Standard Disclaimer: I, of course, do not own any of the characters from either Blade or Hellsing.
Author's note: This, technically, is a Blade/Hellsing crossover. When I say technically, I mean that it takes elements from both those universes, and transplants them together. This means, for example, that Alucard doesn't feature at all in the fic. (No Alucard in a Hellsing fic?! I hear you scream, What the F*** is wrong with you!?) Well, for two reasons: One, the Hellsing organisation as you know it exists in name only, with an almost completely different staff, most of whom are new AC characters. No self-inserts of course. And secondly, I'm a Victoria Celes fan. While many people may spell her name differently, that version seems the most 'English;' of the possible translations. In addition, when I refer to Blade, I'm talking about the movie universe, not the graphic novel one.
If, by any chance, you are a Hellsing or Blade fan, and you feel that I have taken a hideous liberty with the characters, and you feel the need to write out a 300 kilobyte essay on why I should never have done this, and why I should never have been born, then feel free to review. :D
Anyway, onto the story…
Carpe Jugulum
In the misty moorlands of middle England, all was calm. All the wind slid slowly through the trees, birds chirped occasionally, complementing the sound of the wind running through the leaves on the trees. It was October, and Autumn was just beginning. Freshly fallen leaves covered the ground in irregular patches, lending small splashes of red and orange to the otherwise green and brown countryside. In the semi silence of a still dark morning, the air was crisp and chilly, and patches of mist hung in the depressions and valleys of the area.
This image of quaint, European tranquillity was barely disturbed by the almost imperceptible movement of a group of soldiers. Burdened down by heavy rucksacks and weaponry, their combat dress covered with foliage, and their faces smeared with camouflage cream, they were almost invisible against the green background when not in motion.
If a curious observer had been present, and had managed to get close (extremely unlikely), and if he or she had any knowledge of standard British Army equipment, he or she would have noticed a number of discrepancies. Firstly, these soldiers were equipped with non-standard weapons. Each of them carried what appeared to be a rather heavily modified Heckler and Koch G36, which bore no resemblance to the Army's standard SA-80.
If this curious, and extremely stealthy observer had the drawn their attention to other items the soldiers were carrying, the might have, depending on the personality, either blinked with disbelief, or simply become even more curious.
Each of the soldiers had a patch on their uniformed shoulders. This wasn't at all unusual. What was odd was what the patches displayed. The symbol was unlike any regimental badge in the British Army, Navy, Air Force or Special Services. It was a shield, divided vertically and horizontally into four sections, alternately coloured black and red. Above these sections, a simple word was embroidered. Hellsing.
No matter how stealthy our hypothetical observer had been, he or she would probably have been spotted at some point on the group's 30 mile jog through the moorlands. Now, barely a mile from their target, the group stopped to catch their breath, and receive an update on the situation. Almost the instant they stopped, the group's communications officer was radioing their Field HQ for additional orders.
"Echo Two to Home Base, Echo Two is in position. Standing by, be advised we are ready to move, over."
"This is Home Base; intel reports twelve targets, at least one Bloodsucker. Be careful, over".
"…We copy that".
Now, closer to the target, standard mission nervousness was beginning to set in. Some of the troops dealt with it differently than others. As the group advanced, most were quiet, scanning the surrounding countryside. Two of the troops were performing a ritual as old as soldiering itself: complaining. Even though they were whispering, the sound carried clearly over to their amused team-mates.
"England vs. Germany, biggest bloody football match of the fookin' century, and we're stuck here in bloody Leicestershire, on a bloody vamp hunt."
"Will you just let it go, mate? There's nothing we can do about it, and you can catch the replays later, any way."
"Yeah, but it's not the same. And what's this place supposed to be? 'Cheddar', what kind of bloody name is that for a town?"
"Maybe they invented the cheese here?"
As they moved, the others exchanged bemused glances. Then, the squad's leader signalled a halt. The group moved into covering positions as the Officer began his briefing.
