Owls, they are graceful, they are silent, and they are hunters. Their wings sweep the ground like hushed shadows. The cries they emit in the night air are high and ghost like. Nature's phantoms, natures own snipers. I suppose that is why the Germans gave me such a name, so simple, yet dangerous. Die Eule or Die Eule Zigeuner if you favor the formality.

The name seems fitting, I basically live in the trees, coming down to carry away those Nazi fuckers….Taking them away and sending them back without eyes, or maybe missing a few limbs. Give or take, I enjoy the creativity of my job. I also get a rush from watching those same fuckers being executed for not falling under the so called category of perfection. Hitler hated more than the Jews. Oh, he loathed my people just as much, Gypsies with their strange customs and dark complexions. We are quite the oddities.

We Romania have suffered injustice since first entering European territory; we were accustomed to the abuse. Mass genocide was a different matter completely though. I'm lucky, unlike so many of my people I have the fortuity to know how to read and write. It gives me the opportunity to document my life while skirting around Nazi occupied France; it also gives me the chance to tell you of my time with the Basterds.

I was working with a small platoon of the usual undesirables, a couple Jews and what I can only assume was a lesbian. Of course in those days homosexuals were still considered disgusting, personally I didn't care and still don't care one way or the other. We were all french, all brothers and sisters, considered to be garbage by the shit eating Nazis.

We were not sent in by the military, I was the only one who had some knowledge of the inner workings of the French military; because my father was a Connell. He was murdered during the Nazi takeover of our fair country. Shot right in the head, my mother went with him due to her dark complexion. She was the gypsy of the family. With caramel skin, jet black hair, and liquid amber eyes. Every single part of her was considered inhuman.

I inherited her dangerous flesh and hair, but my eyes were the safe blue of my father's. Four years ago when the Nazis first occupied France, they came for us. Father wanted to leave for Britain during the battle of Dunkirk, mother refused, saying we couldn't abandon our home. It was a part of us. So he bent to her pleas, and we remained for a several months.

But the town we lived in gossiped about papa's military ties, his gypsy wife, and heathen child. It didn't take long for those fuckers to come for us. I was out playing in the fields when mama spotted their trucks coming up over the hills.

I don't know what made papa think he could reason with them, he had bred with a gypsy and had a child by one. There was no mercy for our kind, only punishment. I knew what would come, but it took every single little breath out of me when they shot my parents dead.

Their eyes were wide with shock, staring out at me. My questioning cries echoed "Mama?... Papa?"

They looked for me, those Nazi shits, they searched high and low. Papa made sure I was far away before they even reached the house. I watched their deaths from the trees, weeping into the bark of an old oak.

I couldn't even go to them, look on them one last time; I couldn't even bury them properly. Since then I've been skirting in the shadows, putting together a group of killers, made up of used to be farmers and other kinds of civilians. I taught every single one of them all that they know.

Before my parents' murders the only thing I ever shot was a deer, I'd never killed anyone. But a month after my only family's death I shot two Nazis in the face. After that I spent an entire night in shock, rocking back and forth, cradling my stolen Nazi rifle. I was only 15 at the time, still very young, and still unaccustomed to violence.

So here I am now, in a tree, on the very edge of the limbs…Waiting, watching. The darkness is like a suffocating blanket. It doesn't mute the noise coming from a few paces under and ahead of my position. My prey was loud and obnoxious, and possibly drunk. One of the men had left to go take a piss in the bushes, he would be passing below me in a few minutes, when he did I would take him out with my tranquilizer gun.

I carry two guns with me, one was a Mauser K98k, and the second was a modified tranquilizer gun. I used to carry a Lee-Enfield No 4 Mk I (T). Sadly that little baby became lost to me somewhere near Rennes; I took a wrong turn and ended up walking right into a camp of Nazis. Losing that rifle was a huge blow; it was the last thing of my father. But the gaining of the Mauser was enough to restore some of the lost pride. That rifle was my first experience of the spoils of war.