1st October, 1944, Warsaw Ghetto
The light – that was what he would remember most about that day: the light and the cold. After more months than he could count holed up beneath the Warsaw ghetto, Dok had given up hope of ever seeing the sun again. Not that such a prospect concerned him, mind you. Living the rest of his life underground would have been a small price to pay indeed for the miracles as he had been able to conjure up.
But now his research was in ruins, his life's work destroyed by one damn child and a tame vampire. He took one last look around the broken, collapsed underground laboratory, quivering with rage. Four years in this place, and another fifteen of work before that – all of it up in smoke! You had to wonder whether somewhere God existed after all, and had been laughing at him every step of the way.
From the top of the stairs, up by the door to the outside world he hadn't seen in years, a voice called him. "Come on, Dok!" it said. "Stop moping! The train has to leave in half an hour whether we're on it or not, and you don't want to keep the Fuhrer waiting, do you?"
He gave a deep, weary sigh. I wonder if this is what it feels like to lose a son. "Coming, Herr Major," he called back. With one final glance at what was left of his legacy he turned and began to trudge up the stairs to where the Major stood, holding the door open and tapping his foot impatiently.
Of course. The Fuhrer, he thought on the way up. As if it wasn't bad enough. The orders had come through last night, an emergency telegram from High Command to the Warsaw Labs. They had simply said: return to Berlin at once for audience with the Fuhrer. And that was it. No indication of what they would face there, no idea of whether they should try and pack up what was left of their research and take it with them. The Fuhrer wants to see you. Get a move on.
The Major had decided to dynamite the labs when they left, as he had rightly seen that the Wermacht could not hold Warsaw for much longer. Better to lose their advances forever than to have the Soviets get their hands on them. Dok passed a pair of soldiers laying detonator cables as he made his way up the stairs, overhearing a snatch of muttered conversation as he did so:
"...the way, did you see what they had down there?"
"Ja, but if anything comes of that madness I'll..."
Madness. Madness and ruins, that's what twenty years of cutting-edge research boils down to. He raised a hand to shield his eyes as he reached the top of the stairs. The sun was brighter than he imagined, and he found himself wishing he'd incorporated some tinted lenses into his glasses. He squinted at the dumpy silhouette that was the Major.
"How far is it to the station?" he asked.
From somewhere far off – but not nearly far off enough for Dok's liking – came the chatter of gunfire. Whether it was Polish or German Dok couldn't tell.
"About twenty minute's drive, with the roads what they are," the Major replied. "The car's ready. You can mourn on the train Dok, but right now I think we should get going."
"Why? Your love of conflict waning now that we're losing?" Dok asked bitterly, and then immediately regretted it. He could see the car now his eyes had adjusted to the light, and could make out the hulking figure sat in the driver's seat. One order from the Major and that man – if you could call him a man – would snap his neck without a second thought.
But the Major just laughed. "Ach, no, Dok, not at all. In a way I will be sorry to leave this wonderful place," he said, gesturing at the ruined Warsaw skyline behind him. "A certain stark beauty to the dying city, don't you think? But it's hard to appreciate the glory of war when you're dead, Dok, and I foresee a lot more war before this is done. Ah! If only our ghouls had worked, eh? We could have played it all over again! A second fall of France, a second battle of Stalingrad, Operation Sealion Two...but listen to me. Chastising you for dawdling, and then woolgathering myself! Come."
He led Dok, who was now beginning to shiver in the cold October wind, over to the car, which sat with its engine idling. The Captain glanced round at Dok from the front seat, and afforded him the briefest of nods by way of greeting.
When both men had taken their seats, the Captain did something very unusual, and spoke.
"Two possible routes," he said, as if trying to be as economical with his words as possible. "One long but safe, the other short – but through occupied land." He raised a questioning eyebrow at the Major via the rear-view mirror.
The Major tittered like a schoolboy. "Oh, why not? Short route, Captain – might as well enjoy it while we're here."
Dok gaped at the Major, and then tried to fold himself into the footwell of his seat. Lost his mind, he thought to himself as the Captain threw the car into gear and they surged forwards. The madman's gone over the edge at last.
"So you are the one the Major insists on referring to as 'Dok', are you?"
Nine hours later, still trembling slightly from their mad dash through Warsaw, Dok stood to attention in front of the most powerful man in the Reich and tried not to whimper with fear.
He had come to the conclusion, on the train hurtling westwards, that they were all going to be shot. After all, the Fuhrer never looked kindly on failure in the first place – just look at his reaction when Paulus had surrendered at Stalingrad. That, coupled with hints from the Major that he had begun to take a personal interest in the work the Warsaw Labs were doing, probably meant that he was as livid as Dok was mournful over their destruction. And when the Fuhrer got angry, it was time to either grovel or prepare your will.
The only ray of hope Dok had clung to was that he didn't think the Fuhrer would waste his time meeting personally the people whom he would shortly have killed. But it was a slim ray indeed.
"Y-yes, mein Fuhrer," he stammered.
It was true, he thought distantly, what they said about the man's eyes. Dok found that when most people talked to him they usually let their eyes wander all over his face when confronted with the insect-like, multi-lensed spectacles that hid his pupils completely. But this man Hitler – he just started right through them, gazing into the eyes he knew must be there. It was almost hypnotic. A small corner of Dok's brain reminded him that stoats did similar things just before they killed a rabbit.