"Alright lads, sorry about keeping you in the dark until we're almost on site, but the situation is a little more complex than usual.
Recently, a number of murders were committed in the village ahead. A number of local residents, their bodies badly mutilated post-mortem.
Yesterday, a special police unit was dispatched to conduct an investigation, and they obviously stumbled onto something they didn't expect, because contact was lost a few minutes after they entered an old, ruined church on the outskirts of the town. Now, the chief police constable at the local station had been told to by our intel boys to contact us if anything unusual happened, so when a squad of fully armed police officers disappeared without a trace, he knew who to turn to."
"You've probably guessed what kind of creature is a work here, and we just got confirmation from our sources that there is a vampire in the Church, and he appears to have 'converted' a number of police officers."
"Bloody hell", whispered one of the soldiers. "Zombies with guns..?"
"That's right."
Raising his voice slightly to make himself heard, the officer continued the briefing.
"Alright, as we move in, remember, the area has been cleared, and everything that moves is a target. In other words, if Little Red Riding Hood pops up and offers you a cookie, I expect you to waste the bitch!" Grim laughter followed this comment, and the team resumed their advance.
Moving quickly even in comparison with their earlier punishing pace, the team divided into four fireteams of two men each, with a pair of the teams advancing ahead, and the other two covering them.
As they padded quietly across the damp and misty moorlands, a crumbling, moss-encrusted edifice loomed up ahead of them, rising like some biblical leviathan out of the fog.
"That's our target", whispered the Sergeant, unnecessarily. Moving warily towards the building, careful for danger, the Hellsing troops were thus well prepared to find cover when a number of gun muzzles poked from the gaping holes that had once housed the church's stained glass windows. A fraction of a second later, all hell broke loose.
The Hellsing troops dived for cover as the Ghouls inside the building fired wildly from within the church. Now, one fact that each of the troopers was well aware of was that reanimated corpses, even armed ones, are singularly poor combatants, with little or no knowledge of the concepts of fire control, using cover, or tactics in general. Even after their prospective targets had disappeared behind various items of cover in the graveyard, the undead continued firing, chipping away at oblivious stone tombstones and monuments. A few seconds later, the sound of massed gunfire stopped, and was replaced by the heartening sound of ammo magazines running dry.
From his position behind a tombstone, the Sergeant barked out the order: "Fire at will!" And with a massed yell shocking in comparison to the silence of the undead, the soldiers of Hellsing returned fire. Sheets of dust flew from the suddenly bullet-pitted wall as the squad retaliated.
"'Ave some, you undead bastard!"
Under the squad's covering fire, one fireteam darted forward and crouched by the church's crumbling wall.
"Fire in the hole", yelled one of the troops as the other 'posted' a grenade through the ruined window.
A few moments later, the ancient structure was shaken by a sudden explosion. The Ghouls' counterfire ceased abruptly. A few moments later, the order to advance was given, and the soldiers moved forward, scanning for any sign of impending danger. It's probably too much to hope for to think we killed the Bloodsucker with that grenade, thought the wary Sergeant.
Slowly, the group advanced to the ruined structure's door, which was, oddly, still intact. Without speaking, the Sergeant ordered one of the troops forward. The man placed an incongruously tiny plastic explosive charge at the door, and moved back. The squad crouched, readying their weapons and steadying their aim. A moment later, there was a small flash accompanied by a loud bang, and the huge, ancient doors flew almost completely off their hinges, into the bowels of the abandoned church. Immediately, two of the Squad members rushed into the room, and were confronted by a scene they were completely unprepared for.
At the far end of the Church's main chamber, a man stood behind a ruined pulpit, a shattered statue of the Crucifix in pieces behind him. The crimson hue of his eyes, coupled with the feral smile he presented to the soldiers in front of him, left no question as to his identity. However, what gave the soldiers pause was what, or rather who, he held in front of him. She was a bruised, bloody but still rather attractive young woman, wearing a uniform identical to the ones formerly worn by the shattered, shrapnel-ridden corpses that lines the wall facing onto the graveyard. Fortunately or unfortunately, she was very much alive, unlike her former comrades.
