Anne. It was either that or go mad. Little did they know, somebody else would take that affliction upon them..
It began when Sergeant Brahms took her place behind the reception desk, the first barrier of defense against unwanted guests and stuck-up politicians who demanded to see where the taxpayer's 20 million a year went. But most of the time, it was relatively peaceful, even with the frequent visits from Mrs Grey. She was one of the eldest inhabitants on the island, living alone in a old house near the cliffs. And because she was a fanatic birdwatcher, a ornithologist in her own words, she believed that the military with all it's fancy expensive monitoring equipment would also be much interested in the same subject.
Sergeant Brahms actually wasn't interested in birds, in neither the literal or the figuratively meaning of the word. But as the old Mrs Grey was a verbal machinegun, it was a good enough way to kill the time until her shift was over and she could head for the local pub or take a walk and inhale fresh air. So Sergeant Brahms wasn't surprised when the woman wandered into the reception.
However, the pale and disoriented look on Mrs Grey's face, who always had been a friendly one was a bit disconcerning. And Brahms was unsure to make of the long brown-paper wrapped package under her arms, which she held onto as if her life depended on it. It looked something terrible has happend, and Mrs Grey was having difficulty to accept it. Perhaps her dog died.
"Mrs Grey? How are you today?"
No response, so Brahms repeated the question in a louder tone, which shook Mrs Grey from her trance, and weakly smiled back.
"Oh, I'm sorry dear. I was miles away."
"You sure ye'r alright, Mrs Grey?"
"Yes, yes. I believe it's the weather getting to me. It's been quite chilly of late, with those horrid winds and fog."
"Yeah.." Brahms turned to the window that gave a view on the conditions outside. Even in the middle of September, the sun was absent most of the time while the wind and rain replaced it, with the occasional fog. Speaking of which, Brahms remembered what had been noted on the NATO weather report that just came in two hours ago. Though it was semi-classified, Brahms turned back to Mrs Grey.
"Mrs Grey, they'd expecting the worst fog in a decade toni...Oh Go-" Before her sentence ended, most of the right part of her head, was blown away in a cloud of red mist. Blood and stray chunks of skull splattered on the wall behind her.
Even people without any medical expierence would have been able to tell that Sergeant Brahms was definately dead at this point. It didn't stop the second round of buckshot to hit the dead UNIT NCO in the center of her chest, and ended up turning most of her cleavage into hamburger meat. All of this gruesome mutilation, performed by the antique double-barreled rifle now resting in Mrs Grey's shaking hands.
The thick smoke and stench of gunpowder filled the small reception, while the larger chunks of brain matter left a trail of blood on the wall as they began to slide downwards. Mrs Grey's underlip began to tremble as she gazed upon the carnage that she had caused. Her knees quivered, and she felt the urge to drop down on them and beg for forgiveness from God.
"We have already gone beyond whatever we have words for. In all talk there is a grain of contempt."
Mrs Grey turned around, and saw a man in a black habit. He was the town's priest, a new one after the old one died a month ago in a freak pitchfork accident. And he was the Prophet, though like most Prophets, a bit hard to understand at times.
"W-What?"
"Friederich Nietzsche. A wise man. Almost as wise as the decision you took to claim your superiority above the rest of mankind. We were born to rule. They.." The priest pointed at the remains of Sergeant Brahms "..were born to serve and die."
Mrs Grey, who almost lost her faith after her gruesome ending of another life, felt her convinction renewed. It's been too many lonely nights in the cold and too much poisonous words spilled into her ears to restore something called 'humanity'. While not a fully hundred percent, she gripped the double rifle tighter, and removed the empty shell before taking out a new pair from her wintercoat pocket. After inserting them, she clapped the rifle back into firing mode and walked towards Brahm's deceased body. The old woman removed a red securitypass attached to the younger woman's belt, and continued onto her quest for destruction.
The priest watched her leave through the next door that led to the rest of the UNIT facility. The only ones besides the late Brahms, were either outside or in the village, or were sitting in the soundproof control room. Speaking of which. The priest took out a small black cellular from beneath his habit, and called a number. After a few rings, someone finally answered. With the typical voice of a old English man who spent his final days in the pub, telling stories nobody was interested in but still listened to be polite.
"This is George Wilde of the Queen Liz, how can I help you?"
"This is Father Vereker you are speaking with, my son."
The other end of the line went quiet, besides a soft gasp. In the background, there were the sounds of men talking in a pleasant manner. Though vague, Vereker could distinct a voice saying 'And our thanks to the people of St Anne, for their generous and hospitable behaviour to the folks of UNIT..' and the rest was lost in a massive cheer.
"..Reverend? Is it...time?"
"I like these calm little moments before the storm. It reminds me of Beethoven. Can you hear it? It's like when you put your head to the grass and you can hear the howlin' of the sea and you can hear the seagulls. Do you like Beethoven?"
"..I-I couldn't really say, Reverend."
"Than begin your work. Contact me when your task is complete. Nothing must stop the awakening! Leave none alive!"
"Y-Yes...R..considered it done." The man on the other line sounded like he was in a sudden trance, and didn't even bothered to put down the phone and disconnect. The cheer was still in the background, but it began to die down. Vereker could hear some worried mumbling, a shout of pain, and than gunfire. Though he enjoyed a good slaughter, he disconnected the cellular.
