'I will inform on my father for you, if that is what you wish,' Katerina said slowly in English, her voice heavily accented with the inborn lilt of a German speaker.

'And why this change of heart?' Aldo demanded, ever suspicious.

Katerina looked around at the Basterds who surrounded her. They were still in the basement flat that Hugo and she had made love in earlier that day – the two of them had not moved since Hugo had told her that he loved her – they made love again and again, kissed and talked about Germany before the war, and how it would be after. Hugo had been embarrassed, almost, because of what he had said, but Katerina had kissed his hands and chest and soothed him gently, and he had smiled and forgotten his anxiety. The Basterds had arrived just after nine o'clock, and the two Germans were waiting for them, both dressed again and finding it hard to hide their passion.

The men who stood around her now were not as intimidating as Katerina had remembered – the day after Dieter's attack, she had fled their hideout in pure fear. Now, though, seeing through eyes that Landa had moulded, these men were just that – men.

The man who had introduced himself as Utivich was short – barely as tall as Katerina herself. His hair was thick and black, darker than Donny's, and pushed back from his face in a slight quiff. The other man who had come with Aldo was Hirschberg, a curly-haired joker whose smile was infectious.

All four of them were sat around the old wooden table in the centre of the basement flat. Hugo was outside, 'guarding the door'. But any fool could see he felt uncomfortable in Katerina's presence because he could not show her his love.

'Yeah,' Hirschberg said, grinning. 'Why the change of heart?'

'My father… is abusive. And after all that I have suffered at the hands of these monsters, I am willing to betray them.'

'Betray?' Aldo asked, raising an eyebrow.

'Betraying no longer,' Katerina amended. 'My allegiances lie elsewhere now.'

'Is that right?' Aldo drawled.

'Yes. Apache I have no qualms about giving you these informations. In fact, I have some for you now.'

At that moment, Hugo returned, glancing at Katerina before turning this attention to The Apache.

'There's Nazis outside,' he said shortly.

'Use your knife,' The Apache said. Then he turned to Katerina. 'Maybe you should watch this, Friedmann. You might enjoy it.'

'No, thank you,' Katerina replied dryly.

Hugo left again, and from outside they could hear the muffled sounds of bodies hitting the floor. Katerina blinked.

'What d'you know, then, Friedmann?'

Katerina took a deep breath. Here we go…

'In two weeks, there is a film premiere here in Paris. The film is Stolz der Nation, one of Goebbels' so-called 'epics'. Anyway, Goebbels has invited most of the High Command – Goering, Rohm, Bormann, etcetera, etcetera. I only know because my father is one of the invited members. It will not be easily accessible, of course. Goebbels has made Colonel-SS Hans Landa the chief of security. But surely it will be worth the try.'

Aldo had been nodding as she spoke, and when she finished, he smirked and said, 'We know.'

'You know?' Katerina was shocked. The invitations had only been sent out two days ago!

'It's safe to tell you, I trust.'

'Ja wohl! I will not deceive you, Apache,' she assured him.

The Apache pulled a snuffbox from an inside pocket and sniffed a pinch through each nostril. Then he clicked the box shut and slipped it back into his coat.

'You'd better not, Friedmann,' he warned. 'I don't take well to those kinds o' shenanigans.'

Katerina didn't truly understand what he had said, but she appreciated well enough what The Apache was implying.

'There is something else, Apache,' Katerina said suddenly, remembering. 'My father was speaking of it. A group of Jews have been hiding just outside of the city in Domont and plan to escape towards the Channel. My father spoke of an ambush, no more than twenty soldiers, but there should be an officer there, overseeing the procedures. Perhaps Hugo – I mean, Stiglitz – will have the chance to cross off another on his list. It is in two days; the ambush happens at midnight, thirty kilometres out of Paris, in the d'Halatte forest.'

While she spoke, Hugo reappeared, his uniform spattered with blood. With him came the low moans of men dying.

'Everything dealt with?'

Hugo replied with a curt nod.

'Right then!' The Apache continued, standing up and buttoning his coat. 'I'll have one o' the boys come see you some time this week.'

'Not this week, Apache. My father has been granted leave. It will be hard for me to see anyone.' She sent a slanted look towards Hugo as she spoke, hoping he understood.

'All right, then. Want one o' us to walk you home?'

'I can make it on my own, thank you, Apache.'

'Even after what happened wi' that rapist?' he asked, uneasy.

Katerina stopped her mind from returning to that night with more effort than was shown on her face. I am strong, love is strong; hate is weak, I am strong, He is nothing.

'I'll be fine.'

She left the flat before The Basterds did, walking quickly back down the street, ignoring the blood on the ground and the bodies. As she climbed the steps to her father's house, there came a call from behind her. It was the small man named Utivich.

'I uh…' he said, embarrassed. 'I was told to deliver a message to you, from Donowitz.'

'Yes?'

'He said to tell you… and I hope I say it right. I don't know what it means, so I'm sorry if it don't sound right. But he said to say this: Ich fühle Mich nur Lust und Liebe für dich, mein Liebling.'

Utivich's German was awfully accented, but Katerina understood all the same. She smiled, thinking of Donny's warm hands and dirty fingers, and the way he felt beneath her.

'Thank you.' She leant over and kissed him gently on the cheek. ' Stay alive, Utivich.'

