Chapter Five
The more we do to you, the less you seem to believe we are doing it. — Josef Mengele
"Is this the best you have to offer in defense of queen and country? Pathetic."
Eyeing the new recruits over the rim of his spectacles, Dorian tsked, muttering under his breath about incompetent blockheads. Seras hovered nearby, clearly disapproving of the butler's harsh tactics. For once, Heinkel agreed with the old man; being nice didn't get you anywhere in combat training—let alone in a real fight. Besides, if Dorian wanted to make himself unpopular, she wasn't about to stop him. Maybe if enough people complained, Integra would hire someone less conceited.
As the butler continued to lecture his hapless audience, Heinkel struggled to keep her eyes open; she hadn't really rested since the night Yumie died. Every time she managed to fall asleep, she woke up gasping, heart thundering and head filled with images of death and destruction. Still, dozing off in the middle of Dorian's monologue was tempting, if only because it would anger him even more. However, it would also give the old man ammunition against her—not that he needed any; Heinkel's position was precarious enough…
With a sigh, she forced herself to concentrate on the butler's rant. At least I'm not tied up, listening to a terrorist wax poetic about the wrath of Allah…The memory made her lips twitch; as excruciating at the experience had been, Yumie's presence (and her theological debates with their captors) had made it bearable. A lump formed in her throat; and Heinkel stared fixedly at a spot on the floor in front of her until it dissolved, willing her features to remain neutral. She refused to show weakness in front of these heretics.
Having given up listening to Dorian's lecture, she allowed her gaze to scan the new recruits, most of whom stood with their shoulders slumped and heads down, obviously disheartened by the butler's scolding. The girl with the bad dye job, however, stared back before elbowing the woman next to her and whispering something with a pointed glare at Heinkel, who smirked at this pathetic attempt at intimidation.
I have far more important things to worry about than the opinions of a Protestant whore. Still, she vowed to keep an eye on the girl; given the other woman's obvious hatred for her, it would be foolish not to. No matter how harmless someone seemed, all they needed was the right opportunity to stab you in the back.
Dorian glowered at the nearest recruit, a scrawny twenty-something who swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to discreetly distance himself from the older man. "None of you seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. If this were a real mission, you would all be dead!"
Maybe Integra's butler was human after all. Although she hadn't known Dorian long, Heinkel doubted the old man was quick to anger. Could this uncharacteristic display of emotion be because he actually cared about teaching these greenhorns to fight?
Then again, maybe the butler was simply insulted that Integra had relegated him to the role of schoolteacher; it was quite a departure from his usual duties. Regardless of the source of Dorian's displeasure, however, it was nice to see him scowling at someone else for once. If Integra could see him now, she'd likely reconsider her choice of instructor.
Unintimidated by the butler's tirade, Heinkel's archnemesis rolled her eyes. Unfortunately for her, Dorian noticed. "You." He pointed at the girl, who found herself standing alone as her companions edged away, relieved not to be the target of the butler's wrath. "What is your name?"
Her expression sullen, the redhead answered, "Margaret Williams." Seeing Dorian's expression darken further, she hastily added, "Sir."
"I see." The butler's voice was soft, but the steel behind it was unmistakable. "I'm glad you find matters of life and death so amusing, Miss Williams. You must be quite a formidable warrior." His expression suggested this couldn't be farther from the truth.
A few people laughed, though they fell silent when Margaret scowled at them. Her face turning almost as red as her hair, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Unmoved by her abrupt departure, Dorian continued his lecture. "Unfortunately, you are all Hellsing has left…all Britain has left. Therefore, you cannot afford to take your training lightly. Do you understand?" There was a chorus of murmurs and head nodding; and Heinkel resisted the urge to groan. Were these weaklings really all Hellsing had? She'd have better luck facing the Nazis alone.
Glancing at his watch, Dorian finally dismissed them; the recruits rushed out of the room without having to be told twice. Heinkel followed at a more leisurely pace, Seras at her heels. Dorian had already vanished, probably to prepare Integra's evening cup of tea.
Angel of Death indeed.
It was impossible to picture the stolid Englishman in battle; Dorian blended so smoothly into Integra's home that it seemed he'd always been there, along with the ugly wallpaper and satin drapes.
Walter had been the same; and yet, Yumie had died at his hands. Heinkel had briefly entertained thoughts of digging up the old man's corpse and pumping it full of lead but was forced to abandon the idea as impractical.
After all, Integra would certainly be suspicious if Heinkel questioned her about Walter's final resting place, since the two had spent their brief acquaintance loathing each other. Besides, revenge on a dead man was so unsatisfying.
Instead, she would hunt down the Nazis who had poisoned Walter's mind with the promise of immortality and rip out their still-beating hearts. The thought made her grin, despite the agony of her ruined flesh.
"Heinkel?"
Despite herself, Heinkel flinched; she'd been so absorbed in her violent fantasies that she had forgotten the draculina's presence. "What?"
Seras gazed at her for a long moment, blue eyes inscrutable. "Don't let the darkness consume you." With that, she melted into the shadows.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? Sleeping in a coffin all day must have scrambled her brain.
Heinkel stalked toward the library where Integra waited, ignoring the part of her that recognized the truth of Seras' words.
Never one for subtlety, she yanked open the library door, the ancient wood groaning in protest. Integra sat in an armchair by the fire; at Heinkel's abrupt entrance, she raised a brow but said nothing. Seras stood beside her. Heinkel felt the vampire's gaze on her, but she ignored it.
"Where is Dorian?" Integra frowned, glancing at her watch as though the mere force of her will should summon the wayward butler.
Spoiled bitch can't wait five minutes for her tea.
Shrugging, Heinkel sank into the chair farthest from Integra, so weary that the prospect of relaxing in the presence of the enemy hardly distressed her. Ordinarily, she would have waited for permission to seat herself, but Heinkel was too tired to remain on her feet any longer; and besides, Hellsing's leader cared little for decorum. Surprise flickered across Seras' face at her actions, but the vampire kept her mouth shut (for once).
Lighting her omnipresent cigar, Integra sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Well, I suppose we needn't wait; Dorian has already been debriefed. It seems the London Massacre was not enough bloodshed for some, as a person or persons unknown is murdering women who break the city curfew. The bodies appear in the Thames the next morning, wrists and throat slashed, completely drained of blood. The coroner tells me their deaths were slow and agonizing."
Despite her detached tone, the fury in Integra's eyes was hotter than the flames of hell itself. Whatever her faults, Hellsing's leader loved her city; and she would do anything to protect those who lived there.
Suddenly, Heinkel remembered the girl from the club, the one they'd rescued from her date. Had she made it home safely, or had she been snatched off the street, dying alone and in excruciating pain? Maybe it would have been better to let the vampire have his way with her, after all.
Seras frowned. "Do you think it's a vampire trying to disguise his work?"
"It's possible." Integra adjusted her glasses, lenses gleaming in the firelight. "But Millennium's manufactured nosferatu are no more—at least for now—and they are the only ones I can imagine behaving so recklessly. Besides, the deaths are too tidy for a vampire. I believe someone—or something—else is involved."
Seras nodded, accepting her leader's pronouncement without question, as any good soldier would—though Heinkel was surprised to find she agreed with Integra's observation. Don't be an idiot. She scolded herself. Just because she's a twat doesn't mean the woman is daft.
"What are your orders?"
Her features inscrutable, Hellsing's leader replied, "You know your objective: search and destroy."
