The last night of bombing of London proper was 10 May 1941 and was also the night that had the worst cost in both property and lives with nearly fifteen hundred people killed and many historical landmarks damaged or destroyed in addition to the damage done to hospitals, homes, and businesses.
For the purpose of this story and all other stories to come in the Icarus series (should the dates become relevant again, Walter's parents died 7 September 1940 and Walter's encounter with Girlycard occurs 10 May 1941. In "Ouroboros" it is mentioned that Walter spent the better part of a year on the streets, this is the end of that period.
I did my best with details of the damage to Westminster Abbey from news reports from the time, which did a fairly detailed job of reporting the damage to the structure. If I have any historical details wrong, let me know and I'll find a way to correct my error.
It was just the wrong kind of moon that night. A "bomber's moon," they called it, because on those clear, bright full moon nights, a bomber could spot a blacked out city and target it.
Walter had known it was a bad idea not to sleep someplace sheltered, but he had found himself outside wandering the darkened city. May was usually comfortable and there was no way he was going to cram himself down in the tube tunnels with all the other sardines.
He was restless. There was something coming. Knowing the Germans, they'd be back to bomb again tonight. They'd bombed the night before, why would they waste a night like this one?
The boy just couldn't shake the itching feeling between his shoulder blades. So far, that itching had been a good thing to pay attention to, so Walter found himself up and wandering London. It wasn't that late, he'd heard the chimes for ten o'clock not that long ago from the Clock Tower.
Small, and charitably called wiry, the boy dodged the occasional people who were out on this brightly moonlit night. He didn't want some well-meaning person to decide the poor waif needed someone to watch him. Walter had been doing just fine on his own for the past eight months and wasn't looking for someone to play Mum or Dad for him.
Wandering feet and boredom were what brought Walter to the grounds of Westminster Abbey that night. The open grass was fragrant and it was a place to lie back and watch the stars. That was one thing to be said for the enforced blackouts – the stars to be seen from the city were awe-inspiring without the lights to drown them out.
Even though he was paying attention to the sky, it was the sound that warned him first – a low drone that started at the very edge of his hearing and gained in volume rapidly before being drowned out by the sound of air raid sirens.
"Shit." Even in his head, even though he knew his mother was dead, Walter still looked around furtively for cursing. Some habits didn't break easily.
The droning grew to compete with the sirens and Walter scanned the sky looking for the bombers. It didn't take long for more noise to join the sounds of sirens and planes – explosions, anti-aircraft fire, shouts as fire brigades prepared to put out countless fires.
The boy still sat in the grass near the abbey. There didn't seem to be much point in going anywhere. The bombs were dropping everywhere.
The itch between his shoulder blades did drive Walter behind a tree before the first bombs fell on the abbey and its grounds. He watched in amazement as parts of the centuries old church were turned to rubble.
It aroused a fury the boy hadn't known he had in him. He'd been angry when his parents had been killed, leaving him a ten year old orphan. He'd been angry many times in the past eight months as he fought to take care of himself against people who thought that because they outmassed the runt, they could do what they wanted to him.
But he'd never felt the sort of outrage he felt watching the bombing of Westminster Abbey. Why? Were the Germans against everything including God?
When a shadowed figure darted across his vision with a speed he thought only he was capable of, Walter was tempted away from the shelter of his tree.
A small girl went running toward the abbey after the first figure, and Walter could do nothing else but follow. The adult could fend for himself, but the little girl might not know any better.
"Hey!" He ran after the two. "Don't go in there!"
The first person – a man, Walter saw as he caught up to the runners – dodged away around the side of the building. Walter thought it almost looked as though the girl was chasing, not following, him.
Absurd. He shook the idea and chased after them. They were both moving faster than anyone Walter had known except himself. People like him? That was irresistible to the curious boy.
People were shouting, but Walter paid no attention to them as he chased the man through the north entrance.
He'd been in the abbey before. He'd visited just about every major London landmark for both the London people saw on the surface and the dirtier London underneath. But he hadn't been there when the north transept was lit by the orange light of flames from the roof.
