Fresh Blood
By SSG Michael B. Jackson
Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing or anything connected with it, though it sure as hell would be fun if I did. I'm writing this purely for my own twisted amusement, and will not make a dime in the process.
The next four and a half months proved to be among the hardest in Brad's life. The real hell of it, though, was that he wasn't really sure which part was the worst.
Granted, SAS selection and training was by no stretch of the imagination a picnic. He'd never forget the first words he heard from the cadre on that first day: "Its nice of you all to come along, I don't suppose most of you will be with us for more than a few days."
That had set the tone for the whole two weeks of BFT, or battle fitness course. From what he'd learned a few years earlier, when he'd been single and hard charging and had taken the first steps toward joining the U.S. Army's Special Forces, BFT closely paralleled SFAS, the 'weeding out' process used for selecting those who'd advance to the Q-Course and eventually earn their green berets. Both courses concentrated heavily on intense physical exercise with very little rest or sleep, and involved running and rucking for unbelievable distances over rough and inhospitable terrain. For the American SF, that was on and around Ft. Bragg, North Carolina; for the SAS, it was Brecon Beacons, Wales.
Curiously, though, while the entire experience was grueling in the extreme and Brad remained consumed by a cold rage that only fired his determination, some part of him actually registered the beauty of the country around him. Even though his every waking moment was filled with thoughts of his murdered family, the only thing that gave him the mental fortitude to overcome his thirty-something body's short falls, he couldn't help but notice that Brecon Beacons was a magnificent place. In some odd corner of his mind, even, he thought he might like to come back some day, not as a soldier but as a tourist. But the next thought that inevitable entered his head was always that he'd really like to show all of this to Anja and the kids, and that thought sparked results that were entirely predictable. He'd clench his jaw, anger overriding any pain or protest his body might be giving at the moment, and press on with whatever was required of him twice as hard as before. Not surprisingly, given his circumstances and what motivated him, Brad made it through BFT.
Of course, that only meant that it was on to the jungle phase, six weeks of hell in Brunei. But, once again, Brad persevered, knowing that everything he was going through was making him stronger. Strong enough, he hoped, to be able to take on the kind of horrors that Hellsing took on. Strong enough to send every last one of the vile things that'd taken his family from him straight to hell.
After all of that, another month of combat survival, with it's accompanying SEER, or survival, escape, evasion and resistance training, seemed almost anti-climactic. It was by no means easy, living off the land for a month with nothing more than a greatcoat provided before hand, but it was doable. In fact, it proved to be almost a balm for Brad's tortured mind; most of his waking hours were so filled with the minutia of survival that he had little time to think of the things he desperately didn't want to think about, and when he did sleep, he was so exhausted that, if he did dream, he never remembered afterward. And, in the final week, when he, like everyone else, was captured and interrogated, he simply used his eventual goals as a sort of mantra to get him through. It was worth enduring anything, he told himself, anything at all, to get through all of this so that he would be able, through Hellsing, to strike out at those whom he so desperately wanted to.
Once it was all over, it was with a certain amount of ambivalence that he accepted the SAS flash and beret, items that he knew he'd never wear. Though technically still a member of the U.S. Army, on an indefinite liaison assignment with the British Army and soon to be further detached to serve with Hellsing thanks to whatever tangled strings Sir Integra had pulled, he'd most likely never wear a uniform that the beret was part of. Strangely, this didn't really bother him much. After all, everything he'd just been through was no more than a means to an end so far as he was concerned.
But the oddest part, Brad reflected as he made his way back to Hellsing House by train and taxi, was that it had all been far less painful than the month of leave he'd taken before hand. A month of sheer hell in which he'd buried and laid to rest not only his family but his entire life up to that point. A month of tears and gaudy emotional displays by family members in both Germany and back in Oregon that'd left him discomfited and disgusted by turns. A month of paring through a lifetime's worth of possessions, his, hers and theirs, agonizing over what to keep and where to keep it. And, perhaps most frustratingly, a month of wading through legalities, bureaucratic red tape, and military protocols.