"And you will confirm the Major's report?"
"Yes, mein Fuhrer," he croaked. "It is as he said. A child, and Alucard – Hellsing's tame vampire. They destroyed the labs. There is nothing left of Operation Resurrection."
Hitler, seated behind his enormous mahogany desk, raised an eyebrow. "Nothing, Herr Doktor?"
Dok frowned. "Nothing, mein Fuhrer. Herr Major ordered the lab's destruction when we left Warsaw."
"And he is to be commended for his foresight," replied Hitler. Dok thought he saw the Major give a self-deprecating grin out of the corner of his eye. "But, Herr Doktor, there is one piece of Resurrection left, is there not? One massive, essential piece? That could still provide the key to success?"
"I...I fail to see your meaning, mein Fuhrer."
"I speak of you, Herr Doktor. And of the knowledge inside your head."
Oh Christ. Oh Christ, this is the bit where he orders the Captain to kill me to prove his loyalty or something like that...
Hitler gave another small smile. "Herr Doktor, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer – and yes, you too, Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer – would you be so kind as to follow me?"
For the second time that day, Dok had to shield his eyes from a sudden, blinding light. This light wasn't the sun, however, but powerful electric lighting that seemed somehow even brighter. And as for what was revealed by these lights, well, it was safe to say that Dok would never have imagined anything like this in his wildest dreams.
The Fuhrer had led them to a lift that had plunged them deep underground. Cold, damp air had whirled around them as the lift cage had descended, bringing with it the faint smell of earth and another odour that Dok was very familiar with – formaldehyde. When the lift had ground to a halt, they were deposited in a small, dimly-lit chamber hewn from the bedrock. The far side of the cavern was dominated by a metal wall, in which was set a large door like the ones found on submarines. A bored-looking soldier in Waffen-SS uniform stood guarding it, who snapped to perhaps the most rigid attention Dok had ever seen when he realised who had just arrived.
The young SS man had tugged the door open for them, revealing a long, narrow room. Glass windows took up the wall opposite the door, and bare metal seats were bolted to the floor. The Fuhrer had sat down and motioned for the others to do the same. The door had closed with a metallic clang and Dok experienced a sudden sense of movement. We're in a train carriage, he realised. Where the hell are we going?
The Fuhrer had been silent in the lift, and Dok suspected he was undergoing one of his famous mood swings. Now, in a dangerously level tone, he addressed his three guests.
"My first instinct, upon hearing of your failure in Warsaw, was indeed to order your execution," he had said, turning to face two worried expressions and one carefully blank one. "To fail so comprehensively, and at the hands of a teenager and a subhuman Slavic slave at that, is hardly becoming of servants of the Reich. There were practical considerations as well – you in particular, Herr Doktor, are someone whose capture by the Communists I will not permit."
Dok's only source of satisfaction at this point was that the Major was looking almost as apprehensive as he was.
"You have Reichsleiter Bormann to thank for your continued existence," continued Hitler with a small scowl. "He managed to convince me, against what I like to think of as my better judgement, that you could be more useful to the Reich alive. This is not the first time the Reichsleiter has changed my mind with my regards to Operation Resurrection – as you are about to see."
And then had come the light, pouring in through the carriage windows, harsh, white, electric.
And when he could see again, Dok looked out of the window and wondered if he wasn't somehow back in Poland.
He was looking at what looked like a carbon copy of his recently-destroyed labs in Warsaw, but on a far grander scale. A huge cave had been taken over and filled with banks of machinery. Surgical units could be seen in the distance, along with rows of cages. The track of a monorail circled the cavern, which Dok guessed was what they were riding. Powerful lights in the ceiling illuminated everything in their stark glare. White-coated figures scurried back and forth, while black uniforms hurried to form up next to a monorail station that was just coming into view.
"A second Operation Resurrection," declared the Fuhrer. "An exact copy of your research in Warsaw, Herr Doktor. Our insurance policy, if you will. Whenever you had a breakthrough in Poland, we replicated it here – you should find this place identical to the one you just left. My generals tell me it is an unforgivable waste of resources in these troubled times, but both Bormann and Reichsfuhrer Himmler tell me it is worth pursuing. And when something gets those two to agree on anything, then maybe it is of some value after all."
Dok's jaw had fallen in astonishment. He was still trying to get used to the idea that me might not be shot after all.
"But I shall expect great things of you, Doktor. This lab is our best-kept secret, so you will not have the excuse of Hellsing coming along to ruin everything. I will want new weapons, new technology, new soldiers. Forget vampires, Doktor – ghouls will more than suit our needs at this present time. Herr Major, you will act as a liaison between the scientists here and me personally. Herr Captain, you are hereby appointed to the position of head of security of Operation Resurrection."
Later on, each of the three men would be convinced that the Fuhrer had looked them alone in the eye at this point.
"Now get to work, gentlemen. No delays, no excuses, no security breaches."
The Fuhrer's mouth twitched in amusement as the monorail train slowed to a stop. Outside, SS officers could be seen standing to attention.
"After all, gentlemen," he said, "arbeit macht frei."
Author's note: Well, this chapter tried to explain why Germany won WWII. I must confess to not having read/watched 'The Dawn', so I am not sure how realistic the idea of restarting the programme was with regards to Hellsing canon. But, for my part, I thought it not unlikely that the Nazis might create a back-up for such potentially war-winning research.