Peggy-O

Come running down the stairs, pretty Peggy-O.

Come running down the stairs, pretty Peggy-O.

Come running down the stairs, combing back your yellow hair.

You're the prettiest little girl I've ever seen-o.

"Where the hell is she?" Pfc. Smithson Utivich muttered as he shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders shrugged up around his ears against the cold. His hands were deep in his coat pockets, but part of the reason for that was that there was a pistol in there, hidden. Donny had one too. Marguerite had been in the German army office building across the street for what seemed like forever, and the two men were starting to get very anxious. What if she couldn't find the keys? What if she had been caught? Plus, every moment that Donny and Smitty hung around here increased the chance that someone would notice and start asking them questions they couldn't answer. Literally.

"We shouldn't have done it this way. We shoulda just waited for the driver, then punched him out and stuffed him in the back real quick," muttered Donny under his breath. Utivich nodded grim agreement.

"Yeah," he said darkly, then clammed up as two women walked by, followed a moment later by three kids, chatting easily with one another. In French, of course, which made him feel even more out of place. Fuck- what were he and Donny doing here, anyway?

"Shit," Donny exclaimed suddenly. There was a bang from the upper floor of the headquarters building as a door slammed open, and Marguerite was suddenly sprinting down the stairs from the balcony, the cold wind whipping her blonde hair into a frenzy. She raked it back with one hand, jumped the last two steps, and dashed for the truck, as a uniformed man exploded onto the balcony above, shouting incomprehensibly. Donny and Smitty immediately charged across the street, dodging a man on a bicycle, moving to meet her at the truck. The ground floor door banged open too, and three more Germans popped out, yelling what seemed to be alarmed questions to the guy above. They moved to block Marguerite, but she zigzagged, dashing around the back of the truck instead and throwing herself in the passenger door, as Donny and Utivich raced around the front.

Did she have the keys? She must, if she had gotten in the truck.

Donny had nearly reached the three Germans now, and they were moving to intercept him and Smitty, and by now people on the street were stopping and staring- or taking cover- too. One of the Germans planted himself in front of Donny, shouting an order, and Donny hauled back and punched him, while to his right Smitty tackled another to the ground and dashed straight over him, also going for the truck. Donny heard the engine roar to life, and had a brief glimpse of Marguerite leaning over and starting it. Smitty was in now, too, with Donny on his heels, but one of the Germans was still in his way. Donny balled his fist for another punch, swung, clipped the German on the jaw, saw him sway downwards…

And then, just as Donny jumping into the driver's seat and shutting the door, the German popped up again, stuck his arm through the truck's open window just in time, and ground a generous handful of dirt into Donny's face.

"Ow, fuck! Fuck!" Donny exclaimed. He took another fruitless swing out the truck window, hitting nothing. His eyes were squeezed shut, but that didn't help- either opening them or closing them was an agony of irritation. Rubbing didn't help either- it only made it worse.

"Smitty, drive," he snapped, trying to squeeze towards the window. Beside him in the middle seat, Utivich shook his head, panicked.

"I don't know how!"

"Fuck! What the…"

"Merde! Get over." That was Marguerite, and despite her order to move, before either of them realized what she was up to, she scrambled over Utivich and plopped herself down in Donny's lap, where she threw the truck into gear.

"Go. Go, go!" She exclaimed. Her sharp heel kicked at Donny's leg, and he realized that she couldn't reach the pedals. Still batting at his gritty, unopenable eyes, he groped for the gas with his foot and punched it. The truck leaped forward- not that Donny could see a thing. There was more German shouting from the sidewalk next to them, fading, slightly, and then another engine starting up. Shit.

"Oh, damn it…ow…Smitty…what the fucking fuck do you mean you can't drive?"

Utivich was by the passenger window now, sticking his head out it to see behind them.

"I never had to! Shit, three motorbikes," he concluded, pulling his head back in.

"Stop. No, not stop, just…merde, slow! Little bit!" Marguerite seemed to be groping for the English words in her panic, but Donny understood that she wanted the brake, and did his best to apply it gently as she whipped the ungainly truck around a corner.

"More…more, more!" she exclaimed now, and Donny switched to the gas again. Motorbike engines vroomed, too close. Donny blinked furiously.

"Ya know…Smitty…one good thing about this…I've got Marguerite sittin' in my lap saying 'more, more'. It's kinda nice."

"Shut up, Donowitz." She elbowed him sharply in the ribs. The truck bounced into a pothole and out again, and Utivich, who hadn't been prepared for it, jounced up and hit his head on the ceiling.