Not only that, but somewhere in the middle of it all, the moment he'd told Seras he feared the most finally came. One night out of the blue, it had all finally really hit him at the gut level. He didn't remember much of that night; he only knew that alcohol had played a part in things, and that both his father and brother had lent a helping hand. Regardless, he knew that the pain had finally overwhelmed him then, and had very nearly shut him down. Still, somehow he did recover, mostly, he thought, for the same reasons he'd given Alucard that night at Hellsing. In the end, he just couldn't bear the thought of failing Anja and the kids by simply folding in on himself like a house of cards. And after all of that, it was little wonder that SAS training struck him as less traumatic overall.
As he stood before the gates of the Hellsing estate, a duffle bag over one shoulder and a camouflage helmet bag in his left hand, waiting for the soldier on guard to confirm his identity, another strange thought crossed Brad's mind. He hadn't really realized it until just that moment, but in some way, he'd missed this place. He found that patently absurd, of course. How could you miss a place that you'd only spent two nights in? And two hellish nights, at that. Then, frowning, he realized that they hadn't been entirely hellish, thanks to someone, and that just maybe it wasn't Hellsing House that he'd missed.
Vaguely disturbed by the direction his thoughts were taking, he turned his focus inward as he was passed by the guard and walked slowly toward the main house. Examining his motivations closely, he was dismayed to realize that it was Seras that he was looking forward to seeing again. His frown deepened as he sifted more thoroughly through himself, earnestly hoping that his emotions weren't betraying him in the manner that he thought they might be. But then his brow smoothed as something important slowly became clear to him; there was nothing romantic about his feelings for Seras. The only person who held that place in his heart, still, was Anja. She'd been his one true love, and most likely there would never be another. His heart was just too scarred to let anyone else in, probably forever. No, Seras held some different position in his emotional universe, but she most definitely had a place there.
'Well, fuck it,' he thought, somewhat disgusted with himself, as the door opened in front of him, Walter smiling placidly as he gave Brad a reserved but warm welcome back. 'Just because I've apparently developed some kind of attachment to her doesn't mean the reverse is true. What the hell do two nights of conversation, plus, incidentally, the mercy killing of one party's daughter by the other add up to? Hell, I'll be surprised if she even remembers who I am. And, for that matter, who am I now anyway? Just another Hellsing grunt, that's who.'
For his part, if Walter noticed Brad's somewhat pensive mood, in the manner of all truly great English butlers, he gave no indication. Instead, he simply made polite small talk as he led Brad first to the single soldier's barracks, down in the basement, and, after he'd dropped his gear, to Sir Integra's study. Not, Brad was sure, that that was a usual destination for fresh Hellsing recruits. But then, his circumstances were just a bit unique.
Standing once more at the rigid position of attention three paces in front of Sir Integra's desk, this time Brad did salute, smartly and in the American fashion, palm down. "Ma'am, Senior Officer Porter reports for duty as ordered!" He intoned crisply.
"You may stand at ease, Officer Porter," Sir Integra said, at which he dropped the salute and shifted to a position of parade rest, feet shoulder width apart and hands clasped behind his back.
Sir Integra studied him for a moment, and then said, "Well, I see that a few months roughing it has done you some good. You look much fitter than you did the last time you stood there. And a lot more capable as well."
Brad nodded just slightly, and said, "Yes, ma'am. One of the toughest spec-ops schools in the world has a way of doing that to you."
She smiled just slightly, and said, "Imagine that." And, after a moment's pause, "So, Officer Porter; are all of your affairs in order? Have you dealt sufficiently with all of your... personal issues to be of use to Hellsing now?"
