Tag: rip Van Winkle

All I’m gonna say is that I feel really bad about writing some parts of this chapter. If you thought I was done making Claude feel like crap, you’re sorely mistaken! 🙂 

As always, please feel free to send any critiques, comments, or hate mail my way!

A shuffling noise in his cell made Claude open his eyes. He had fallen asleep, he supposed. Across the room, perched in a chair in much the same way as an actual cat, sat the catboy Schrodinger. Claude sat up slowly, wincing at the twinging in his bandaged chest (it still ached like a mother-). He rubbed his eyes, blinking. At some point in his sleep, his glasses had fallen to the floor. Oh well.

“Mm… Why are you here?” His mood was mildly improved from earlier; sleep tended to do that for him. He reached down and retrieved his glasses.

“I saw you vere sad earlier. I vanted to come und make sure you vere better.”

Claude yawned quite loudly. “I was sleeping.”

Schrodinger nodded slowly, then sat up straight, ears perking up. “I just vanted to tell you zat you don’t have to be sad!” He was suddenly next to Claude, perched in the exact same position on the bed. “You und I, ve are like brothers, ja?”

The catboy giggled. “Ve are ze two who break ze universe, don’t you see? Ze man who could see ze future, und ze boy who is everyvhere und novhere. Ve’d make ze perfect team, nein?”

Despite how he felt, Claude couldn’t help but be a little endeared by this. He managed a weak smile.

“I’m sure we would. But I, uh… I don’t have control of my powers. Things just kinda happen, y’know?”

“I vouldn’t be so sure. Ze Doktor seems convinced you could be made to. I saw him scribbling in his notebooks just a few hours ago. I haf not seen him so obsessed vis anything since he experimented on me!”

The soldier was more than a little worried about that. Whatever that mad scientist had in mind for him was definitely something he wanted no part of.

He had to get out of here.

        That turned out to be easier said than done. Everything in Claude’s room seemed to be designed to his disadvantage. The bed was bolted to the floor, the toilet and sink made of metal and practically indestructible. All of the food finery was plastic. No shirt, just shorts that didn’t even have a string.

        He had contact with another living being for less than an hour a day, the Doctor coming to change his bandages and ask questions.

        It had been nearly eight days since his capture, and Claude hadn’t even been allowed to leave his room. It was starting to drive him mad. On top of that, he desperately needed a shower. He hadn’t even had the luxury of someone coming in to bring him something to eat, not since the day Zorin read his memories. The sink had been the only saving grace he still had, his shining steel oasis in the middle of a desert cell. He knew what this was, they were starving him out.

        And it was working.

        At the dawn of the ninth day, Claude curled up on his bed. He was desperate for even the slightest bite to eat. The Doctor had been continuing to run his tests as though nothing was wrong, and completely ignored Claude when the soldier brought up the topic of food.

        As the thought began to run through his head of offering to pleasure the Doctor in exchange for food, the door opened. In stepped the Major, flanked by soldiers, with a sickening grin on his face.

        Claude struggled to stand and face the Major, he was so weak from hunger. The Major only grinned wider.

        “Ahh, still such a fighter. Zat’s good!” He began to pace around the small cell. “Nine days vithout food… I could scarcely imagine ze pain you must be feeling!”

        Claude muttered. “I bet you couldn’t.”

        The Major walked slowly around Claude in a circle, eyeing him up. “You vant to eat, yes?”

        He gulped loudly, speaking quietly. “More than anything.”

        “Follow me, zen, Herr Grey.” The Major turned and exited the room, and Claude slowly followed him. He was led into a room, roughly twice the size of his cell.

        In it, around a table, stood the Captain and First Lieutenant Rip van Winkle, both dressed in what could charitably be considered civilian clothes. In the back stood First Lieutenant Zorin Blitz, dressed in her usual attire, along with four guards.

        He was so hungry that the first thing that popped into Claude’s mind was the startling lack of food in the room. The Major turned to him.

        “Vhile ve still have quite enough rations, our stocks of… Fresh food, have begun to run low. Our sadly human benefactors need to eat, as do you, Herr Grey. Our battalion must eat as vell, but zeir dietary needs are much more… Specific.”

        “So, what, we run to the supermarket and grab some food, then hit up the local butcher for blood?”

        There was a smattering of laughter.

        Shit, I knew things weren’t going to be that easy.

        The Major chuckled. “Oh, no no no! No, ze Captain, and Rip Van vill both be tending to ze needs of our human hosts und yourself. Obersturmführer Blitz und yourself vill be capturing a source of food for our vampire battalion. Fresh food, I might add.”

        Claude’s heart sank. There was no way he meant animals. That only left… Oh no.

        “You vill be provided a uniform und your veapons. Zis vill be a test of your loyalty to Millennium. If you do not assist in ze acquisition, or if you try to escape, or try to prevent us from accomplishing our goals, First Lieutenant Blitz is under strict orders to put you down like a mad dog.”

        The First Lieutenant’s voice piped up from the back of the room. “Und I vill do it vis pleasure.”

