Fandom: Inglourious Basterds
Pairings: Aldo/Landa, Stiglitz/Hicox, Donny/Utivich, Wicki/Ulmer
Summary: The Basterds didn't die and are now trying to escape France. And along the way, the boys write down what happened to all of them in their own personal diaries. These are their dairy entries. SLASH!
Rated: M
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to the brilliant Q. Tarantino and anyone else who made money off the movie, unlike myself. I only own the plot, Mr. and Mrs. Grégoire, and Johnson.
Warnings: More slash than you could possibly handle.
A/N: This started out as a bit of a comedic story, which I didn't plan on posting, but soon I fell in love with it and started to realize that it wasn't a half bad story, if you didn't mind the pairing up of almost every guy in the movie. And there's one pairing I bet you never thought of Wicki/Ulmer. I don't know what to say. I saw them and fell in love, and I hope you do too after reading them in my story. Sorry if the characters are a little OOC, but it's kind of hard to write them in character when some of them only have one or two line in the WHOLE movie. Also I had no idea what their original plan was if Hicox and Stiglitz hadn't of died in the basement, so I made up stuff as I went along. So, if it's terribly awful I'm sorry. The beginning is a bit chopping, but it gets better when you get into the Basterds' notes.
Fall Away
It was almost too good to be true, considering all the close calls they had had. Like when that major in that, dreaded, basement bar almost found them out, but thanks to some quick thinking on Miss von Hammersmark's part, they were able to quickly and silently neutralize that problem.
Their next close call was at that stupid, movie theater, when Miss von Hammersmark had vanished, and only later did they learn that she was strangled to death in a back room by Col. Hans Landa. The plan had been simple blow up the whole theater with everyone in it, but nothing ever goes quite as planned.
Wicki, Hicox, and Stiglitz had set up their bombs under their seats. Utivich and Aldo had set up their bombs all around outside the theater. And Omar and Donny had set their bombs up behind the scenes and were anxiously awaiting their cues. But no cue came because at that exact moment both Utivich and Aldo were being kidnapped by, the infamous, Colonel Hans Landa.
After some beatings and negotiations, Aldo finally agreed to the Colonel's demands. Meanwhile, back at the theater as the movie was reaching its climax, Lieutenant Hicox began to grow very concerned. Miss von Hammersmark was missing and had been since the movie had started, and Aldo should have giving them the go ahead to blow the theater up by now. So, he knew something was wrong. And after a quick investigation into the matter proved that his suspicions were right, and that Aldo and Utivich were no where to be found, a new plan was formulated.
Aldo had gotten a hold of his superiors on the radio that Landa had so graciously provided and they ordered Raine to do whatever it took to kill Hitler, including giving the Nazi Colonel what he wanted. He grudgingly conceded. He hated giving into the Nazi bastard's demands, but he also wanted the war to end and Hitler to die. His only regret was that all his men had to die while he got to live.
After gathering the rest of their little rag-tag team and bringing them up to speed on the new situation, the Basterds went about setting plan B into action, only to find out that another plan was in motion to kill Hitler. So, after talking to the lovely owner of the theater, Shosanna, the Basterds revised their plan to better suit what Shosanna wanted.
The Basterds left the theater, leaving all their bombs in place, and locked all the doors from the outside behind them. Then once a safe enough distance away they watched the fireworks show begin. The remaining Basterds stayed close at hand to make sure that no one survived that explosion, because it would have been a shame if that nice Jewish woman and her lover had died and Hitler had somehow survived.
Satisfied that Hitler was indeed dead, the rest of the Basterds went off to find out what had happened to their fearless leader and their wide-eye private. Because they knew that they wouldn't have just abandoned them.
Everything was running smoothly and according to plan, that was, of course, until Landa took off the handcuffs and willingly let Aldo put them on him. As soon as the Lieutenant's hands found a gun they shot and killed the young soldier that Landa had brought with him.
"Are you insane!" Landa had screamed as Raine just stared at him. Landa continued to scream at Raine, telling him that he would be executed for his insubordination once they got to the States. Raine casually told Landa that he would probably get into a bit of trouble once they did return to the States, but he assured Landa that the worst he would get was a thorough yelling at.
"Now, I reckon, that once ya become an American citizen you're gonna take off that uniform and just become another face in the crowd?" Asked the Lieutenant in his famous southern drawl. Colonel Landa said nothing, but visibly flinched away from Raine. "Now, we don't think that's right. Do we Utivich?"
"No, Sir," replied the private as he finished scalping the dead Nazi soldier.
"So, we're gonna give ya sumin' ya can't take off."
The Lieutenant pulled out his big hunting knife and used the tip of the blade to push the brim of Landa's hat farther up his forehead. At that exact moment the former Nazi Colonel's face went three shades whiter, and for the first time in his entire life the Jew Hunter knew what it felt like to be the hunted.