"Ow! Fuck!"

"Fast, Donny!" Another kick. Who knew that girls' shoes were so sharp? Donny laid on the gas some more.

"Damn it…" any effort to clear his eyes just made them worse.

"Hold on, I've got water." Utivich scrabbled under his jacket and came up with his canteen, or at least that was what Donny thought it was. He was unscrewing the top when a new noise cracked out from behind the truck- a shot.

"Mon dieu, we are going to die," muttered Marguerite, suddenly even more tense in Donny's lap. Another shot- Utivich shoved the canteen into Donny's hands and scrambled for the passenger window again, his pistol in his hand.

"Just keep driving," Smitty said grimly to Marguerite. He turned around, sticking his pistol out the window, and fired behind them, as Donny leaned over sideways and tried to drip the water into his eyes so that it would rinse them out. He caught glimpses of the landscape flashing by out the window- all brown trees now, not buildings. They had passed out of the town.

"Brake!" Donny pressed it, Marguerite took another corner, and he switched to the gas again.

"We're getting pretty good at this," he reflected from down at the level of the seat. The jouncing of the car seemed to put the dripping water everywhere but his eyes. Smitty shot twice, then whooped with delight.

"Hell yeah! Got him."

"Right on!" Donny blinked and wiped at his face again, finding he could finally open his eyes without pain. He chucked the canteen to the floor and sat up, still blinking, reaching for his own hidden pistol. Smitty shot again. There was a shout and a whooshing metallic crash from behind.

"That's two down!" Utivich was an excellent shot, and a good thing, too.

The last motorbike, though, was coming up fast in the driver's side mirror. It surged forward and pulled alongside, and Donny suddenly found himself and Marguerite looking down the barrel of a pistol themselves.

"Halt! Halt!" the German ordered, his face screwed up in anger. Marguerite squealed and ducked, the German fired, and Donny fired too. It all happened at once- the German's bullet whooshed between Donny and Marguerite and thudded into the truck ceiling, Donny's bullet took the German in the face, and the motorbike spun out in a squeal of metal and a splash of blood, ricocheting off the side of the truck.

"Oh my God." Marguerite's voice was hardly a squeak, but very much to her credit, she kept driving- or steering, actually. Donny, seeing that there was clear road ahead of them now, laid on the gas again and didn't let up till they reached the grove of trees far ahead. That was where they were going- once there, Donny applied the brakes and he and Marguerite, both their hands on the steering wheel now, brought the truck to a relatively gentle stop in a low spot of ground. Bushes and trees hid them from the nearest part of the road- at least mostly- and the rest of the Basterds were around here somewhere. They'd be here soon.

Marguerite shut off the engine and leaned forward on the steering wheel, breathing hard. Utivich scrambled out the passenger door and went around to the back of the truck, wasting no time in inspecting the loot.

"Oh, God…I thought…" Marguerite seemed in shock. Donny tucked his arms around her waist, and she suddenly twisted around to look at him and took his face in both her hands.

"Are you all right? You can see?" She was looking into his eyes with intense scrutiny. He nodded.

"Yeah, just fine now." His eyes still felt gritty, but it didn't matter. "You?" He ran a hand comfortingly up her back and down to her waist again. She was awfully shaken.

"I just…when he shot…" She shook her head and swallowed, her eyes wider than he had ever seen them. Kinda shell-shocked, like.

"Hey, 'sokay, it…"

He didn't get any farther. She suddenly surged towards him and kissed him on the lips, and not just a quick peck, either. Her tongue was in his mouth before he could blink.

"Mmphh!" Hell, he was surprised. But he wasn't going to argue with it. He tightened his grip around her waist, snugging her up against him, closed his eyes, and made the kiss long, easy, and comforting. He waited for her to pull back first.

"That better, babe?" he asked with a cheeky smirk when she sat back. She did look better, more centered, even if her cheeks were flushed and her eyes still wider than they should be.

"I've never been shot at before," she confessed in a rush. Donny took a breath, preparing a sympathetic answer, but just then Utivich yelled from the back of the truck.

"Hey, come see this! Food, gas, ammo- everything! Marguerite, didn't you say your people could use cloth? There's some of that too!"

"Jackpot!" Donny grinned wider, and when Marguerite twisted around excitedly and reached for the door handle, he pulled her back for another kiss first.

Next Up: Go Tell It On the Mountain (Yes, it will be a Christmas installment! Will feature Wicki.)