Greetings fellow Basterd lovers!

This is my first fanfiction EVER and I'm glad people are enjoying it.

A lot of time and effort was placed into the creation of this story. So it would make me incredibly happy if I were to get reviews/constructive criticism. I do not speak French, but I'm learning German, so if you catch any errors, let me know.

I try to keep high-quality control over the story content, so every sentence you read has been thoroughly analyzed, and serves a purpose.

A few banners have already been made for this story, so if you want to check it out and see how I imagine Sophie, go ahead.

Just go to my profile page and you'll find the links.

Disclaimer: Characters and situations of Inglourious Basterds are the property of Quentin Tarantino.

~Sophie LaPapadite is of my own creation, and she would be livid should someone steal her.~

This story is for the enjoyment of fans, and not for profit. Please don't sue as I have no money.

And on that note,

Enjoy!

The Strudel, the Bitch, and the Jew Hunter

Part Un

It was a beautiful July afternoon in French dairy country. The sun was shining, the strudels had yet to set, and the Jews were hiding under the floorboards.

The day couldn't have been more perfect.

Leaning idly against the windowsill of her family's cottage, stood Sophie LaPadite. To anyone that did not know of her reputation, they would see a striking beauty. Silky ebony curls cascaded down her shoulders. With pale skin, rosy cheeks, pouty pink lips, and glossy hazel eyes, she resembled a doll more than a grown woman. Sophie was the kind of beauty American men were accustomed to seeing in pin-ups.

Had they only known of her reputation, they would have thought of her as anything but beautiful.

Sophie LaPadite was a force to be reckoned with.

She had just opened the glass window panes and set her most recent batch of apple strudels to cool by the window.

Who would have thought that "La Connasse de la Vallée" – {The Bitch of the Valley} enjoyed cooking? Most certainly none of the local boys who had bestowed the name on her!

Sophie in her twenty three years of life had grown fond of her nickname. It suited her well, and she in her own right, believed she deserved it. After being harassed and ostracized by the boys of the community for her heritage for over thirteen years, she had been pushed over the edge and would gladly show any man his place under her boot heel.

She smirked at the memory of her first outburst. It was on a beautiful summer day, much like this one, when she had snapped and forced a poor boy by the name of Gabriel Boulanger, to lick the cow shit off her shoes. Needless to say, hardly any of the locals bothered her again.

Unfortunately, within the last year of occupation by German forces, they had yet to learn their place. This had led to an evening in jail for "disrupting the peace", and the disappearances of two Nazi Officers in the last week.

Sophie's smirk turned to a frown at the memory, and whispered under her breath "Brûlez dans l'enfer." – {Burn in hell.} Subconsciously, she pulled up the collar of her blouse. With a shudder she tried to rid herself of the memory.

Since her sudden growth spurt a few years ago, Sophie had made a habit of covering up her body as much as possible. Looking down, she examined her breasts with a grimace. If given the means, she would rid herself of her chest in a heartbeat. It only served as a distraction for boys and a hindrance for her work.

That day she was clothed in an imperfect off-white blouse, the sleeve having received a nasty tear at the cuff the previous week. Her legs were covered by a less-than-fashionable heavy grey skirt. Standing a decent five foot seven, Sophie towered over the better part of women in the area. Among her nicknames, she'd once heard an elderly woman make mention of her as a giant. Had Sophie really cared what the old sod had thought of her, she would have forced her to polish Sophie's boots with her tongue.

Smirking fondly, her gaze drifted to her feet. The only object Sophie found desirable amongst her wardrobe, were her black leather Gestapo boots. She had bartered them off a desperate Jewish cobbler in Nancy a few months ago. Apparently an S.S. Officer had come into the shop, demanding that his outgrown shoes be mended. Isaac, the cobbler, was unable to make the alterations and had ended up fitting him a brand new pair free of charge.

Luckily, at the time, the Officer was unaware of Isaac's last name being Lipschitz.

To the cobbler's dismay, a week later the Officer was informed of his Judaic history by a concerned townsperson. A Jew hunt was immediately issued.