The fires made everything move. The white flash of the girl's clothes drew him off to the left toward the Confessor's Chapel. It was easier to follow than the vague shadow Walter assumed was the man the girl had followed in.
"Hey! Get out of here before the fires get worse!" He pushed himself all out as the pair ran up the stairs and into the Lady Chapel.
Walter skidded on the checkered tiles and looked around. They had to be in here somewhere, didn't they?
The fires on the roof of the abbey lit the chapel through its stained glass, making the chamber dance with shifting shadows. He could see the stacked sandbags that shielded royal tombs and at the far end a sudden bright flash and a report that might have been a gunshot, but who could really tell for sure with the rest of the noise of bombing, shouting, and fire?
Walter's curiosity drew him onward when that itching between his shoulder blades told him that he should be getting out of there and doing it very, very soon.
"Hey! Girl! Are you back there?" He passed the vacancy where the altar should have been and strained to pick detail out of the darkness that covered the far end of the chapel. His efforts were impeded by the shadows that teemed there in defiance of the light that came through the colored glass ringing the upper half of the chapel.
"Go away little boy, before you get hurt."
The shadows seemed to push the white-suited figure forward. "Go home…" She held her hands over her face as though playing peek-a-boo. Walter squinted at her clothes – they were covered in black stains, but every so often a vagary of light would make the stains glare red.
"Go home."
He took a step back. The growl in the girl's voice had made the itch between his shoulder blades almost burn.
"Right. Where's the man you were following?" Why was he even bothering?
He knew why. He couldn't save his parents, but how would he feel if someone had had a chance to help his mother and father and just left them?
"Dead."
This time it was the giggle in the girl's voice that pushed Walter back a step.
"Dead. Dead. Dead. And he can stay in the Land of the Dead." She spun around and laughed, her hands still covering her face.
She came to a stop facing him dead on. "Come on, little boy, show me out. Rescue me."
Walter stopped himself from retreating any more. This girl was giving him the creeps, though, with her giggle and her singsong voice, and the way she hid her face from him.
"Come on, then." He turned back toward the abbey proper, glancing back to be sure the girl was following him, which she was, unerringly, despite the fact that she continued to play her odd little game of peek-a-boo.
"Don't look back, little boy. You want to see what's in front of you, not behind."
"Stop calling me little boy." He trotted out of the chapel and down the stairs.
The roof groaned and Walter cast a fearful glance upward. Sparks and embers fell to the floor in the tower crossing – in other words, between the two children and the exit.
They dodged through the falling debris. Walter kept his eyes on the roof and the fires.
The collapse of the roof over the tower crossing was preceded by the sound of cracking timbers and the protest of the vaulting as the structure let go. Walter glanced back and grabbed one of the girl's wrists, jerking her hand away from her face to drag her as fast as he could away from the mass of debris that was coming down on their heads.
Black
Red
Eyes
"Why are you bringing me strays, Alucard? Don't tell me you're going girly." Arthur looked at the unconscious boy and shook his head in annoyance. "What good is this street urchin going to do me? Put him back where you found him."
Alucard joined Arthur at the boy's bedside and gave Walter an unreadable look. "He saw me."
Hellsing's leader looked down at his ace and shrugged. "Why should I care if he saw you? What's to worry about if he saw a pretty little girl?" He gave Alucard a crooked smile. "Or did your charms wile him already?"
"No, Arthur. He saw me." The vampire looked up at Arthur very seriously. "I couldn't hold the shadows tonight in the church. He saw."
Alucard picked up Walter's hand and uncurled the boy's fingers to show Arthur the rings he wore. "And then he cut me with wires that came out of these."
Arthur frowned when Alucard brushed fingertips over the boy's before putting his hand back down on the bed.
"He has potential," the vampire said. "You won't regret taking him on." Alucard favored Arthur with a gleaming smile while taking the man's hand to lead him out of the room.
"Trust me."