ORDER 5

BOHEMIAN BRIGAND

I don't want to set the whole world on fire. I just want to start a flame in your heart. In my heart I have but one desire. And that one is you and no other will do…Jack blissfully sung to herself, as it had been a very early and gentle gliding morning, not yet dawn. The "humming" was coming from the very same aviation machinery that she had been commanding with ease. The jet was a black SR-72—Or rather a similar variation to it. 'Easy-peasy lemon-squeezy! Just like a tank!' Braggedly thought Jacqueline. Her past in WWII was less obscure to Sir Integra who awaited in her home for the werewolf's return.

"Sir," began Seras Victoria the Vampirina, "Are you sure we should trust her so readily by herself. We saw—" Integra waved her hand at her, the old woman's ice blue eye calmly shut with confidence of the beast. Sir Integra thought back to the reel clip of Berlin, thought back to see the very same Jacqueline Van Ripper in a disheveled Soviet Uniform marked with the rank of the Komdiv of the infantry, mechanized, and motorized infantry. The flaps of her pale-green collar, they were a crimson with four gold stars. Though, she recalled that Walter and the notes prescribed by her father just after finding Abraham's secret missives often referred to her as Kapitan (This seemed weird to Integra considering that such rank as Jack's was then titled Komdiv in the Red Army and was equivalent to Captain but mainly and mostly to Major General).

She thought clearly now of Jack's twisted wolf form in Berlin from that reel, 'they called her Kapitan because that's the highest rank one can have whilst maintaining combat influence on the field of battle'.

"I know what I saw, Seras. Nonetheless, I know she can be trusted on her own. She may slaughter her own men in a tad of excitement, but her intentions have always been best for us mere mortals." Seras sighed deeply, 'she said mere and mortal in one sentence, I'm beginning—hm?' Integra abruptly stopped talking as the youthful Sir Irons knocked and opened at the same time, making his-self known and entered. Seras turned her attention to the young man, approx. fourteen. Gold hair, calculating blue eyes, and a softly-sculpted face that carried a sternness. He was here on business and not for the pleasure of tutoring.

"Sir Hellsing," spoke the always-thinking lad. Integra had nodded him to continue. "Sir," Irons began again, "I'm sent by General Rob Walsh about the matter of this new acquisition of yours. He feels it is too soon and hasty to send her on her own. Especially with the delicacy of—" Integra swiftly turned her back to him and walked to her desk in the window-lit office.

"She's the right one for the job," assured the aged woman.

"How so, Director? We know not much of her loyalty to you." Dismissed the teen

"This mission, I've ordered it to be a 'Sweep and Clean' operation."

"Excuse me…?"

'Hmph,' began thinking Integra, 'Nothing betrays his composure.' Integra resisted her urge for a puff on a cigarillo and folded her hands, "Those things, they cross the line of what is natural. If or if not they exist is not the matter, the base should be cleared of and vacated." The young Irons stood at his wait by the door, thinking before answering "She's under surveillance by two Blackbirds."

Her icy blue eye widened a little, then a smile wrinkled on her face before releasing a chuckle "There's a perfectly good reason why I sent Jack the Ripper out on this little job. It's not just her ability of swift destruction that I'm counting on, but her ways of maintaining stealth. In the Second World War, after denying my father her allegiance from a misunderstanding…"

' 'Misunderstanding' my arse. Sir Richard wanted Jack in a French maid outfit along-side Walter' Thought Seras. A male with a heavy French accent retorted, 'I 'ould zink she 'ould be a bloody damn good ad-di-tion back zen!' Typical Pip Bernadotte.

"… Not only was she leading infantry, but she learned much in engineering for the sake of her . Like a doctor for tanks. You would imagine why she was so excited to receive a Raptor—She wanted to LEARN from it and completely MODIFY it" finished Integra. "M-modify? How? By what means and ends!?" demanded Irons. Integra sat back and smugly smirked, "I'm afraid she's just made aviation history. Without even being seen or noticed."

The two Blackbirds soared through the air, trying to communicate as the Inkpots chattered over their radios, "Sir Irons, we're having difficulty finding the new variant and we keep getting intercepting noise."

