Prologue

We must be better and perform better than the enemy, and only then can we say, 'Give death and take death—that's our motto! — S.S. officer

Heinkel Wolfe had never been an optimistic person, but the scene before her made it downright impossible. Though Buckingham Palace remained pristine due to the hastily erected barbed-wire fence protecting it from vandals (both living and (un)dead), beyond the barrier blackened buildings loomed above a hellish landscape reminiscent of a Bosch painting. And while the roads near the palace had been cleared by armed patrols, bodies still ripened in the sun that had deigned to show itself today, of all days.

How ironic.

Her eyes stung and she blinked rapidly to dispel the moisture; this was no time for tears. If she succumbed to grief now, it would consume her: rendering her unfit to exact revenge on the bastards who had murdered the only people she'd ever loved.

Had it really been only forty-eight hours since she'd lost them? A lump formed in her throat as she pictured their faces for the hundredth time: Father Anderson's crooked smile, Archbishop Maxwell scolding her for blowing their cover yet again, and, Yumie, her best friend and fellow warrior, with her fiery temper and fierce loyalty.

Her fingers straying to the bandages covering her cheek—the wound the Nazi had given her—Heinkel vowed to dispense justice to the demons who had slaughtered her comrades, profaned the one, holy, apostolic Church.

This was the reason she'd survived the Blitz; why else would the werewolf spare her life when, by all rights, he should have killed her? Though she wished she'd died along with the others, God had seen fit to spare her life for His own purposes; and therefore, she must not fail to fulfill His holy mission.

Lord, I will avenge You—and them. I swear it.

After the Major's death, his cowardly servants fled before they could be captured, but Heinkel would pursue them into the depths of hell itself if she had to, torture them until they begged for death. Her hands curled into fists at the memory of Yumie's blood staining the cobblestones, chunks of her flesh scattered over the street like macabre confetti, Walter laughing…

"Heinkel?"

She flinched but refused to turn, eyes fixed on the blighted city. Over her shoulder, she could see Seras' reflection in the glass; the draculina was uncharacteristically solemn. "What?"

Even that one word made her cheek throb, but Heinkel refused to appear weak before the enemy—even one so seemingly innocuous. While Seras appeared harmless, beneath that innocent exterior was a ruthless predator; and once Heinkel had eliminated the Nazi scum, the heretic Integra and her pet monster would be next. For now, though, she would wait: biding her time until the right moment arrived. Revenge might be slow, but it was sweet. The one who endures to the end, he will be saved…

"Sir Integra wants to speak with you."

Seras accompanied this remark with the dimpled grin that had no doubt charmed countless men—and earned their wives' undying hatred. Amazing that the vampire could still smile after her master's demise; and yet, here she was, beaming as though nothing was amiss.

Of course, Seras was a creature of the night; with a heart that no longer beat, the vampire was incapable of loving anyone besides herself, despite her kind facade. Still, the sight of that smile made Heinkel's nails sink into her palms until they drew blood; it took all her training not to lunge at the other woman right then and there, mission be damned. The silence stretched until the draculina finally turned away.

Over her shoulder, she added, "You shouldn't keep her waiting. Sir Integra isn't exactly known for her patience…"

Heinkel was tempted to ignore her, but Integra was as stubborn as the Archbishop, if not more; she'd have no peace if she didn't obey the summons. That said, nothing prevented her from procrastinating, if only to annoy her new ally. Closing her eyes, Heinkel rested her forehead against the glass, enjoying the coolness on her skin, though it did little to dispel the headache generated by the prospect of a conversation with Hellsing's leader.

After a moment, she opened her eyes, already gritting her teeth at the thought of playing nice with the Protestant sow. However, much as Heinkel detested fraternizing with the enemy, she had no choice but to cooperate with the heretics; it was the only way to fulfill her mission.

For with the leaders of Iscariot dead and the organization in tatters, Heinkel—devoted Vatican agent though she was—was forced to ally herself with the Church of England, which had survived the carnage (mostly) intact. Much as she hated to admit it, working with Rome's bitterest enemy was her only option. On her own, she simply didn't possess the resources to locate the Major's missing lieutenants.

Therefore, until Millennium was defeated, until she held her enemies' still-beating hearts in her hand, Heinkel would obey Integra's orders; no matter how much she hated it, she would do it for her friends, for the Church, for Christendom itself…and she would not fail. Turning her back on the past, she headed for Integra's office.