        “Now, Herr Grey! Suit up, und meet in ze hangar bay in tventy minutes! Oh, und Captain… Keep an eye on him.”

        All of the remaining vampires exited the room. Only the Captain stayed behind.

        Claude’s shotgun and pistol were on the table, as pristine as they had been when he was captured. Sitting beside it, neatly folded up, was a vicious mockery of his Hellsing uniform. The green coloring had been turned granite grey, all the patches that had been on his old uniform had been meticulously replicated using Bundeswehr and Waffen-SS patches and medals. Even his beret, once a bright red, was now dark black and proudly bearing the Nazi Reichsadler.

        And it was all he was going to get as far as clothing.

        Claude shyly avoided eye contact with the Captain as he stripped out of his shorts and began adorning himself with the new uniform. It wasn’t until the belt had been firmly snugged around his waist that Claude noticed the Captain only looked away when his own gaze moved in that direction.

        What’s with him? Surely, he’s seen a guy getting dressed before.

        He shrugged it off, continuing to dress. The new uniform was certainly more comfortable than the old one. Perhaps it was made by Hugo Boss. Now fully festooned in the Millennium regalia, he turned to his weapons. They looked identical. Even the ammo was the same, though mixed in with the silver shells were steel-cased ones, undoubtedly loaded with shot meant for humans.

        By God, everything about this pissed him off.

        The soldier, nonetheless, dutifully loaded up his guns and ammo. Captain walked over and took Claude’s wrist, beginning to write on the back of his hand.

        “AS THEY SAY, LIE BACK AND THINK OF ENGLAND.”

        “I’m not English… But I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you.”

        Captain nodded. Together, they walked out to the hangar bay.

        Claude was completely taken aback. An enormous zeppelin, its side emblazoned with the swastika and the words “Graf Zeppelin III.” It filled most of the hangar bay, but still stood tall enough that, snugly nestled underneath it was a convoy of four Mercedes-Benz lorries, each pulling a full-length 15-meter trailer. Two of the trailers were occupied by 10-man squads of vampires. The lead lorry merely had the two First Lieutenants. This was the one to which the Captain led Claude.

        They were seated in chairs bolted to the floor of the trailer. Claude took the seat next to Rip van Winkle, while the Captain sat directly across from him.

        Blitz gave him the briefing. “Ze Captain is in charge of procuring ammunition from our allied arms dealers in Rio de Janeiro. First Lieutenant Rip Van is in charge of acquiring comestibles in the same city. You und I vill be gazzering humans from ze Rocinha favela. Twenty kilometers from ze city, ve vill be svitching trucks. Ze Captain takes ze lead truck, Rip Van vill take ze second truck, I vill take ze third truck, und you vill be taking ze tailing truck. You und I, Herr Claude, vill be in charge of our own squads on zis mission.”

        Her eyes narrowed, and she raised a finger before pointing it at Claude. “Ze Major is placing qvite a lot of trust in your abilities, UND your loyalty. If you do not pull your veight, or anything zat might compromise us, I promise you I vill personally eat you alive, piece by piece. Do not disappoint ze Major, und most importantly, don’t disappoint me, human.”

        She spat out the word “human” with such venom, with all the same regard one might feel for the dog shit they’ve stepped in.

        Claude merely looked up, into her eyes. He had a fresh fire in him, furious from the role he was being given, furious at Millennium for giving it to him, furious because there was nothing he could do about it.

        “Look, Obersturmführer…” He could say her title with just as much poison. “I don’t wanna be here. You don’t want me here. I don’t give a shit, I’m not putting up with your attitude. You want me to prove I’m loyal, fine, I’ll do it. I may as well do what I’m told, right? I’ll lead my squad and I’ll accomplish the objective and you-“ He jabbed his finger in her direction. “Will stay out of my goddamn way!”

        He was pretty sure he’d never seen anyone’s face get that red before. She opened her mouth to reply but the Captain merely put up his hand, shaking his head at her.

        It was going to be a long ride to Rio.

——————————————————————————————-

        It really was a long ride. They had been travelling for almost two hours now. Aside from Rip van Winkle’s humming, all four were in near-total silence. Claude hated it. The two hours had given him some time to think over things and lose some of his anger. Not all of it, but some.

        He looked over at the humming, bespectacled woman to his left. He looked across to the silent Captain who had been glancing in his direction once or twice a minute for the past two hours. He looked at the fuming, tattooed woman who quietly sharpened her scythe, occasionally sending him hateful looks.

        “So…” The soldier piped up, breaking the silence so unexpectedly it even caught him off guard. “What’s your ideal free time activity?”

        The other three paused. Zorin sneered. “Vat ze fuck are you talking about?”

        “C’mon, you have to have something you enjoy doing to help you unwind, Miss Hieroglyphics.”

        Rip van Winkle was the only one to offer up, at first. “Oh! Zen mine vould be sitting in mein room, listening to Der Freischütz on ze record player!”

        Zorin grumbled softly. “A pack of cigarettes, a liter of blood in a stein, und a set of veights to lift.”

