Chapter3—Sing, Sing, Sing (with a Swing)
The evening had arrived.
The men looked quite dapper in their tuxedoes. And for once, Maria didn't look like her tomboyish, blood- soaked self—being in a purple dress and black fascinator. Her face caked in powder, hair in an itchy blonde wig to hide where she had come from. But what unnerved her more than anything else was her feet. How do women walk in these? she seethed in her brain. It felt like every step she took was a step taken barefoot on a sea of knives. And when Ulmer or Stiglitz or any of the Basterds would ask her how she was faring, she'd reply,
"I think my toes'd bleed before the krauts do."
The Basterds entered in almost a huddled double file, each one carrying a bow-tied package or parcel. Inside, were sub-automatic guns, rifles, pistols and/ or British time pencils hooked to explosives—armed, and set for a few hours. Stiglitz was ordered to idle outside, lock the doors from the outside at cue and keep the two Volkswagen Kubelwagens and the sidecar-less stolen cycle running.
The Apache gave his orders as they subsided into the table and chair sets of the gray smoke-filled room where a dance floor was the middle of it all, a stage at its head.
"Wicki, Ulmer. West. Utivich, Hirschberg. East. Kagan, you with me at the rear—with somebody at the door to cue Stiglitz. And, Donnowitz, Av'neada… distract them."
"FUCK WHAT?" Donny exclaimed attempting to be as quiet as he could.
"PHSAAH?" Maria concurred—obviously, at a loss of words.
"Good luck," Aldo was about to turn before his shoulder was held by her.
"How the holy niblets do we do that, boss?"
"Swing it," and with that, Lt. Aldo Raine took off into the clouds of cigarette smoke, his white blazer glared amidst the grey.
"Psst," Maria nudged Donny, trying as hard as hell to be incognito with their English. "Do you know how to dance, Sarge?"
"Not a clue."
"Good. Neither do I."
It was far too late to back down now. The other Basterds took their places, trying their damnedest to look as inconspicuous as possible, stashing the "presents" under the tables.
Meanwhile, Maria gulped as she and Donny made their way to the dance floor. Thoughts rushed in both their heads like if whether or not the heels would break or if the wig would come flying off or if their explosives went off too early or if all Nazi eyes would see transparently through their ruse.
Her infamous weapon was back at the hideout. After all, it is easier for a fifteen-year-old girl in a cocktail dress to conceal a 6.35 schmeisser pistol at a garter at her right thigh rather than an eye-catching 4.5 ft. katana dangling from her waist.
Donny and Maria's shoes were at the border now. A couple of steps and he had to put his hand in hers, the other on her tiny waist. And she, her other hand on his shoulder.
Aldo and his men sat back and drank in horror as the two roughly spun in and out. Good God, Aldo thought, they look like a bear and a cat doing a tango like scarecrows struck by lightning!
"Do you think we should let them live this down?" Wicki asked as he did a shot.
"Not a chance," Ulmer, doing a spot of whiskey as well.
Maria had to be spun out, without letting go of Donny's hand, and returned. Unfortunately, those deadly spats cost somebody else pain.
"Fuck a duck, private!" Donny seethed under clenched teeth.
"Sshh, Sarge! We have ears but so do the walls…and so do the krauts."
"What?" he angrily whispered.
"I mean," he had to dip her now. "We're parlais-ing English and two, if the Gerries get wind we're Allied soldiers, we'll be more keelhauled than drowners at D. Jones' locker. In other words," he raised her as their terrible waltz continued. "No J-words in a room full of N-word-loving K-word's."
"Again, "what?" And since when did you fish?"
"I told you. I like reading."
The song had ended and for finale flair with a motive, she was spun out again and there was Aldo, nodding with a smirk. As she was spun back, she grabbed onto Donny's neck.
"See anything yet?" he whispered into her nape.
"Boss gives a go."
Meanwhile, by word of Aldo, Wicki had snuck all the way behind the band stands. The maestro, shocked to see him could not move as Wicki held out a crumpled Reichsmark. The conductor, trembling took the bill out of Wicki's hand as he whispered into the old man's shoulder before vanishing behind the stage. The mark was snuck into his coat. And a one, and a two and a—
Drums and cymbals began beating. Horns started blowing a rhythmic tempo as Maria let out a nostalgic sigh.
"Blimey. Haven't heard that in awhile. Louis Prima's Sing, Sing, Sing. It's my favorite Jazz song."
"Well, nostalgia mama, if Raine wants those krauts stunned—"
"Then we'll have to shock 'em."
