AN- Hey I wish I could say I came up with this, but it was all beastheads. They gave me permission to write this so I did.
I own NOTHING...obviously. I have no permission to use anything but I'm not making any money off of it so there is no sense in sueing me, okay?
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Somewhere in England during World War II, a bunch of soldiers are lined up, rain pouring down on them though none of the soldiers give it much mind. The Americans have found it rains a lot in England. They are called to attention as an officer swaggers up to them. There is really no other way to describe how the man walks up to them with the biggest shit eating grin on his face, like this war has just given him all the booze he can drink.
Lieutenant Aldo Raine is a born and bred hillbilly from the mountains of Tennessee, his region's accent as thick as any Eastenders found in bombed out London. He walks down the line, studying the men that are about to stroll into Hell with him. He's offering a VIP invitation through the gates itself, if their willing to take him up on the offer. He would prefer that they all be in agreement with one another on this because it's going to be one hell of a mission, and he's got to be able to trust each and every body he brings along with him into Hell.
Lieutenant Aldo Raine is good looking enough but he has one defining physical characteristic that stands out from the rest. A rope burn is scarred around his neck like he survived being lynched. He would talk about it and no one is stupid enough to ask anymore.
"My name is Lieutenant Aldo Raine, and I'm puttin together a special team. And I need me eight soldiers. Eight - Jewish - American - soldiers. Now y'all might of heard rumors about the armada happening soon. Well, we'll be leavin a little earlier. We're gonna be dropped into France, dressed as civilians. And once we're in enemy territory, as a bushwackin, guerrilla army, we're gonna be doin one thing, and thing only, Killin Nazi's. The Members of the National Socialist Party, have conquered Europe through murder, torture, intimidation, and terror. And that's exactly what we're gonna do to them. Now I don't know bout y'all? But I sure as hell, didnt come down from the goddamn Smoky mountains, cross five thousand miles of water, fight my way through half Sicily, and then jump out of a fuckin air-o-plane, to teach the Nazi's lessons in humanity. Nazi ain't got no humanity. There the foot soldiers of a Jew hatin, mass murderin manic, and they need to be destroyed. That's why any and every son-of-a-bitch we find wearin a Nazi uniform, there gonna die."
The Lieutenant Aldo Raine peers at his captive audience to find he has their undivided attention so he continues.
"We will be cruel to the Germans, and through our cruelty, they will know who we are. They will find the evidence of our cruelty, in the disembowed, dismembered, and disfigured bodies of their brothers we leave behind us. And the German will not be able to help themselves from imagining the cruelty their brothers endured at our hands, and our boot heels, and the edge of our knives. And the Germans, will be sickened by us. And the Germans, will talk about us. And the Germans, will fear us. And when the Germans close their eyes at night, and their sub conscious tortures them for the evil they've done, it will be with thoughts of us, that it tortures them with."
Lieutenant Aldo Raine stops pacing, taking his time to look at everybody and search faces for any sort of hesitation. He finds none in the men standing before him. He's followed his gut and chosen well.
"Sound good?" Lieutenant Aldo Raine yells with his grin fixed firmly back into place.
"Yes, sir!" All the men yell back.
"That's what I like to hear. But I got a word of warning to all would-be warriors. When you join my command, you take on debit. A debit you owe me, personally. Every man under my command, owes me, one hundred nazi scalps. And I want my scalps. And all y'all will git me, one hundred Nazi scalps, taken from the heads of one hundred dead Nazi's…"
"….or you will die trying."
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Will 'the Fisherman' Graham: a Bayou boy with a sixth sense for tracking down even the most elusive Nazis. A quiet man, few know the reason why he joined with the Basterds, but some say he has a mind built for morbid displays of violence.
Nobody hooks in Nazis and guts 'em better than the Fisherman.
Will Graham was the quiet sort, but everyone knew what is said about the quiet ones. Turned out it was true with Will. With a Cajun accent as thick as Aldo's moonshine own, Will was lean man straight out of the swamps of New Orleans. The Basterds found that he didn't talk a whole lot, but what he didn't say in words, he made up more than enough in deeds. And what terrible deeds they were.
The harpoon had been found a while back, God knows where, and was an unlikely weapon of choice, but Will wielded it with all the grace of samurai. The other Basterds didn't complain about it. Everyone had their favorites after all. Aldo had his Nazi carving knife, Donny had his bat, and Will had his harpoon.
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Hannibal 'the Cannibal' Lecter: a man who lost his little sister to the cruelty of a pair SS officers, the Basterds found him through word of mouth. Stories travelled of a Lithuanian with shark's teeth and a hunger for Nazi flesh and blood.
Let's just say the Basterds were glad the Cannibal was on their side.
When they found Hannibal Lecter, in a kitchen of all places somewhere in the south of France, Aldo asked him what had brought him to France of all places if he was Lithuanian. More that enough Nazis in his homeland so why come to France if he was so intent on killing Nazis?
In answer, Hannibal had grinned slow and wicked, showing off sharp crooked teeth stained with more than just tobacco and drunk grapes.
"For the wine, of course. No need to be a savage about all this."
For the first and last time, the Basterds made the mistake that night of eating Hannibal's cooking. That is until they found out what, or more realistically who, the meat was. Apparently all the gruesome rumors about Hannibal the Cannibal were all true.
Aldo couldn't say he had been thrilled about eating Nazis though it had tasted pretty damn good, but he did like Hannibal's style. On top of being able speak over six languages, Hannibal was doctor with surgeon training, which in Aldo's book was a damn fine thing what with everyone wanting to kill them dead and all. Hannibal was just what the Basterds were looking for to strike fear into the Nazis.
The only one who managed to keep down his meal was Will Graham, much to everyone's surprise, the quiet man even going back for seconds. Will just gave a slow shrug when he noticed everyone staring at him.
"I'm Cajun. We eat anything."
It really came as no surprise to anyone that Hannibal the Cannibal and The Fisherman became fast friends after that, one man rarely seen without the other by his side.
They quickly gained notoriety among the German who had their own name for the pair.
Mord Ehemänner.
Murder Husbands.
