Writing History - an Inglorious Basterds fanfiction

A/N: This is the first chapter in a possible story i'm writing - I would love your feedback. If I don't get any responses, I'll take that as a sign and not continue writing this particular tale. Thank you! - I own nothing that you recognize from Inglorious Basterds.

I was stuck – my actions had finally caught up with me.

I looked at the man in front of me. That was him. Hans Landa. The Jew Hunter. I met his gaze and quickly looked away, put off by his unblinking stare. He looked at me for another moment and turned to the solider beside him and muttered something to him in German. My broken knowledge of the language led me to believe that he was saying something about getting me cleaned up and then taking me somewhere else. I looked down at myself – he had a point. My clothes were covered in dirt and blood, and I was soaked through from the cold French rain pounding around us. My clothes stuck to my skin tightly, leaving hardly anything to the imagination. Out of self-consciousness, I tugged at my dress, trying to separate the wet cotton from my shivering, damp body. The Colonel smirked and called for something from the men behind them.

A blanket. The monster had given me a blanket.

The solider relayed his superiors' former message about my relocation to a few Nazi soldiers seated on tree stumps not to far off. They reluctantly got up from their posts and one of the men, who looked no older than 18, took me by the arm and guided me roughly towards the armored vehicle that was parked not too far away.

I tripped over my feet trying to keep up with him, and as I caught my balance I could here the Colonel behind me scoffing. I glared into the mud in front of my feet and continued to walk. When we got to the truck, the young Nazi opened the back and grunted at me, indicating I get in. I looked back to Landa and he gave me an inviting half smile and nodded towards the boot of the truck. I looked around, and seeing no other option, got into the back of the trunk – unaware of where I was going, or what would happen to me when I got there.