Sophie had encountered Isaac in a back-alley in Nancy. He'd been trying to rid himself of his supplies to raise enough money to leave the country. The Gestapo boots had caught her eye and she quickly traded two milk cans for them. Her Papa hadn't been too happy with the trade, but permitted it since it was in benefit of the poor man.

A week ago, they had heard the news that he'd been hanged. To the day, his body hung in display in the town square as a warning to all Jews.

Sophie subconsciously rubbed at her neck. She had no intention of gettingacquainted with the noose.

The wafting smell of her strudels drew her out of her dark thoughts. A subtle smile crossed her face at the thought of why she had made them. It was in celebration of an entire year to the day that they had been successfully hiding her greatest and only friend Shoshanna, along with her family, from the Nazis.

Sophie had convinced her father a year ago to take pity on the Jewish family, and allow them to hide in their barn. To her surprise, the family preferred to live under the floorboards, so there would be no chance of suspicion. But the plan had gone with only one hitch, and though anyone would prefer freedom compared to what the Dreyfus's were doing, the family had no choice.

Given the opportunity, Sophie would gladly rid the world of the Nazis one at a time.

Realizing she'd been glaring at a sheet her sister had just hung from the clothesline to dry, Sophie averted her gaze to the strudels in front of her. Counting the strudels, she smiled. There were nine, five for the Dreyfus' and four for hers. She smiled at the thought of surprising them with her gift. She only wished she could cook more for them, but her father had put his foot down on the matter, saying it would raise too much suspicion. She'd already been caught the week before, smuggling extra rations from market by a couple of Nazi Officers.

The incident hadn't ended well, but she still considered it a victory.

Hopefully no one has found the bodies yet… Sophie thought with a grimace.

She sighed as her thoughts drifted to another close call she'd had. Nine months ago, when the inspectors had showed up and found no trace of the family, had Shoshanna's younger brother Amos sneezed a moment sooner, they would have all been goners.

A large clanking metal sound brought her out of her reverie. She looked over her shoulder to see her youngest sister Charlotte, huffing and puffing after setting the mixing bowl filled with crème on the counter. It had taken a lot out of effort on her part to mix it by hand. Sophie sent a subtle smile her way. In fondness, she repeated her mother's words. "Never forget the crème."

Despite her shortcomings, Sophie's mother Julia had been a delightful woman. Her unfortunate end came all too soon, but Sophie would never forget her mother's life lessons. Her death was the most prevalent lesson of all, trust no one.

With Julia's departure came Sophie's anger. She became cold and ruthless, disassociating herself from the rules of society. She refused to socialize with others, not even her family. Her Papa referred her hard exterior as "The Wall." In eighteen years, it had been built so high; hardly anyone could connect with her.

That was until a young Jewish girl by the name of Shoshanna Dreyfus, came into her life. With a growing hatred towards the Jewish people, she too chose to disassociate herself with the public. The duo had met a few years ago, while Sophie was kicking the shit out of some child that chosen to insult her. Strangely enough, the Jewish adolescent appeared at her side and joined in on the beating. It had surprised Sophie, and warmed her heart a bit amidst the rage.

As the beating continued, they began to converse. Sophie soon learnt that the same child had insulted Shoshanna that day, and she couldn't resist the opportunity.

It's always fun to have friends within madness.

From that day forward, Sophie and Shoshanna were inseparable. The two were closer than sisters, and held a bond beyond words. Each had a calming effect on the other, and together, they had something to live for; especially with the growing problem with Sophie's stepmother.

In 1925, Sophie's Papa married a woman by the name of Jeanette. Sophie wasn't fond of her from the start, not only did she hate her personality, but she didn't want to share her father's affections with another woman.

Sophie's stepmother had always been a demanding woman when it came to her. Sophie couldn't recall a time when Jeanette had been genuinely nice to her, but then again, Sophie wasn't the nicest child and the only memories she had of her late stepmother, were when she was being naughty.