Even with his new-found immortality and the fact he could kill every person on this island with ease and turn them into servants without soul or mind, it was important for the plan to keep them human, how weak they may be. Implanting the hypnotic suggestions during the church visits, and activating them with quotes from people that Vereker liked was still a amusing work of playing people like puppets. He made it a habit of having the quotes be from people he admired. Like Friederich Nietzsche and his understanding of the need for superior beings, or Gary Oldman's character from that French movie.
In the distance, Vereker could hear the loud boom of Mrs Grey's antique family relic. Apparently someone from UNIT had left his station to get a cup of coffee. He should have known that caffeine could kill you. And Vereker began to follow the bloodtrail that the old woman had left behind, in order to make the preperations of the second phase of the plan that his superiors had briefed him on.
And made a mental note of recommending that Gary Oldman should be spared in the upcoming storm. Such talent should not be turned useless by making him a ghoul or dead, which had little difference in the end. Only the dead has the wit to stay dead.
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Maria Zeleska, English Channel
When Hotel Moscow first came to the local Russian maffia leaders with the request to enforce their interests in the worst and most dangerous shithole imaginable, there were few who didn't see the use of a company-sized group of combat veterans. But still, they needed to be tested, in case they were working for the goverment as a mass undercover group.
Their first mission under the command of the maffia, was to eliminate a weapon-smuggling operation of a rival criminal organisation who was operating from a ship in the docks of Archangel. Not only was the mission a complete succes and the annhiliaton of the rival crime syndicate a easy task compaired to the fighting against the Mujahideen fighters, they also got a 'souvenir' of the ordeal.
It was the former ship of the crime syndicate, who was renamed as the Marie Zeleska and served as the personal ship of Hotel Moscow, and now of the Hellsing Organisation. Currently, it was on a prisoner transport to Alderney. Who the prisoner was, or why he was being sent to Alderney didn't concern the ship crew. They only knew, that the prisoner was incredibly, scaringly and annoyingly good at poker.
In the cargo hold, surrounded by cargo crates and armoured vehicles, a small circle of crates had been created to have a improvised poker table.
"Ah! I win again, you might notice now. What says you, Lieutenant Kirill?"
"черт возьми!!" Lieutenant Kirill was one of the few men in Hotel Moscow to have joined the unit after the retreat from Afghanistan, and wasn't as heavily expierenced or trusted like the rest. But he still followed every order that his commander would give him to the letter. And that was the only thing preventing Kirill from pulling his Makarov and shoot the man opposite of him in the face.
The bastard won 20 games in a row. And he was supposed to be a prisoner.
"Take a chill pill, Kirill. That fuck cost me as much money as you, and you don't see me shouting! HEY CAP!" The young Asian woman punched her superior officer in the shoulder, with just enough force to almost knock him from the crate that they were all using as seats and a bigger one as the poker table.
"Come on Tommy, tell him that if he doesn't start losing, we'll shoot him. And than throw his body overboard and say he tried to run away. You know him, right?"
"Revy, I said that my grandfather knew him. I never met that man before in my life, though I agree he is very aggrevating in his poker skill." When he was in the SAS, his use of words was a lot harsher and more like Revy's. But now he felt he had to give the good example, in the presence of American gunfighters and Russian mob thugs.
"What's with all this anger towards my person? I'm the prisoner here, you know."
"And ordered by my superior to be silent and in a holding cell. The only reason you were released, is because we needed a fourth man."
When Integra returned from the Imperial War Museum, a lot of things happend. Alucard, Seras and the merc captain, Bernadottte, left on a plane this morning to check out a lead on the Millenium subject. And than Integra ordered the Doctor and his companion to her office, and ordered his removal within five minutes.
According to Walter, Integra informed Yvonne Hartman about him, and asked what should be done with him. Hellsing was a place for the monsters, not the trouble-bringing alien. Hartman had recommended a UNIT facility on Alderney, that had a disused special prison for alien prisoners. And Integra was determined to have him deported there.
Alucard and Walter seemed to know more about the Doctor than the rest of Hellsing, Tommy excluded, but Walter said that he would do whatever his mistress asked. And Alucard? Well, he was Alucard. Never to the point, and always to the random creeping out of people.
But just before he left for Heathrow, in that suit and that aweful tie, he side-glanced to Tommy and the Doctor. And said one thing.
"I will see you around, just not die before I get the chance."
Unless he was having a grudge against Tommy, the Nosferatu wasn't doubting the fact that they would see the Doctor again soon. And how must Tommy feel about that, when he had orders to bring him to a prison where he would likely stay forever. Likely literally, as the Doctor was a immortal, or close to one. Especially with all the stories.
"Doctor, I hope you be smart and not try to escape. It would become...unpleasant. Especially for you."
"My dear Captain Leighbridge-Stewart. I never convine myself to any prison, especially not without chances of escape."
Tommy and the Doctor gazed at each other for a moment, in a imaginative battle of wills. Than the Doctor looked at the cards in his hands, and his smile widend further than before.
"Ah, a full house. Seems I win again."
"AAARGH! I'm gonna kill that fuck!"