The Sikorsky helicopter bobbed slightly as it flew over the moors of England. The handful of passengers didn't pay attention, most of them having gotten used to the aging aircraft. What they did pay attention to was the stranger sitting among them.
Seven of the passengers were of British descent. The eighth was an American. While the British held MP5A3 sub-machine guns, the American held a Remington 870 Tactical. The British were dressed in blue fatigues, the American wore jeans, a button up shirt, and a scruffy looking trench coat.
"Who's the yank," one of the British men yelled over the whap of the blades.
"Some mercenary that was recently hired to help fill out the ranks. Definitely a strange one to sleep through the racket this bird makes," was the reply.
The American wasn't asleep though. He watched the men around him bandy words about why he was there. Amusement filled him as they put out ideas like canon fodder for the more experienced men, all the way down to him possibly being some secret lover of the Hellsing Organization's director.
"Very interesting mindsets you have. If you are as good at putting down vampires as you are jacking your jaws my joining you may not have been a complete waste of time," the American said, a distinctive southern drawl evident, indicating he was from either Arkansas or Texas.
The effect of every one of the English soldiers jumping made the pilot yell back at them to stop shaking his helicopter. They could only stare at this pretentious outsider who apparently thought he was better than them. The American could only smile, they might actually be able to handle something.
The chopper sat down a hundred yards from the front of the small manor house. The seven Englishmen spread out in a loose phalanx. The American calmly stepped to the ground and just started crossing to the building.
As he walked zombie like beings filed out. Not even blinking he threw the right side of his coat up and revealed an Ingram MAC-10 and unleashed hell upon them. He reloaded the gun when it clicked, and he continued. One got almost close enough to tear at him, but lost its head to an expertly swung shotgun stock.
The soldiers could only watch in awe as this mortal walked unblinkingly into the den of the lion. They followed him at a distance, not wanting to become an accidental victim of this machine. They stood ready though to intervene if they felt they were needed. They doubted that they would be though.
The lone man just simply walked through the front door. He brought his shotgun up to his shoulder and scanned the interior. He went from room to room clearing them and searching for the vampire. For his true prey.
A small sound, one that would have been unnoticed by anyone not trained to pick it up, made him slowly turn while he racked the forearm. He identified the sound quickly, the sound of a floor creaking, and pinpointed the location. Raising the muzzle of his weapon he aimed it a few inches ahead of the sound. The roar that issued from the barrel would make men fall to their knees in fear. A hole appeared in the floor as a slug made of holy silver tore through it and continued through the vampires head before impacting into a wall.
When he walked outside the British soldiers could only look at him in awe. The only person they had seen that could do that was not human. They had thought him to be going to his death. They were afraid.
"Who are you? The Terminator," the youngest of the men asked.
"Just call me Hell," he replied.
On the return trip the inside of the helicopter was silent as a tomb. Only the sound of the blades rotating through the air was heard. The scenery outside went from green moors and glades, to growing villages, then to the urban sprawl of London. Soon the sight of a grand manor house appeared. When it came into sight the pilot angled towards a helipad in the rear of the building.
As the Sikorsky helicopter sat down two people approached the pad. One a man in his later years, the other a woman in her mid to late twenties. The man dressed in the attire of a butler, the woman wore a clean pressed men's suit. The woman was Sir. Intergra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, the director of the Hellsing Institute.
"Mr. Grisham, I expect a full report within the hour of what occurred during the mission, then we will introduce you to the rest of the men," Sir. Integra said as soon as the whap of the blades died down.
"Yes ma'am, understood," Hell a.k.a. Mr. Grisham replied.
A snicker started in the squad of men when Sir. Integra said his name. The snicker ended when they noticed a M1911A1 pointed in their direction. The ironic thought was inevitable and caused an uproar of nervous laughter. Seven bullets for seven soldiers.
The parade grounds of the Hellsing Institute main base was filled with soldiers. All wearing the blue uniform with the Hellsing coat of arms on the sleeve. They stood stock still at attention. Hell's eye roved over them. Most were rookies. Recruited after Sir. Integra's release from prison.
A collapsible stage had been set up, and on this stage stood the unit commanders, Sir. Integra, and Hell. He had never been good with large groups, and 1,200 men counted as a full battleship's compliment. He loathed militaries. He would play nice for the six months he had agreed to work with these people, then he was going to return home to the states and start culling the vampire population there.
Sir. Integra stepped up to a podium at the front of the stage, "Men, as you know due to the growing vampire population in England the Queen ordered my release and has granted Hellsing full autonomy in order to deal with this threat. However, most of you are raw recruits and will have to undergo extensive training in order to deal with these creatures. In order to help equalize the experience levels available I located someone who has as much experience hunting vampires as most of the returning members of this organization. He will be working to train you over the next six months, and will be going out on missions himself. He has primarily worked individually in the past, so he may seem somewhat eccentric. He will now address you. Mr. Jacob Grisham."
Hell stood up and walked over to the podium, "I was brought here to train you to become the finest vampire killers there are. I have been hunting these creatures since I was ten years old, I am now twenty five. Fifteenth years of conflict and training. Seven of you have already seen me in action and can attest that I am almost superhuman in my abilities, this is from training myself and hunting these nightmares. Uhhh...Forgive me I am not real adept at public speaking. During my time here I will also be working to update your weapons and combat strategies. During a review of the weapons deployed I was amazed that there was a complete issuing of the MP5A3 submachine gun for most troops. While a good weapon for close encounter fighting it is not well adapted to urban and open field combat due to its limited range and power, therefore I will be working to introduce a better variety of arms to help strengthen your fighting abilities. You will also be learning how to fight these creatures bare handed and with blades. Also, from this point on you will refer to me by the name Hell. Your training begins at dusk Monday through Friday unless you are called out. I will not be soft on you, many of you will not survive my training or will wash out under the pressure. Those that make it will be the best there is at your trade. May God give rest to those souls tainted by Satan's hand. Amen."
A/N: This is the first fic I have thought of trying for Hellsing. I don't know how long this story will go on for. Be patient with me, I have not got as much experience with manga and anime as I do video games. If you find anything you feel is an error in the personalities of the main characters or of a description of something please tell me. Before I go on, a quick piece of trivia. Alucard's first gun, the Casul, is not 13mm, .454 Casul's metric size is 11.6mm. To put this in perspective .50 BMG is 12.7mm.