Now, here, without his men, Landa showed his true colors. Behind his position of power, charm, and boast was a scared, pathetic form of a man. And as Landa stared up at the slightly taller frame of Aldo Raine, eyes wide with fear and body quivering in terror, and Aldo standing over him, smiling like the cat that caught the canary, it was the perfect picture of the prey staring straight into the face of its predator.
Hellish, animal-like screams of pain resonated through the woods as Aldo carefully and precisely carved a perfect Swastika into the ex-Colonel's forehead, relishing in the fact that Hans Landa, the great Jew Hunter, was finally getting a taste of his own medicine.
"You know Utivich," said Aldo, moving back a bit and admiring his handiwork, "this could be my masterpiece."
It wasn't long after the Basterds had blown up the theater and Utivich and Raine had arrested their prisoner that they all had finally caught up with each other. Each of them just as surprised as the other to see that they had all managed to come out of this thing alive.
The Basterds job had been successfully completed and it was now time for them all to go home. But before they could do that, they needed to get out of France and to a secure base in Britain, but before they could even do that they needed to find a secure radio to get in touch with their superiors and let them know they were alive and needed an airlift out of there.
These are the notes taken straight from the journals of the rag-tag team of soldiers simply known as "The Basterds," and how they escaped France.
Lt. Aldo Raine's Notes Part One
Johnson always used to take notes after he successfully completed a mission. He said it helped him keep his mind clear, and helped him remember the good missions and forget the bad ones. I never took notes before, but I decided that this mission was worth putting down on paper for future generations. Although, I can't say that this mission is a complete success until my men and I get home safely. So, until I can get home and get some proper writing equipment, I'll just document my journey from here on out.
As we were on our way to a town that was last known to us to have a working radio for American allies, we were spotted by a French man who happened to be driving by at the time. It would seem that luck was on our side, though, because he was smuggling his Jewish friend and his family back to his farm to hide them, and once he realized that the majority of us were Jewish he offered to hide us too for a while.
So there we were sitting in the back of an old hay truck, with rotting wood sides, and no tailgate. And if that wasn't bad enough, the truck wasn't exactly build to fit eight, full grown men, comfortably, not to mention that we also were riding with the French man's Jewish friend, his wife, and his daughter. We ended up being packed into the back of that truck tighter than sardines in a can.
To one side of me sat Utivich his back pressed against my shoulder while his front was pressed against Donny. To my other side sat Landa who was haphazardly squished into the corner with his hands still handcuffed behind his back and my shoulder pressed tight against his chest. Next to him sat the French man's Jewish friend, while his wife and daughter sat up front with the driver.
Next to the Jewish friend sat Hicox, and they sat shoulder to shoulder. Smashed into the other corner next to Hicox was Omar. The poor fellow looked quite distressed, like at any moment someone would fall on him and he would be squashed to death. On the other side of Omar sat Stiglitz, who looked slightly more aggravated than usual, and squished next to him sat Wicki whose back was turned to him, causing Stiglitz's shoulder to be pressed into Wicki's back.
We all felt terrible, each bump in the road was intensified ten times as it caused all of us to be crushed together even more. But we really didn't have any right to complain, seeing as how this nice French man was giving us a ride and a place to hide, out of the goodness of his heart.
A little over half an hour later and we finally arrived at the French farmer's house. The place was quaint and had a pleasant feel to it. It kind of reminded me of my home back in Maynardville, Tennessee.
The house was small, only a two bedroom, I speculated, but they had a large barn off a bit from the house. The wife of the farmer must have heard the truck pull up, because a tall, blonde woman came running out of the house and stopped to stare at us from the porch. She was probably wondering what was going on. Why her husband had so many people in the back of their truck, when he was only suppose to pick up three.
The farmer quickly ran up to his wife and they started quickly exchanging a few words in French. I suppose he was explaining about us. Well, whatever he had said had calmed her fears and she swiftly went back inside the house.
The farmer then signaled, with a wave of his hand, for us to follow him as he walked towards the barn. We all clumsily jumped out of the bed of the truck, dusting the hay off our clothes and shaking the blood back into our cramped and numb limbs.
As soon as Landa hopped down from the back of the truck I roughly grabbed his shoulder and drug him behind me. He just grunted his protest and followed clumsily behind me.
The barn was three times larger than the farmer's house and even had an impressively sized hayloft, but at the time wasn't filled with much hay. Inside the barn was an old tractor with a plowing disk attached to it, which led me to believe he grew some sort of crop. And a few bags of goat feed were scattered here and there.
"You can all stay here, for while," stated the farmer (who I learned was named Jacque Grégoire) in broken English.
