Chapter Four
In the absence of orders, go find something and kill it. —Erwin Rommel
Heinkel heard the new recruits long before she saw them; these people hadn't the faintest notion of stealth. She cringed as they clomped down the corridor, broadcasting their location more effectively than any tracking device, their excited chatter more reminiscent of a field trip than the first day of a potentially lethal job.
Hands fisting at her sides, Heinkel exhaled, willing herself to stay calm—at the moment, a formidable task. How was she supposed to equip these idiots for combat when they couldn't even manage to stay quiet? Even worse, all training sessions would be conducted under the watchful eye of Dorian, who wouldn't hesitate to inform his master of any transgressions. Maybe this assignment was Integra's way of sabotaging her…Lip curling, Heinkel cursed the head of Hellsing for the hundredth time that evening.
Glancing at Seras, she noted that the draculina wasn't smiling (for once). Instead, the vampire's lips were pursed, her eyes distant as she stared at something only she could see; one hand clutched the barrel of her gun as though it were all that anchored her.
Guess she's finally figured out life isn't all sunshine and roses.
Soon, though, Heinkel's annoyance turned to unease as Seras remained silent; it wasn't like her to be so quiet. Taking a closer look at her companion, she realized that the vampire wasn't simply lost in thought; rather, Seras' expression was strangely empty, her eyes blank. In fact, the draculina looked so different from her usual self that she seemed like a different person altogether.
Heinkel's skin prickled, the hairs on the back of her neck rising at the sudden electricity in the air. Keeping her eyes locked on Seras, she slowly reached for the weapon holstered at her side. Pulling a gun on her new partner—especially when said partner was a vampire—wasn't exactly the smartest move. Yet instinct urged her to act; and Heinkel was well aware of the importance of heeding one's intuition.
While Seras remained oblivious to her actions, the darkness surrounding her did not. Shadows clustered around the draculina: an inky, impenetrable blackness whose tendrils reached for Heinkel with grasping arms. Fighting the urge to back away, she watched with the horrified fascination usually reserved for car accidents and the low-budget horror flicks Yumie loved.
Heinkel wanted to run, but she refused to be a coward; and besides, this was no pageantry or cheap trick meant to impress, but dark magic: raw power no human could match. Running was pointless; if she was going to die, there was no point in prolonging the process.
Heart thundering in her ears, she noted that her nails of her free hand were digging into her palms so hard they'd drawn blood. Nostrils flaring at the scent, Seras smiled—but there was no joy in the expression, nothing but the savage glee of a predator baring her fangs. The shadows surrounding her writhed, caressing her like a second skin.
Shifting into a fighting stance, Heinkel clutched the hilt of her weapon, lips moving as she recited her favorite combat prayer. She'd never backed down from a fight; and she didn't intend to start now. When Seras took a step forward, she tensed, readying herself for flashing fangs and tearing flesh.
Instead, the vampire blinked, the darkness around her dissipating so quickly Heinkel half-wondered if she'd imagined the entire episode—though the adrenaline coursing through her veins suggested otherwise. "Sorry, did you say something? I spaced out for a minute there." Her gaze moving to the gun still pointed at her, her eyes widened; Seras took a step back as though she were the one in danger.
Though Heinkel was loath to holster her weapon, her senses were no longer screaming at her to run. Reluctantly lowering the gun, she lied, "I thought I heard something."
In testament to her naivete (or simple stupidity), the vampire accepted this flimsy explanation. "No need to be so jumpy," she laughed—as though Heinkel were the foolish one. "That's just the new recruits."
Heinkel gritted her teeth, ignoring the throb of pain the action sent through her ruined cheek. How stupid does she think I am?
Before she could utter a sarcastic retort, the door opened to admit a motley collection of men and women, with Dorian at the head of the group. Pointedly ignoring the room's previous occupants—the butler hated Seras almost as much as he despised Heinkel—Dorian gestured grandly at their surroundings, as though he were a tour guide rather than a servant.
"This is the training room, where my…associates and I—here his lip curled—will instruct you in the latest combat techniques. Please refrain from touching the weapons at this time."
Quieting like chastised children, the group surveyed their surroundings with wide eyes, though it was difficult to tell if they were impressed or simply intimidated by the array of weapons lining the walls: every instrument of death from flamethrowers to firearms—though Heinkel had eyes only for the guns, of course.
Surveying them critically, she noted with satisfaction that none were half so impressive as her own, though they'd do in a pinch. Eyeing a particularly large shotgun, Heinkel briefly fantasized about using it on Dorian, since she would never waste her own ammunition on the old codger, nor on the rest of these fools. No matter; she doubted the newbies would last long—if they didn't run for the hills first.
Though most of the recruits gawked at their surroundings, pointing and whispering in voices that were far too loud for Heinkel's liking, one man—a sturdily built gentleman with greying hair—examined her instead. Heinkel stared back, wishing she could punish him for his insolence. While her face was unsightly, there was no need to gape at her like a sideshow exhibit.
"Who are they?"
The owner of the voice—a twentysomething with hair dyed a blinding shade of magenta and enough makeup to supply a troop of clowns—eyed them with a look of disdain. Seras offered her most engaging smile, but the other woman didn't return it. Judging from the exasperated expressions of the other group members, this wasn't her first complaint.
Lips pursed as though he tasted something sour, Dorian answered, "Ms. Victoria and Ms. Wolfe will assist in your training." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Ms. Victoria is a vampire, and Ms. Wolfe is a Catholic." It was unclear which he considered the lesser of the two evils.
"Hello, everyone!" Seras beamed, flashing another of her idiotic grins. "I'm Seras, and this is Heinkel. It's nice to meet you."
While most of the recruits just stared, unsure how to respond, the redhead snorted. "If she's a vampire, then I'm the bloody queen."
Somewhere in Argentina
"We are nothing without our leader." Though Zorin's voice was matter of fact, her eyes betrayed her despair: an emotion shared by all those gathered around the Major's favorite 'war table'.
"Then what do you propose?" The Doctor retorted. "We cannot abandon his mission."
Van Winkle, cradling her gun like a favorite toy, said nothing.
"But none of us can take his place!" Zorin's fist hit the table so hard it rattled. "We will never be worthy of such an honor."
"Who said anything about replacing him?" At the sound of Schrodinger's voice, the others stopped glaring at each other long enough to focus on the boy, who preened under their gazes. "The Major may be dead, but he is far from gone."
The Doctor scoffed, "What are you saying, boy? If it were possible to resurrect him, I would have already done so."
But Schrodinger only laughed: a jarring sound in this somber atmosphere. "Your machines cannot defeat death, Herr Doktor, but I know someone who can…"
