Dr Who and Hellsing are respectively owned by Kouta Hirano and the BBC.

bThe Endless Krieg/b

bPrologue: Fresh Veal/b

b

Britain, the Countryside near London/b

The manor had stood for a hundred years, ever since the arrival of the first of the family and his 'prize' for England. The gargantuan residence and it's massive miles-stretching walls gave Hellsing Manor a Victorian gothic look. Or at least that's what Tommy thought as he exited the taxicab that had stopped for the large gates.

The man who visited him at Hereford had only given a adress and a short if non-disclosing job description. "Defend England.". The people from UNIT, Torchwood, ARCAM, InGen and Umbrella had been full of words and phrases like 'The trip of a lifetime', 'Guaranteed promotion and salary raise in one year time' and in one rare instance 'Save the world against Cobra-scum!'. Weird bloke that was. In any case, that of the Hellsing Institute was the most shortest, direct and too damned mysterious to let slip.

So, Tommy found himself that morning facing the gates of Hellsing Manor until a guard approached, with his weapon visibly slung around the shoulder.

"This is a restricted area and closed off for civilians. Turn back now, sir."

"I was asked to come here by Captain Pickman. He sent me this note-" Tommy wanted to reach for his pocket but the guard inmediatly grabbed and aimed his weapon on Tommy's head.

"Hold it! Up those hands, QUICKLY!"

The other guard unslunged his MP5, but kept it pointed upwards, ready to intervene. Having been on the otherside of the gun in similair situations during his time in Iraq, Tommy followed their commands and remained silent with his hands up. The guard carefully reached for the pocket Tommy was reaching for, and slowley rummaged inside of it, while keeping his weapon raised. After some stressing seconds, the guard finally retrieved a piece of folded paper and wrapped it open.

The guard read the entire note intently, down to the bottom signiature from Captain Pickman, before he lowered the gun and nodded to his comrade who slunged the rifle back across his shoulder in one rapid fluid move and stepped back into a stance that covered up the fact he nearly shot someone. The guard broke his stare and changed it into a proper smile.

"Sorry about that, sir. We've had problems with Freaks trying to entering the compound. Though it wouldn't matter if they did get inside, the poor cunts."

Tommy found the remark about people with grotsque appearances to be unfitting, but let it slide. Back in the SAS, the chaps with himself included, made far worser remarks about chavs, Iraqis and Harriet Jones.

"No problem. It's comforting to know that security around this place isn't lacking. Whatever this place does, anyway."

"What do you mean, sir? "

"Well, nobody told me a single damn of what I'm supposed to be doing here. It seems all big and like, and proper equipped from the looks of you, but not a clue on what the Institute does. Are you like one of Torchwood's neglected little brothers or something?"

The smile vanished for a moment, before returning and the guard gave a small snicker. "We may be a lot of things, but we are definately not one of Torchwood's little 'flunkies'. And you ought to refrain to say such things in the manor as they do not take that comparison lightly."

"I'm terribly sorry."

"Not a worry. Seeing your the fresh veal, they'll go easy on you. Mabye not iHim/i, if ishe's/i in a bad mood."

"Again speaking in mystery, is that typical Hellsing behaviour?" Tommy was getting enough of the weird treatment, especially against a expierenced SAS Captain, even at the age of 24.

"Don't worry sir. You'll get used to it. But now, you better report to Captain Pickman. He may be the second bravest man I ever heard of, but he's still a tightarse. I'll open the gate for you sir."

The guard moved a switch on a small controlboard built into the wall, and the gates slowly swinged open. Tommy picked up his belongs, wich all fitted in a small duffelbag and ventured through as the gates closed. Unsure and unwilling to leave the only person who he has met so far, he turned around to the guard who was still watching him with a smile that indicated genuine sadistic fun, not hidden homosexual affection.

"Where should I..."

"Go straight forward when you enter the manor and keep forward until you are at the second corridor and than go to the right where you will find the barracks, and ask for Captain Pickman."

"Right, thanks. One remaining question though. What's the deal with 'fresh veal'?"

"I don't recall saying that, sir."

"...Fine. By the way, I failed to introduce myself properly. Thomas Lethbridge-Stewart is the name, formerly Captain in the Special Air Service."

"Sergeant Charles Benton, formerly Royal Marines. Small world, ain't it sir?"