The Major looked out at the land in front of him, covered in dense trees and brush, animals crying out in their hunting or their mating. He smiled as he surveyed the surrounding land, his new domain. The advance team should have the base ready for occupation by now.

"You're slow, Herr Major."

He turned, looking at the tiny form of the wolf-boy that had appeared out of nowhere. He was still getting used to the child's ability to appear from thin air, but he no longer jumped, much to the wolfkinds disappointment.

"I did vhat I could, Varrant Officer. This ship can only move so fast vithout detection."

The boy grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming. "There is some bad news, I'm afraid."

"Vhat is it, Schrödinger? I'm in no mood for your games."

"The Opera House men are on their vay here as ve speak. They vill be commanding here as vell."

The Major placed his hand on his forehead. "Scheiße, aller Sachen, zum zu beschäftigen."

Schrödinger snickered at his masters cursing, then yelped as he was plucked from the ground.

"I thought ve had talked about being disrespectful, Varrant Officer. The Major is the only thing between you and the other vorld."

"It's alright, Dok. Ignore him, is vhat he said true?"

Dok bowed his head as he dropped the boy. "Ja, I'm afraid. Vord arrived an hour ago. They managed to escape from the bunker before it vas destroyed. They plan to oversee the revenge of Der Führer here. They vill arrive on board the Feigling tomorrow."

The Major smirked at the name the scientist had given the ship. "It seems I may haf to deal vith them a vhile longer then. No matter." He stepped onto the sandy soil and started walking for the base.

"It's time to restart the research, Dok. Order vhat you may need, and call on Rip for any matter you may need her for."

"This time ve vill not fail. Take however long you need."

He smiled. "Hellsing and Alucard. Wir zerquetschen sie unter unseren Aufladung Fersen."


Handy German Translations: Scheiße, aller Sachen, zum zu beschäftigen - shit, of all that I must deal with.

Feigling: Craven

Wir zerquetschen sie unter unseren Aufladung Fersen: We will crush them under our boot heels.