Chapter Three
The only thing that matters is that we stand firm. — Heinrich Himmler
Muttering an unflattering description of the city's civil authorities under her breath, Integra dialed Dorian: her new butler and Walter's former protégée. The fact that Integra allowed him to enter the Hellsing manor—and to fill the post of his traitorous mentor, at that—showed just how desperate she was. Of course, the same thing could be said about Heinkel; she sensed her addition to the organization, however necessary, rankled Integra almost as much as it bothered her.
Yet it couldn't be helped—for no matter how intensely she disliked Heinkel, Integra couldn't afford to turn away an experienced operative, not with her forces so depleted. Seras might be invincible, but she was also a bumbling idiot who could hardly walk without tripping over her own feet (supernatural abilities notwithstanding).
Nearly all of Integra's soldiers had perished at the hands of the Nazis, along with every last one of the mercenaries she'd hired. In fact, save for Seras and Integra herself, the only survivors of the attack had been on leave at the time. With great reluctance, Integra had been forced to augment these operatives with retirees who had agreed to return on a temporary basis.
Unfortunately, Dorian belonged to the former group—meaning they wouldn't be getting rid of him any time soon. Although Heinkel had known him for less than forty-eight hours, she hated him already, and not just because he was a heretic. There was something about the old man, something she couldn't quite put her finger on…a nagging feeling that never subsided when in his presence. Years of experience had taught Heinkel to be wary of people like Dorian; those who had something to hide were always the most dangerous.
The butler, for his part, had an equal aversion to her. Likely it was her faith that aggravated the old heathen—or maybe Dorian hated her because he suspected the truth: that Heinkel would abandon Hellsing in a heartbeat if it benefited her. Either way, the man's smug expression and condescending smirk made her long to give him the beating he deserved. Maybe then he'd know his place...
When dawn was so near that Seras could no longer resist the pull of sleep, Integra dismissed them. Heinkel dragged herself back to the room she'd been assigned—not that she expected to get any rest. Despite her exhaustion, sleep had eluded her since the night of the Blitz. Even now, horrible images flashed behind her eyelids, a macabre and never-ending slideshow: a mother shielding her children from a Nazi bayonet, a vampire straddling a limp, white body, Maxwell's face as he crumpled to the ground, bloody and broken...She may have been one of Iscariot's most formidable fighters, but the memories made Heinkel's skin crawl nonetheless.
Jumping to her feet, she began to pace, body thrumming with frantic energy. If only Yumie were here…But her best friend was gone forever; and without her, there was no one to distract Heinkel, no one to make her laugh when she wanted to cry. Angry at her own weakness, she slammed her fist into the wall, the throbbing in her knuckles temporarily diverting her attention from the ache in her chest.
After an eternity (or more likely, several minutes) had elapsed, Heinkel flopped onto her bed once again and trained her gaze on the ceiling: pretending that, by staring at it long enough, she would discover the answers to the questions swirling in her brain—of course, she gained nothing but a headache and a growing sense of irritability at her own uselessness.
The fact that Millennium had managed to elude them was maddening—they'd been so close. Even worse, with the Nazis out of the country, the possibility of capturing them in the near future was slim. Until Hellsing repaired the damage sustained during the Blitz, the organization was incapable of mounting such a sophisticated operation—which meant Heinkel would be forced to remain in England for longer than she'd expected. A daunting prospect, to say the least.
It was difficult to imagine Millennium—the same people who'd attacked London with a fleet of zeppelins and undead army—quietly retreating, but there had been no sign of them since the Blitz. Then again, it would likely take some time for the Major's followers to recover from the blow dealt by the loss of their leader. They'd also need to acquire more soldiers, since their forces had also been decimated in the third Battle of London (a small consolation, given that the Doctor would have no trouble replenishing Millennium's ranks with his vampire serum).
In the meantime, Heinkel had been ordered to aid in London's reconstruction: something she wanted no part of, given her hatred for the Church of England and the wicked nation it served. Yet she had no choice. These heathens were her only chance at vengeance; and therefore, she must ignore their sins—for now, anyway—so justice could be served. God would understand. After all, hadn't His son fraternized with Samaritans and tax collectors?