Considering for a moment, Brad said, "I think I have, ma'am. And... well, somewhere along the way, I guess you could say that I've cooled off just a little. Oh, don't get me wrong. I still see red every time I think about what happened, and I still want to nail every last one of those bastards. But... more than that, I- just want to be part of something that helps to spare others what I've gone through." Pausing in thought, finally he finished with, "That, and- well, the motto of the Military Police Corps is 'Assist, Protect, Defend', ma'am. I've tried my best to live that for the last thirteen years and- I guess that's just something I'd like to bring with me to Hellsing. If that makes any sense, ma'am."
Her brow rising minutely in approval, Sir Integra said, "It makes perfect sense, Officer Porter. And, quite frankly, I'm rather relieved to hear that from you. I must admit that, the last time I saw you, I wasn't entirely sure things were going to work out. I already have one ravening killing machine working for me, you see, and he's quite enough to deal with. Not to mention the fact that he's nearly invulnerable, and can afford to be rather- careless in a fight. You, on the other hand, are entirely too human, and would be of little use to me or yourself dead. Which is exactly how you'd end up if all you were capable of was charging into a situation in a blind rage. Do you understand, Officer Porter?"
Brad nodded and said, "Perfectly, ma'am. And don't worry about that; I don't intend to get dead any time soon. Kind of hard to put down FREAKS when you're busy pushing up daisies, isn't it?"
Sir Integra smiled slightly once more, and said, "Quite. And now, Officer Porter, there's one last bit of business to be attended to. The continuation of your training."
Brad cocked his head just slightly, and said, "That would be Hellsing-specific training, I assume ma'am?"
Sir Integra nodded, and said, "Precisely. There's still a great deal for you to learn before you frame your first real FREAK in your sights, I'm afraid. History, lore, and tactics, for starts. Battling the undead requires more than just a steady hand and eye, Officer Porter. A number of former Hellsing soldiers would tell you that if they were still able."
Brad nodded slowly and said, "I understand, ma'am."
"Good," she said, "Then I believe that's all for now. Take the rest of the evening to settle in, and then report to Commander Williams in the morning. From now on, you'll use the chain of command just like any other soldier of Hellsing, which means that our meetings should be rather rare. Oh, and be sure to remind Commander Williams that Sergeant Victoria is to take charge of your training. I did task her with that before you left."
"Yes ma'am," Brad said evenly, and then, "And, by the way, Sergeant Victoria wouldn't happen to be in tonight, would she? I thought I might as well touch bases with her if she was."
Sir Integra frowned just slightly, and said, "Actually, she's out with one of the squads at the moment. They're dealing with a minor... situation downtown. But, unless things escalate, I'd expect her back in soon."
"Yes ma'am," Brad said. "Is there anything else, ma'am?"
"No, Officer Porter," Sir Integra replied, "You're dismissed."
With another, "Yes ma'am," Brad snapped back to attention, saluted smartly, and, performing an about face, marched from the room, passing Walter on his way out.
Once he'd exited, Sir Integra looked to Walter and said, "Well, what do you think, Walter? What are your impressions?"
"Hmm," he said thoughtfully. "He may just work out, Sir Integra. He has potential, I believe. And heart, which is just as important if not more so."
Sir Integra nodded slowly, and said, "My impressions exactly, Walter. And now the rest is up to Williams and Victoria."
"And," Walter said sagely, "To Officer Porter, I'd say."
Sir Integra nodded again, and then turned her attention back to the mountain of files littering her desk, while Walter quietly took his leave. Neither of them, however, took notice of a pair of red-orange eyes that inhabited a dark corner of the ceiling, and had done so since the meeting with Brad had begun. Apparently, someone else had taken an interest in Brad's future with Hellsing as well.
Ok, end of chapter six, and I know! Where the hell is the action I've been promising?! Well, give me time; I'm getting there! I'm just telling this story as it comes to me, kind of letting it grow, so to speak, but I'm fairly certain we'll get to some kind of gratuitously violent blood-letting by the next chapter, or, if not, by the one after that. I've already got a couple of ideas, and, eventually, beyond the whole FREAK thing, there's also Iscariot...