Irons rose a brow and sat calmly, "What is it?"

The first pilot immediately responded, "Swing music, Sir."

Integra chuckled and leaned back, "Oh God… She's in that mood."

The coordinates were for a base in Somalia. There had been reports of strange experiments conducted on long dead remains and some even more reports—retired Nazis in hiding. They were there, too. Thanks to the new Irons, files had been made that these war criminals had also, along with the Vatican, funded inhumane projects. These projects weren't detailed to Jack, she had one order:

"Jacqueline…. Sweep and Clear! Don't let anyone in that base live! This base, it isn't Somalian in origin. We have reason that Nazis are still looking to come back. Cut their golden thread short! SEARCH AND DESTROY!"

Jack was all the more happy to oblige, 'what a magnificent woman'. Jack could on her radar the two Blackbirds and scoffed. Despite having to struggle with learning the history of the past 40 years, she found the technology invented in that time to be extraordinary. 'Pilot-capable unlike the original purpose of this craft, Invisibility fabric, Radar-evading Plasma to hide heat signature, gun capacity at a maximum, and nice music…' The Blackbirds birds behind her were out of date compared to what she had Frankenstein'd. She flew behind the two, and launched two guided air-rockets. As soon as the missles left their holders they became noticeable... at twice the altitude that the Blackbirds could fly at.

By collision, the black super-jets blasted apart, engulfing flames like fire-works in the high sky. "You're in my way!" barked Jacqueline, making a nose dive move through the large clouds of fire. The SR-72 decendant of the Blackbird rmade it's way for the base, releasing several more missles-there target being the watch-towers and the center of the research camp. The officers on watch took notice of the missiles but could not find the Super-Jet. They turned their 9 mm flak turrnets to the sky and fired their Ground-to-Air Missiles in hope of finding the black, invisible speed-demon, "Where the FUCK IS IT!? IT'S IN BROAD DAYLI-"

BOO-CRRSHHH-OOOOM! BWOOOSH!

Sir Irons looked to Integra, "We've lost all communications and intel."

The SR-72 made it's devastating blow, slamming dead-ahead into the neo-Nazi science base. Smoke pillard upwards from the large and ensnaring blast, the bright Afrikan sky dark with ash, the ground lit up by the blazing inferno. Hanging off of the schrapnel of what was left of the spy-jet was what appeared to be a mangled Doctor Jack. Other corpses were strewn about in awkward poses as they became burnt to a crisp. A few minutes passed before an unnerving, raspy chuckle broke the silence of destruction. The chuckle was coming from the SR-71, from Jack's riddled body- it had regenerated and flopped up to peer over the area.

The blood that had painted the black scraps of metal had dried and peeled off, turning to a black ash and floating like a steady stream to her. Her dangling arm had pulled itself back together, as if the meat was string in a fabric piece. She climbed out of the wreakage and two massive guns out from under the scrap metal. Two GAU Avenger Gatling Guns- both seemingly having adjustments to be hand-fired but with kept dimensions. A crazy idea, as no normal human could posses the strength to weild these- crazier if the Police Girl couldn't carry these. Jack strapped these heavy-duty cannons on over her soldiers, letting the ammo docks hang behind her as she made large, stridding skips. Pressing the triggers hard, the guns made Jack skid some in her shoes. The shells blasted through the remains of the buildings and towers, the Ripper cackling as each had crumbled, ash falling from the sky like it had been snow.

Then it struck her, a child's cry for help. A child was screaming and crying from inside and Jack let go the triggers with wide, red eyes. Water had gleamed her eyes, as if she was ready to cry herself with terror 'Why would a child be here?'. Jack threw off her guns, running to the cries of the small child. She followed the sounds until she ran into an encavement, more horrified of what she had done. She yanked each pieceof wall and cieling out of her way with ease and determination and perhaps a hint of anger. With each follied structure thrown out of the way, the cries became louder as did her rage.

Then, throwing the last piece off, she saw the youngling. It was a little boy- a toddler- with short black hair, long side burns, and brilliantely grey eyes. On the nape of his neck was a barcode tattoo, it's numbers and letters read this:

"W.C.D. 1999"