"Thank you Mr. Grégoire. We are much obliged," I replied, dragging Landa over to a corner of the barn and tossing him on a pile of feed bags. "Stay here," I commanded him before turning back to Grégoire. But just as I was about to say something the barn door slowly creaked opened and in popped the head of Mrs. Grégoire and behind her came the daughter of their Jewish friend, both carrying a bundle of blankets in their arms.
"It's going to be cold tonight," informed Mrs. Grégoire in almost perfect English, but with a French accented voice, "so I brought you all some blankets." She handed a blue blanket to me. "I'm afraid that this old barn is very drafty and those blankets are very thin, so I don't think they'll keep you very warm."
"That's alright Mrs. Grégoire, we'll survive," I replied, gratefully taking a blanket from her. She gave me a sad smile.
"Sun up. Four hours. You all sleep now, Oui?" Asked Mr. Grégoire.
"My husband is right; you should all get some rest. You all look like you need it. I serve breakfast one hour after sun up, but it may be a little later in the morning. So, I'll come get you all in the morning for breakfast," replied Mrs. Grégoire as she finished handing out the blankets.
"You're very kind Mrs. Grégoire," stated Hicox.
"Thank you. I must be going now. We all have a long day tomorrow." And with that she ushered the young Jewish daughter out of the barn with her.
"Well, at least, Mrs. Grégoire speaks perfect English. I was having a hard time understanding Mr. Grégoire," stated Donny as he situated himself against some feed bags and got ready to go to sleep. "Someone should stay up and keep watch, you know?"
"I know," I answered. "We'll each take hour watches. I'll go first. Who wants to go next?" No one immediately volunteered, but after a few silent minutes Omar spoke up.
"I'll go next," said Omar.
"Then I will go after Ulmer," stated Wicki, quickly. After him Utivich took the next shift and then, the-half-asleep-but-just-conscious-enough-for-this-conversation, Donny volunteered for the next shift. After him Hicox and Stiglitz took the last shifts. After that was all sorted out, everyone started settling in to get some sleep.
Omar instantly fell asleep against the wall of the barn closest to the door, with his blanket draped around his shoulders, and snoring slightly. Stiglitz and the Brit decided to bunk down on the hay, which didn't look much more comfortable than the floor. Wicki paced around a bit before finally just taking off his jacket, wadding it up into a ball to use as a pillow and pulling his blanket over him as he lay down on the floor, off to the side of the building. Utivich decided that Donny had the right idea, so he too fell asleep on a pile of feed, using one as a pillow.
I, on the other hand, had the first shift of keeping watch, and I knew the perfect way to keep myself awake. I turned around and stared silently at Landa who was drifting in and out of sleep while trying to keep watchful eye on me. There was no way that son of a biscuit eating mongrel was going to sleep, while I had to stay up and keep watch.
"Yo, Landa," I drawled, nudging the man fully awake. "Get up. We're going up to the loft." He groaned, but got up and we walked over to the ladder which led up to the hayloft.
"Well, now what?" Snapped Landa, irritably. "How exactly do you expect me to climb this ladder with my hands tied behind my back?"
"I'm getting to that," I replied as I pulled out the keys to his handcuffs. "You know you sound like a pissy woman when you do that." I quickly undid his cuffs from behind his back, and then quickly redid them in front of him.
"I still can't climb like this."
"You're a smart guy. I'm sure you'll figure something out."
A huge smirk plastered itself onto my face as I roughly pushed him up the ladder. It was a bit harder getting up the ladder with cuffs on, but like I had told him, he was a smart guy and he did figure out how to get up onto the loft. Once I made myself comfortable, I opened up the loft's small window and looked out. There was nothing out there for miles and the only sounds I heard were the chirping of crickets and the soft snores of my sleeping men down below.
It was indeed cold out that night. When I had first opened the window it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. I poked my head out the small opening for a second and saw my breath cloud up in front of my nose as I looked this way and that. I felt the chill of the night creeping over my skin, so I unfolded the blanket Mrs. Grégoire had given me and wrapped it tightly around myself.
"So, Landa," I said turning my attention back to him, "what ya plannin' on doing when we get back to the good 'ole U. S. of A?" He shifted against the hay to make himself more comfortable and stirred up dust as he did so.
"I don't know. Retire, hopefully," he replied, looking down at his shackled wrists.
"And you think that they're just gonna let you do that?" And by they I meant the United States government. I knew he knew what I meant; I could see it in his eyes. They were filled with hopelessness and fear. The same kind of hopelessness and fear one got when they realized they were at the end of their rope with no where to go but down. And for a second, the image of a small child lost in a crowded place with his eyes wide in terror as he searched for his mother's face among the throng of unknown faces, crossed my mind. I felt something, that just hours earlier I was sure I could never feel for this man. Pity. Sure, he was a cold-hearted, scheming, evil-minded bastard, but he did allow us to kill Hitler. He could have blown the whistle on Operation Kino, but he didn't. And I'm sure that for saving his life, Hitler would have greatly rewarded Landa, with maybe even more than what he was asking from the U.S.
