ALDO

"It was like this," Aldo started. "We came up on a German convoy parked and camped for the night. There were six or seven prisoners, one of them was a little Aryan girl, and the rest looked like German deserters. We waited until most of the Germans were sleeping. They tied the prisoners to posts in the middle of camp, naked, and whipped them. Now, I don't care much about anything, but seeing that little girl gritting her teeth trying her damnedest not to scream got me riled up. The plan was always to kill these Nazis but that put a fire under our ass…"

ANYA

After the whipping it was quiet out in the woods and the moonlight. I couldn't bring myself to look up at the full moon, so I just slumped against my post in the worst pain of my life, freezing to death, but I didn't care. I had failed my country. Nothing mattered now; no one was coming to get me, because no one missed me. I looked over at the German deserter next to me. I had never seen hate like the hate on his face; it terrified me, and made me brave. They could do what they wished with me, but they could never keep me from hating them. So I hated them, hated them so much that bile climbed in my throat. There was so much hate in me that it filled me to the top. I looked into the forest ready to scream and make sleeping hard for the basterds in the tents when I saw something much better.

Then I saw The Basterds. They had to be, creeping in from the tree line I saw at least three Jewish faces painted green and black. Fighting like an Apache resistance may have had its advantages, but overall it was just impressively cool. I hoped they would help us; give us some fucking clothes. I had felt naked around the Nazis, but with The Basterds there too I felt goddam exposed.

As I tried to cover myself with my limited range of motion, being tied by both hands and my waist, a man with stony face I recognized came over and cut me loose. Hugo Stiglitz. Definitely The Basterds. I covered myself and stayed silent with the others as each member went into a tent and slit Nazi throats. I shivered while thinking up an excuse why I was among deserters and traitors. Even though these men were traitors I needed to reign in my business and keep my cover from being blown all the way.

After they had cleaned their knives and handed us SS sheets to cover ourselves the questions started. The Bear Jew paced behind the Apache as he looked over all of us, eyes soft for me. The rest of the men stood in a line behind The Bear Jew, and stared us down. It was all very intimidating, especially to me; five foot four and blonde. They didn't know I was on their side, and now, I would have to lie. Maybe they could tell, maybe they'd kill me. We would see.

"Alright," Aldo sang. "I'm Lt. Aldo Raine, and these are the Basterds. But you knew that." He paced past me, looking straight in my eyes. "Who here speaks English?"

Four men raised their hands. I didn't. Lie number one.

"Wicki," he called to another man who came forward and said everything Aldo had just said in German. I nodded this time. "Now I want to know everyone of your names, former rank and the reason them Nazis were taking you to the gallows. You?" He said to the first man in line. Five men were deserters, and the other two were a little too into friendly fire. Then he came to me. "Name," he said, Wicki translated.

"Annabelle Lutz."

"Why are you here Annabelle?" He said giving me that soft look again.

"I am the daughter of deserter Captain Renard Lutz. The Nazis took me from my home with my mother in Munich, hoping my father would come out of hiding to… retrieve me." Three lies. I made it sound believable enough, and Wicki translated correctly. Captain Renard Lutz was a real deserter, and he had a family, but they were already dead. Aldo gave me a hard look for the first time.

"Why did daddy desert?"

"Conflict of ideas."

"Why did he leave you and your mother unprotected, and how do you know how to take a whipping?" He wasn't buying it.

"That wasn't my first whipping, sir. We've been getting them all week." The others nodded in agreement. Not a lie. Aldo turned and looked at The Bear Jew, who I noticed was looking at me in a way that made me feel completely uncomfortable. The Apache turned back to us.

"Alright, deserters, desert! Traitors, move it! You!" He said to me. "You're coming with us. You're going into hiding ASAFP." As the other men ran away into the dark tree line I knew most of them would be recaptured, but I was given a chance and I wanted to know why. When they were gone, and the Basterds had chased them off, Aldo turned back to me. "Now, I know you're lying to us because you understand English. So, I wanna know why." That made two of us.

"If we are to discuss that I need to speak to you alone." I answered in German. Wicki translated.

"No. Donowitz has gotta be there too." He demanded. I sighed.

"Fine." Wicki translated. "Donowitz?" I asked.

"Donny!" He yelled over his shoulder to the rest of the Basterds. Donny stepped forward. He was the Bear Jew. Shhhhhit. I'd rather take another whipping than have a sit down with a sociopath like Sergeant Donny Donowitz. I narrowed my eyes at him. He did the same to me, but with his dark brown eyes, swirling fire. There was electricity that shot between us angry and hard; instantly intimidating. I pretended not to notice. Right now I had a bleeding back, I was wearing a sheet and I was under question by guerilla fighting Americans known for their lack of mercy. There was nothing I wanted more than a medic, a dress and a sandwich.

We trekked back to the Basterds' camp, or so I thought.

"Get down on your knees," said Aldo.

"What?" I responded in German.

"Stop it! Just stop, honey." Said Donny. I glared at him. "Your knees." I knelt down, and the Basterds surrounded me, guns drawn, and eyes glowing in the moon. I nervously played with the edges of the sheet, knowing that the whole back had to be red.

"Who are you with?" Asked Aldo. Wicki almost translated.

"The OSS tells me who I'm with," I said in perfect English with an American accent.

"That's a nice American accent sounds like you're from Chicago. Very nice." Aldo commented. "So whose side are you on?"

I wondered if he was trying to call my bluff. Maybe I'd try again.

"I'm from De Moines," I said simply. They looked at each other.

"What's your name?"

"Anya Onslow." I said, and they snickered. Donny and Aldo whispered to each other and looked at me again.

"What the fuck?! Tell me what's going on!" I squeaked. They laughed.

"We're fuckin' with ya," said Aldo helping me up, smiling too much for what he just did to me.

"Fuck you," I whispered.

"Okay," he sang back. I wanted to hit him, but that would wait…

ALDO

"So, we got her back to our safe house. She needed medical help, so Utivich was assigned to that. Wicki went to get her some clothes, and Donny was her warden. He trusted her less than I did, so I trusted him to keep a sharp eye on her…"

"Donny come here," Aldo said across the table as Utivich took care of Anya's wounds. Anya could stare right into the kitchen from where she was. She stared at the men around the table with light eyes, never letting them forget her. Donny went to Aldo, staring Anya down, and then turning attention to his Lieutenant.

"What is it?"

"She says she's OSS, and I think she's on our side, but I don't think she's American, German, British, Italian or French." He said looking toward the bed. Donny scrunched his face together.

"You think she's Russian?"

"I'd bet my knife." He grumbled. "I'm also betting she speaks Russian, French, Italian, God knows what else; perfectly."

"How do you know all that?" Donny asked, shifting his large boots under the table.

"When we were in Italy," he said taking a hit from his snuff box. He was on first watch tonight. "I met with that Russian Captain and his spy. The spy spoke English, he taught me a little bit of Italian and made a joke in German. Russians are insane." He said in his own special accent.

"Fuck a duck." Donny said, actually impressed with Anya. That is, if she was OSS and Russian. Then he resisted the feeling. Anya was not to be impressive, or to be trusted, or attractive. He made himself think. She was lying on her stomach, partially covered with a bloody sheet, and Utivich got to touch her back and shoulders… move her hair… she was in his goddam room. Maybe he would go over and help for a while.

"Hey, I know you and Stiglitz trust her less than I do, so you two will be her personal guardians. Figure her out. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded, and his eyes swirled fire again. He'd find out exactly who she was.