AN: So, I'm sorry that this took so long but life got a little crazy on me. School and tests are all done for now so I'm hoping to be able to update sooner… no promises though. Well, I hope this isn't terrible!
The entire camp was tense, or rather everyone except Tzipora. She was just pissed. Years, she had gone years now without seeing Hugo Stiglitz's mug and she couldn't have been happier. The last time she had seen his face was when she was on that damn train on the way to that damn concentration camp. That one wasn't to Auschwitz, no, she had to go to Auschwitz because one man had a special hatred for her. He was a nobody, to her at least, but that one day when she punched him put her at the top of his list. Fucking Frederick and his stupid hatred for her, never mind that she reciprocated the feeling.
Tzipora's hatred for Frederick 'I hold grudges from when I'm four' Lehmann paled in comparison to her hatred for the one and only Hugo Stiglitz. Hugo was basically her brother, given a few more months she didn't doubt that he would have married Rebecca. She didn't hate him until she saw him that day; standing in his freshly pressed German uniform. He was one of them, a member of the group systematically removing her people, exterminating them, so it was only natural that she no longer thought of him in a kind light.
It was hard for her to not shoot him, or stab him, or strangle him for everything he had done to hurt her. But even harder was that seeing him reminded her that she was the only Cohen left in Germany. She didn't plan on surviving this war; she would fight tooth and nail to kill the Fuhrer. It wasn't a happy thought, her impending death, but she wasn't daft enough to believe she would make it out of this scot free.
"You sure these friends of yours are comin'?" it was the Apache one that asked, the leader of this band of Basterds. She wasn't his largest fan, but she didn't have a proper reason to hate him yet.
"Ja, zey don't like me being," she couldn't think of the word right away, a downfall of English being her third, and not best, language "gone?" it come out more like a question
"Ya don't sound so sure of yourself" it was Donny who spoke, she remembered his name because he was to one who questioned her earlier. She didn't much care for him either, granted she didn't much care for anyone in this little camp.
"English isn't my first language so sometimes my words get confused" a few of them laughed at that, she didn't understand why so she glared a little at those around her. Why couldn't these people just speak German? Or French? Either of those was much more fluent to her.
"Well we are goin'ta speak English, clear?" leader man said. She wasn't sure if she liked him or not, though she was leaning toward not at this point. She was pretty sure his name was Aldo, if she wasn't mistaken she had read about him in a confidential note one of the men she killed had on him. 'Aldo the Apache' was what they called him. Of course, she could be completely wrong though and this could be some other band of Nazi killing Americans.
"Like a window" they laughed at her again, which really pissed her off. What was do damn funny? She wasn't a fan of being laughed at by strangers.
"What is funny?" she asked, anger leaking into her tone unintentionally though not regrettably. "What have I done to make you laugh?"
"Yer English ain't good" Aldo said, a light laugh and smirk tacked on to the end. The longer she was around these men the more she disliked them. Of course her original opinion wasn't very high of them considering their chumminess with Hugo fucking Stiglitz.
"The English speaking people I travel with do not laugh at me, what make you?" they must have been so shocked by the revelation that she was traveling with people who spoke English seemed to cause her question to be completely overlooked.
"How many?" Donny asked from beside Aldo. He was definitely not her favorite, probably due to his bearish demeanor and imposing presence. The other Basterds also seemed to be enthralled by her, whether this was due to her being a foreigner, an intruder, or a past acquaintance of Stiglitz was rather unclear though.
"Counting myself, zere are four of us. One British, one American, one Polish, and one German. The Englishman and American speak English, as a first language" she hoped that would suffice them, she hated having to go into the story of how she came to know each member of her group; it was quite the lengthy tale and most likely them laughing at her because of her limited English vocabulary. She may live every day with others who spoke the language but they always understood when she would switch into French so she never needed to perfect her English. Currently she had to focus most of her thought to understanding them, translating what they were saying, and translating her responses.
"Where did you find an American?" clearly Aldo was not happy that some other American was over here killing Nazi's, stepping into his territory even more so.
"France; an American man left family his to," what was the damn word she wanted? It was right there, on the top of her tongue, but yet just out of reach. She knew she should have paid more attention when they were speaking English around her! "uh-travel? Yes, travel, and he end up in France where there was an accident and our doctor saved him. He refused to go to back to your country, said something about morality? Does that sound right?" one of the Basterds, one that hadn't spoken to her, nodded slightly "So he stayed with us"
"You have doctor with ya'?" were americans really this daft? Yes, she just said that their doctor had saved the damn American, they should have been able to reason that on their own.
"Ja, I said zat" she rolled her eyes at the end of her statement, showing her opinion of the Americans clearly in her expression.
Her response clearly angered Aldo more than he already was, resulting in his ordering her to be taken over to one of the tents with Wiki, the other German speaker in their group. He was tolerable, she supposed, far more preferable than Stiglitz or Donny or any of the others that only spoke English.
"You're from Frankfurt" he said once they were out of ear shot, it was a relief to hear her native tongue rather than the foreign words of English these men spoke, often with a hard accent that distorted the words. She recognized his accent immediately
"And you are from Munich" she responded with a slight smirk, proving that she wasn't some ignorant young child.
"We haven't been formally introduced, Cpl. Wilhelm Wicki" she responded with a simple 'Tzipora Cohen' favoring simple and concise to wordy and complicated. "Bird, fitting considering how I assume you kill your victims" Wicki had a slight smile that pulled at the right corner of his mouth.
"You know what my name translates to? Impressive, though I must admit I'm more concerned with how you know how I fulfill my responsibility. I never mentioned climbing trees or shooting from a far distance, how did you know I was a sniper?" she leaned forward, at the same time tucking a fly away strand of hair behind her ear.
"The way you carry yourself, all fluid and precise, all the makings of a disciplined shooter." Well, this Wicki man was definitely her favorite among the Basterds, not a doubt about it.
"Well-reasoned, and a compliment at that, I'm flattered" she gave a slight smile before tilting her head, most likely making him think she was crazy. There was a slight disturbance, one that would go unnoticed by almost anyone else. To anyone that heard it though, it was a very distinct sound associated with a very identifiable action.
Her smile grew when she heard the noise again, only louder—closer.
"Inform your leader, Cpl., that my friends are here. I swear on my mother's grave, we mean you no harm" he didn't question her statement, simply walked over to Aldo, who met him half way, and informed him of the situation.
They were distracted, just as she wanted, now was her chance. Of course, this would have been easier if she at least knew where her bag and gun were. Quickly she scanned the camp, if they were visible she would get them before leaving, if not, well she could always find a new gun and a new bag. The bag was nowhere to be seen, nor was her gun, so she deemed that a lost cause.
'Five seconds' she thought, 'it will take five seconds to make it to the tree line. Give or take seven for them to realize I'm gone. Eleven to get far enough that they can't grab me. Thirteen to get high enough they can't find me. That gives me roughly forty seconds to do this' her reasoning was rushed, all calculations based on assumed facts of her chasers. This escape plan was a shot in the dark but her only chance.
Without a second glance she stood and made a run for the trees. Nothing but the air on her face and ground under her feet was touching her, until there was something else. Hands. It was Hands, big warm, masculine hands snaking their way around her mid-section to stop her mid stride.
Dammit, she was so close.