Of course, she missed the company of other Catholics: a luxury she hadn't appreciated until it was taken from her. Not for the first time, Heinkel wished the Holy Father had approved the reestablishment of Iscariot, but one could hardly blame him for refusing, given that he'd been ignorant of the organization's existence in the first place: another of Maxwell's deceptions.
She should have been angered by the Archbishop's lies, the secrets he'd kept even from his most trusted lieutenants—but Heinkel felt nothing at the thought of her former superior. She could hardly bring herself to accept his death, let alone Maxwell's betrayal. He may have been a fool, but the Archbishop was a fool to whom Heinkel Wolfe owed much. And now, she could never repay him…
She awoke to late morning sunlight; yawning widely, Heinkel wondered why Yumie had allowed her to oversleep. No doubt Andersen would punish them with extra combat training…Then Heinkel remembered that her friend and mentor lay in a Vatican mausoleum, and the pain in her heart was more agonizing than any battle wound.
Kneeling on the worn floorboards, she tried to pray, but was too tired to concentrate. Hardly surprising, given that she'd fallen asleep just before dawn. Deciding to try again when she was more alert, Heinkel left the room, pausing only to holster the guns she'd placed under her pillow. Others might find it uncomfortable, but she'd slept this way for years. Besides, if she didn't watch her back in this place, she'd soon find a bullet in it.
On her way to the dining hall, Heinkel made a half-hearted attempt to smooth her wrinkled robes; she'd been too exhausted to undress the night before. In contrast, the bed remained pristine, the only sign of her presence a slight indentation in the pillow. Heinkel felt a pang at the thought of her old room, with its narrow cot and the hand-carved crucifix on the wall. Who slept there now?
Shaking off her nostalgia, she entered the dining hall: a wood paneled, sunbathed space more reminiscent of a studio than a cafeteria. Ignoring the way all conversation halted at her appearance, Heinkel poured herself a cup of coffee, inhaling the rich aroma. Despite her lack of appetite, she grabbed a piece of toast before sinking into a seat at the far end of the table; the couple seated at the other end glared at her but remained where they were.
Heinkel was still brooding when Dorian appeared in the doorway, his expression even more sour than usual. "Sir Integra would like to speak with you."
Though the summons was a welcome distraction from her melancholy thoughts, there was no need for Dorian to know that. "I'm busy. Tell her I'll drop by later."
A muscle in the old man's jaw twitched. Lowering his voice, he hissed, "You have no right to keep the head of Hellsing waiting, papist."
The stares of the cafeteria's other occupants boring into her, Heinkel flashed her best smile (though her injury rendered it more of a grimace). "Fuck off." Unlike Dorian, she didn't bother to lower her voice. Then, before the butler could react, she stalked out of the room, followed by a chorus of scandalized whispers.
Still irritated, Heinkel opened the door to Integra's office without bothering to knock.
Rather than scolding her for her impudence as Maxwell would have, Integra merely raised an eyebrow at her sudden appearance. "There you are. The new recruits arrive tomorrow, and you will train them." It wasn't a request.
New recruits?
This was the first Heinkel had heard of any newcomers—not that Integra would trust her with such sensitive information. How had she managed to find so many people with a death wish so quickly? More importantly, why the hell was Integra under the impression that Heinkel would help train them? She wasn't one of Hellsing's damn lackeys.
Before she could object, Dorian beat her to it. "With all due respect, my lady, Ms. Victoria and myself are quite sufficient—
Integra's eyes narrowed. "Did I ask for your opinion?"
"No, ma'am. Please forgive my insolence." Dorian bowed his head, though not quickly enough to hide his disgruntled expression.
Despite her own annoyance, Heinkel was unable to repress a smirk at the old man's discomfort—though she doubted the others noticed. While she'd never been prone to vanity, she felt a twinge at the reminder of her ruined features. Heinkel could never regain what she had lost—but she'd settle for revenge.