The pair was like a gear and an axle. He sent her circling him as she rotated clockwise and counterclockwise, never breaking the contact between their hands. She spiraled back into his arms, his front to her back, arms interlocked as she kicked the air. The two locked hands lead as their pairs of feet strode together as they circled in ringlets and let go in opposite directions but never letting go of the hands that lead. Her back returned to his embrace. They let go and Donny spun and stopped then his and her hands joined again as she slid under and up between his legs.
By the sidelines, their comrades had Cheshire Cat grins. And yet underneath the tables were the "gifts" unwrapped and the explosives planted.
Occasionally, the two distracters shot looks of "I'm gonna kill you later" and "Fuck you" at their teammates who were enjoying every moment. Outside, Aldo was beaming but on the inside his head was ticking away. When all the Gerries had their eyes on the sergeant and private, that's where they stand, shoot and jet before KABOOM!
And indeed, the dance floor was clear save for Donny and Maria. All eyes (and whistles) were on the pair. Hands on her hips he swung her tiny frame to his left side then right. Then he let go of one hand to pass behind him and catch with his other hand as her feet touched the ground, encircled Donny and knelt to slide 'round. He picked her up to lean on his arm with a pose—hand at the back of her hair, legs crossed with a blessed smirk.
Maria was lifted mid-air to do a vertical flip. A bullet missed her torso by a centimeter and instead hit an officer in the forehead. Blood leaked out of the wound as the man fell to his knees. His wife screamed. The slaughter of swine had begun. The Basterds took out the hidden armory and blasted everything that moved. The locked entrance had started to crowd. Outside, Stiglitz had managed to kill every guard that dared to rescue the evening. Their corpses, leaking crimson fluid and pumped with lead and nickel. The only objective left for him to do was lean against the door, maybe take a smoke and listen to the fireworks on the inside.
Running. Screaming. Yelling. Gunfire. Pure, unadulterated chaos. Other Nazi officers pulled out their defenses but all in vain—what could pistols do in the face of the sub-machine guns? They too, were soon filled with metal. Donny and Maria were tossed some ammo. Classic Maria—shooting several parts of the body but avoiding the vital organs to allow a searing slow death via hemorrhage.
Aldo shot in the air.
"Nobody gets out."
"On it." Maria ditched the Chicago violin along with the wig and hair net. And she and Donny made their way to the piano. She grabbed his shoulder and hopped on the seat, arm across his shoulders and his hand at the back of her waist. Donny propelled Maria as she shot with schmeisser in an unsteady genuflect. Her fascinator and hair had come undone. Dodging the tables, three shots were gone in an instant and the piano bench was still speeding. She hopped onto a table to reload, taking bullets from the band around her thigh. Porcelain plates and wine glasses breaking seemed so silent compared to the havoc in the ballroom.
Spilt Nazi blood draped the grey walls scarlet, rivaling the swastika flags. The only dancers on the dance floor now were the splatters of life fluid in intricate patterns cast by these droplets. If ever the remains of the building survive, then these red shadows on the floor shall bear time's test along with it. Nobody was spared, not the musicians, singers, nobody.
When it was all over, The Basterds ran to the door. Outside, Stiglitz was taking a smoke, listening for the shrieks of bloodshed. It had quieted down now. A knock came along with the lieutenant's voice.
"We're done. Stiglitz, open the door before we become Jew jambalaya—"
"Ahem?" Aldo shot a look at the disheveled Maria past his blood-spattered men.
"And Shiksa shish kebab," Maria rolled her eyes. "Mixed with Nazi nuggets on the side."
Stiglitz opened the hall's doors. The Basterds briskly sped out to the two jeeps and the cycle. There was no time for Maria to get in one of the jeeps where her jacket lay. She had to share the cycle with Donny. It was a matter of time before—
Shrapnel spat out of the great hall as it was accompanied by a thunder roar of an explosion. She glanced to the side mirror.
"Geez, guys. Were you planning to blow up the whole town sky high?"
"Nah," Hirschberg hollered from a Kubelwagen's passenger side. "Just enough charges to blow the whole building… or maybe four more."
He had just gone to run an errand… but now, everything was in flames… the place littered of burning corpses… the whole ballroom annex. The German clenched his fists. His superior will hear about this.
Author's Notes
-Everybody's heard of the 1938 jazz instrumental by Louis Prima Sing, Sing, Sing (with a Swing). If you don't know the name, search it in YouTube and you've probably heard it in movies or TV shows.
-Reichsmark—currency during the Reich [insert "you don't say"]
-I didn't base this on real dance moves—I just imagined it while listening to the song.
-Volkswagen Kubelwagen—the jeep the Nazi German army would use
-Chicago Violin—The Thompson "Tommy Gun" submachine gun
-This was set in 1941 before any of the main events in the movie—Aldo's jacket can from a source or contact in Paris.