"No, I don't."
"You've become no more use to us. And if I were to kill ya right here, right now, they wouldn't so much as wave a hand of dismissal at it. You realize that don't ya?"
"So, are you saying you are going to kill me?" I heard him swallow and saw him ever so slightly curl in on himself. I knew he was terrified.
"No. No, I'm not gonna kill ya. There's no need, 'cause as soon as we get back to the States they're gonna kill ya. Wanna know why?" He nodded silently, face turning pale. "Because we don't negotiate with terrorists."
"Is there anything that can save me?" His eyes began to fill with tears as I stared at him in silence. A few minutes passed between us and neither of us said a word. I was too deep in thought to answer his question just yet. So, I guess, after the first silent minute, he took it as a "no". Because he looked back down at his cuffs and started crying freely and openly now. And again I felt pity for him.
I don't know what was wrong with me, but every time I saw him hopeless and pathetic it made me feel bad. I was feeling bad for my worst enemy. Why was I feeling pity for a man whose main hobby, job, and lifestyle revolved around the hunting and killing of innocent Jews? Something told me it was because every time he was looking helpless and small and frightened it reminded me of a young Johnson.
"Oh, stop crying, would ya." I said more than asked. "Tell ya what, if ya help us get outta here alive, I just might put in a good word for ya. Alright?" He stopped crying, but was now just staring at me. "They might be willing to not kill ya if they find out that you've been helping us out in France and all. They may just settle for the whole 'put you under constant surveillance' thing." I shrugged my shoulders and turned back around toward the window.
"Do you think so?"
"If," I emphasized, "I put in a good word for ya."
"Alright."
For the next forty minutes we talked about random things, like our home towns, our friends, family, and even the type of books we read. He was quite impressed with the literature I preferred to read. Which really annoyed me, because he took me at face value and assumed I was just some uneducated, country hick.
Finally, my hour watch was up and I could get some much needed sleep. Being nice, I even help Landa down from the loft before, unceremoniously, dumping him back onto a pile of dusty feed bags in the corner. I walked over to a sleeping Omar and silently shook him awake.
"Hey," I whispered, "it's your watch." He nodded swiftly before standing up and stretching a bit. "Oh, and if ya need company to keep ya awake, Landa here will be than happy to oblige." And with that I slapped Landa's shoulder, hard, and woke him back up. He awoke with a start and stared at us for a few seconds before Omar just shook his head and told us that he would be fine.
Landa fell back to sleep quickly, while I made myself comfy against a not-so-comfy wall and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
I don't know how long I was asleep. It could have been five minutes or five hours for all I knew. But what I did know was that something had awoken me. I listen closely and could hear faint, muffled noises. I looked around and noticed that two of my men had disappeared and only one should have been on watch. I sprang to my feet and stealthily made my way to the cracked open barn door and slipped into the darkness outside, pistol in hand.
I stood silently outside the barn door for a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness and straining my ears to hear where the sounds were coming from. Once I could tell from which direction the noises were coming from and I could partially see in the dark, I made my way over to the sounds.
The sounds were coming from the other side of the barn, so once I was near the corner I stopped and slowly peeked my head around. What I saw shocked me into complete stillness.
Corporal Wilhelm Wicki had Private Omar Ulmer pinned to the outside wall of the barn and was trying to stick his tongue as far down Private Omar's throat as it would go. Now, I would have thought that the Corporal was assaulting the young Private, had it not been for all the touching and grabbing of certain body parts that both parties were taking part in. And the moaning sounds Omar was making.
Well, I had seen more than I needed to. I quickly turned around and headed back into the barn. I'm actually not surprised to find two of my soldiers making out behind the barn, in fact, the only thing that surprised me was the fact that it was Wicki and Omar. I never thought that they liked each other that way. Now, Donny and Utivich I could see. There's definitely something between them two, and even though I've never actually caught them doing anything, I have my assumptions. But for now I'm just going to get some rest.
A/N: Hate it? State it! But even if you love it tell me. There may be some grammar mistakes, if you find any please tell me so I can improve my writing skills.
So there you have it the first chapter of Fall Away. I know, kind of slow and boring, huh? But I had to start the story some how. I promise more slash in the next few chapters if anyone's still interested.
Next chapter - Cpl. Wilhelm Wicki's Notes Part One and his heavy make-out scene with Omar. If you want to read it please let me know. Thanks.