Jeanette wasn't particularly fond of marrying a man raising a child that had been the result of an affair with the town prostitute. But not having much choice in the matter, she went ahead and married Sophie's Papa. Within a couple of years they had two more daughters, Julie and Charlotte. Bringing Charlotte into the world ended Jeanette's life. Resulting in Sophie becoming the closest thing to a mother they had. The girls would do anything to make their eldest sister smile.

Sophie used this to her advantage, and had them doing most of her chores in exchange for a rare smile.

Needless to say, she'd grown accustomed to manipulation and used her wiles to her advantage.

Had she used her feminine wiles on the boys in town, she'd probably have them begging at her boots instead of fearing them.

She definitely wanted the latter effect when it came to the Nazis.

The distant hum of an engine brought her out of her contemplation. Across the rolling green hills of the countryside emerged the familiar sight of a German convertible along with two motorcycles flanking it.

Fils de pute. – {Son of a bitch}

Sophie did a quick head count, there were four of them, two soldiers on motorcycles, one driver, and a passenger.

This guy must be important to have an entourage.

Her hazel eyes blazed at the sight of the motorcade making its way towards the house. She grasped the nearest steak knife on impulse, and made her way towards the doorway; briefly knocking on the floorboards she whispered, "We have company."

Sophie wasn't sure whether she should be more worried for herself or Shoshanna.

Only time would tell.

She swiftly opened the front door and ran out of the house, knife glistening in the daylight. Charlotte apprehensively followed her to the doorway and watched as her sister made a mad dash to their Papa's side.

Noticing he'd just set his axe into the tree stump, Sophie reached for it, but her father's hand caught hers. She looked into his eyes, reflecting the same intensity in his. Her Papa took her left shoulder in one hand and pointed to the door, sweat trailing from his brow into his beard.

In a stern yet hushed voice he spoke in French. "Go back inside and put the knife away. Stay calm and don't open that mouth of yours. Everything will be fine." His grip on her shoulder tightened.

She rolled her eyes juvenilely, but nodded her head nevertheless.

Her Papa let go of her shoulder as she spun on her heel and stomped back towards their house, taking a worried Charlotte's hand along with her and dragging her back inside.

Unbeknownst to her father, Sophie had slipped the knife into the deepest pocket of her grey skirt.

Never would she assume that everything would be fine.

She quickly returned to the window, watching the mystery guests from a distance. Her gaze shifted to her father as he took a seat on the stump and ordered Julie to fetch some water.

"Thank you darling," he spoke as she pumped the water,"now go inside and take care of Sophie, we don't know what she'll do."

Sophie crossed her arms pouting. Why couldn't he trust her?

Julie ran to the window and set the water basin on the ledge. As their eyes met, Sophie sent her the "you can't handle me" look and smirked, arms still folded. Julie averted her gaze to the ground and resumed her run towards the door, when her Papa called out to her calmly, "Don't run." Her steps slowed, and she soon rejoined her sisters in the house.

He soon approached the window Sophie was leaning against and without looking at her, began to splash water all over his front and neck. Sophie had never seen her Papa so flustered. It bothered her to see him in such a way.

As soon as he was done, he looked at her from under his brows; she offered him a weary smile and made a shooing gesture to him.

By this time, the Nazi entourage had stopped in front of their home and the man she assumed to be the investigator, stepped out of the car. After having a few words with the driver in German, he strode leisurely up their property. His grey uniform, Officer's visor cap, and black leather duster gave away his rank. He was an S.S. Officer, and in an instant she could tell, he was damn proud of it.

Insolent cochon. – {Insolent pig}

The leather attaché case in his left hand swung along with his stride. A smug smile graced his face as he began motioning to the ground, speaking to her Papa in perfect French.

"Is this the property of Perrier LaPadite?"

Her father stood, hands at his sides as he responded, "I am Perrier LaPadite."

With the confirmation, the stranger reached for her Papa's hand in greeting. This mystery man was a lot different than the previous inspectors; he seemed to almost take joy upon the occasion.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Monsieur LaPadite. I am Colonel Hans Landa of the S.S."

Oh merde, The Jew Hunter.