        The Captain motioned to mime an action, but Rip Van interrupted him. “Until recently, he’s spent his free time training! But now he seems to be very interested in ze Doktor’s vork, especially concerning…” The Captain quickly threw a spare stripper clip of ammo at her, shutting her up and causing the First Lieutenant to glare at him.

        Zorin nodded her head at Claude. “Und vat about you, human?”

        “Oh… A glass of apple cider, some cheese-and-crackers, and a copy of Game of Thrones, or Harry Potter. Especially if it’s raining outside, which, I live near London so… Every other day.”

        They continued to talk like this for another hour, when the lorries came to a halt and he had to move into the trailing lorry. The vampires in this trailer were much more talkative, like soldiers at war. He stepped in slowly, noticing their looks of hunger.

        Claude cleared his throat.

        I don’t know if they can smell fear. Or anger. Or both. They probably can.

        “I’m Herr Grey, and I’ll be your squad leader tonight. We’re under strict orders to capture your food sources for the next several months. Now, I may be a human, but I am NOT having any bullshit tonight! No feeding on anyone until we return to base, no killing anyone you don’t have to! If one of you blood-suckers steps out of line…” He gestured to the silver shells lining his bandolier. “I will put you down like a dog, understand?!”

        The soldiers nodded, their looks of hunger turned to a sick look of respect. They all saluted with a “Sieg Heil!” Claude choked back the bile rising in his throat and took his seat.

——————————————————————————————-

        Their raid into the favelas was a nightmare. The two lorries rolled in from separate ends of the Rocinha neighborhood, soldiers exiting and storming into the shanty houses like common criminals. One by one, they extracted men, women… Even children.

        Every pocket of resistance to their actions was crushed accordingly, every individual with a gun dropped before they could even fire a shot. Claude led his squad as ordered, despite every fiber of his being screaming at him not to.

        Filling the lorries took an hour, if that. Claude and Zorin’s squads combined had taken nearly four hundred people.

        Except for the chairs the soldiers sat in, it was standing-room-only, with the terrified, screaming civilians crammed together like sardines in the pitch-black trailers.

        For Claude, none of it felt real. It was as though the orders were being given by someone else, like he was just observing actions and events on a theater screen. Even as the lorries rumbled back to base, he felt like he was in a complete daze.

        The screaming in the trailer gradually turned into quiet crying, whimpering, and praying. He wanted for all the world to just turn his gun on these people, end their suffering now so they wouldn’t have to deal with what would come later. But he knew the gesture would mean nothing, Millennium would just send out another convoy and procure another two hundred people. And he would be dead, with no way of getting back to Hellsing.

        Their arrival was heralded with the trailer doors opening, and a cadre of soldiers shepherding the poor people to holding cells deep in the base.

        Claude shambled out like a zombie. He couldn’t focus, even as the Major congratulated him with a little speech, a pat on the back, and an offer of a new room and food. He looked at the others, at Rip’s gleeful smile, at the Captain’s sympathetic gaze, and at Zorin, and her grudgingly approving look. A look like she might, potentially, have the slightest bit of respect for him. That look twisted his stomach in painful knots.

        Even as he was led to his new room, sat before a veritable smorgasbord of delicious foods, he felt utterly detached from the world. He ate the smallest bite before his stomach felt so full. The Major and his guards left, and as the door clicked shut, Claude bolted for the room’s bathroom.

He inaugurated the toiled by vomiting, releasing all of the built-up guilt and self-hatred in one big mess. He kept going, over and over and over again, until he had nothing left to give. Claude collapsing into a fit of crying, so loud that he didn’t even hear the door open.

        Claude felt the familiar presence behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. The massively-tall, green coat-clad man crouched beside him, taking the still-crying soldier into his arms.

        Claude didn’t think twice before wrapping his arms around the warm Captain, pulling him as tightly as he could. The Captain helped him to his feet, leading him back into the room.

        The food left by the Major had grown cold. How long was he in the bathroom?

        Captain gestured to a new addition to the table. A bottle of cider. He began writing on Claude’s back.

        “I HAD RIP BUY SOME. I THOUGHT IT MIGHT HELP YOU FEEL BETTER.”

        He didn’t really have a stomach for food, even after all nine days without food, and puking his guts out. But Claude felt he could force back a glass of the familiar apple nectar.

        As he sat at the table, pouring a glass, he saw the Captain turn towards the door.

        “Um… Wait, please don’t… I mean don’t go.”

        The very tall man turned, a quizzical look on his face.

        “I, uhh… This is a lot of cider. I couldn’t possibly drink it all by myself. Would you care to drink with me?”

        Captain paused. Claude could see the slightest bit of red on his face, even past the high collar of his coat. After a moment or two, the Captain nodded and sat down beside him, filling his own glass.

        (Wow, this update was a devil to write! I wish I could say this is the last we see of Angsty!Claude, but he’ll be back. There’s going to be plenty of more heartwarming moments but there’s one big moment I’ve got left in store that will break him just as bad, if not worse, than we’ve seen him. I promise I don’t hate him but I’m trying to keep the same dark tone as the source material. There WILL be a happy ending, though, I promise. Thank you for reading!)