For the first time in living memory, the Hellsing Organisation had been confronted by a hostage situation.
As the Sergeant and his team-mate moved closer, he was able to discern more about the Vampire. For a start, the creature was wearing the vestments of a priest, even down to a small gold cross around his neck, which seemed like a horrific irony to the Sergeant. As he drew closer, the Vampire held the woman closer and snarled at the approaching soldiers.
"You get any closer, and police girl here gets it!" The vampire seized the woman's neck and head, inspiring a choked whimper from his hostage. "Now, if you want her back, I have some demands-" The vampire was interrupted by the stony-faced Sergeant.
"We don't deal with vampires, scum. Put the girl down, and I can promise you a quick death." Said the Sergeant coldly. The Vampire looked momentarily nonplussed, but then regained his composure.
"You wouldn't fucking dare. You don't want me to kill this little bitch, you will do what…I…SAY!" The vampire reinforced his words by tightening his grip, causing the young police officer to gasp in pain.
As the vampire spoke, the Sergeant was already advancing. With slow, deliberate steps, he made his way down the aisle towards the vampire. As he drew close, the Vampire and his hostage could make out a few whispered words:
"…in the Name of God, the impure souls of the living dead will be banished into eternal damnation. Amen"
With a grim, almost expressionless face, the Sergeant raised his pistol. A look of surprise came upon the vampire's face, which quickly turned to incredulity as he watched the soldier.
"Heh, you almost make me laugh. You won't pull that trigger. You won't kill an innocent human being. You don't have the guts!"
Almost the moment the last word exited the vampire's mouth, the Sergeant fired. The round flew through the air, and ripped cleanly through the hostage. The young woman gasped, in what was almost a choked-off scream, but the noise was eclipsed by that emitted from the vampire behind her. With a hideous screech, the creature exploded into a cloud of burning fragments, which rained down upon the former hostage. As the Sergeant lowered his weapon, the young woman fell to her knees, blinked in an almost comical fashion, and collapsed on the church floor, where she lay, unmoving.
As he watched the dust settle, the Sergeant blinked. He'd never seen a vampire explode like that. Then, remembering himself, he motioned his partner, the squad medic, forward. Without hesitation, the man jogged over to the fallen policewoman, and made a quick inspection. Still crouching, he turned to face his superior.
"She's in shock, sir. The wound isn't large, but she's lost a lot of blood and her liver's shot all to hell." The medic turned the woman's head to the side to examine her neck. "Looks like he bit her too." The Sergeant sighed and shook his head.
"It couldn't be helped." He turned around. "Donahue! Get a body bag! Right bloody now!" Lost in thought, he it took him a moment to notice the medic speaking.
"She's not beyond help, sir…" Grimacing, he reached into his medical kit and brought forth a transparent plastic container, containing several syringes of a pinkish liquid. The Sergeant's eyes widened momentarily, and he scowled.
"Don't you think that solution would be a just a little counterproductive to our overall goals?" The medic looked up at him with features made haggard by the stress of the last twenty-four hours.
"With respect sir, we can give her death at any time, but when can we give her a… life back?"
Inwardly, the Sergeant was more moved by the medic's words than he would have admitted out loud. In fact, the guilt of having to kill a hostage also weighed heavily on his conscience.
"Very well, Corporal, administer the chemical, and we'll head back to base, God help us."
"Yessir!" Frowning with concentration, the Medic sought out the right vein on the unfortunate young woman's neck, inserted the needle, and made what was either a courageous gesture, or a hideous mistake.
A/N: Any English (or German, for that matter) person would know what football match I'm referring to. If not, just check google for "England 5 Germany 1".