Three Days Later

Katerina woke early, and dressed in the early-morning light that bled through the half-open window. The house was quiet and empty. It was a Sunday, and neither the servants nor Dubois was ever around until at least midday. She left the house and brought a newspaper and some bread and fruit from the early market at Place d'Iéna, then went and ate her breakfast on the bridge that crossed the Seine, gazing at the dark, swirling waters beneath her as they fled away towards the sea. The rising sun reflected off the surface, painting dazzling pictures on the metal underside of the bridge. Katerina stood there for a while, watching the water pass by, half-reading the newspaper that fluttered ever so gently in her hands.

By the time the car drew up, it was mid-morning, and the sun had paled somewhat. The road over the bridge was busy with cyclists and pedestrians – and swarming with soldiers. Most stopped when the Colonel got out of the car, and a rising chorus of 'Heil Hitler' resounded through the air. Landa returned the salutes, then his eyes fell on Katerina and he crossed the pavement to lean against the railing beside her.

'Bonjour, Mademoiselle,' he said jovially.

Katerina composed herself and refused to be frightened. She flicked her newspaper shut and shook the Colonel's leather-gloved hand.

'Bonjour, Colonel.'

Landa turned out to sweep his eyes over the river; he rested his forearms on the railing and wound his fingers together. He drank in his surroundings with an air of desperation and frowned.

'Do you mind if we switch to German, Katerina? I fear that my inadequate French is rather coarse to such ears as yours.'

'Please, Oberst,' replied Katerina scathingly. 'Your French is perfect and you know that very well. But let us speak German, if it is what you would like.' She sent him a pointed glare. 'Please tell me, Oberst, why you have sought me out today.'

Landa frowned again, but otherwise ignored her disrespect, chewing the inside of his cheek – a childlike habit.

'I heard some troubling news this morning, Katerina,' Landa began. 'Last night, a group of Jews bound for England were ambushed by a patrol of German soldiers, fronted by SS-Scharführer Garren Müntze, a successful and promising officer.'

Katerina hid a grin – she knew what had happened.

'I would have thought you would be happy to hear such news, Oberst' she replied. 'It is surely reasonable for a man in your position to be glad of these state enemies being caught red-handed in their attempt to flee the Führer's jurisdiction.'

Landa laughed.

'You have learnt your words well, fräulein, but the plot thickens, and calls for improvisation! Or maybe you have the next act memorised already.'

'In fact, I do.'

Katerina put her newspaper under her arm and began to walk, followed by the Colonel and – moving as slow as they – the car. They had crossed the bridge before Katerina spoke again.

'I had to come up with something convincing, Oberst. I am not so much of a fool to believe I could lie to Aldo the Apache – and what is more convincing that the truth?'

Landa nodded, appreciative.

'You know this play well, Katerina,' Landa complimented her, drawing out his conceit. 'One might be led to believe you have experience in this field.'

'Please, Oberst. If this plan of yours is to work, I must make them believe that my loyalties lie only with them. A few dead soldiers is a small price to pay for the end of The Basterds' reign of terror, am I not correct? And that is surely the assumption war itself is based on.'

Landa mulled over her words for a few moments, and then nodded, seemingly accepting her excuse.

His car stopped beside them and the driver signalled through the window. Landa waved him away disparagingly with a hand, but climbed into the car all the same. He rolled down the window and uttered one final threat.

'Just remember, fräulein, what will become of you andyour family if you are lying to me.'

Katerina forced her face to remain calm, and watched as the car drove away, leaving behind it a slowly dissipating bloom of grey smoke.

'Auf Wiedersehen,' Katerina muttered. 'Arschloch.'

The Basterds had eight days before their final appointment in Paris; a week until the meeting with their German aide; and six days until they met the English Lieutenant Archibald Hicox.

Aldo Raine stood in the cellars of the beer hall in Saint-Mandé, half way through briefing his men on the final plans. They were gathered around him – all seven that were left. Donny, listening with solemn anticipation; Wicki, sat in the corner, sharpening his knife; Zimmerman grinning; Stiglitz attempting to light his flimsy roll-up; Hirschberg and Utivich watching with fervent expressions; and Omar, smiling distantly, his eyes focused on Aldo's gesturing hands.

'We'll meet with this Tommy late on the Friday evenin', give him a uniform and he'll accompany Stiglitz and Wicki into the tavern. There, you'll all o' you meet this British spy and have a few drinks… don't get too loaded, though, y'all gotta escort her from the premises and you're posin' as officers. Officers don't get drunk here, as y'all should know. Then we meet at the house opposite and make the plan for the premiere, based on what the spy's told us. Sound good?'

'Yes sir,' The Basterds chorused.

'But for now,' continued The Apache, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops, 'we gotta eat and sleep. You guys ain't no good if you don't get no kip. Someone go upstairs for food, and stop fucking smoking, Stiglitz, you're makin' it hard to breathe down here.'

The Basterds scattered, Hirschberg ascending the ladder to find some supper for them all; Donny and Zimmerman returning to their bedrolls; Utivich and Omar resuming their card game. Wicki and Stiglitz, however, stayed immobile. Hugo exhaled smoke in a long, thin stream from between his parted lips, completely ignoring what his Lieutenant had requested of him, and not once did Wicki revert his attention from his knife.

Aldo glared at Stiglitz for a moment, then gave up and dropped into a crouch beside his bedroll, pushing the blankets into a more comfortable seat. When Hirschberg returned with the food, Aldo spooned a portion of stew into his Billycan, ripped off a hunk of bread, and went back to his bedroll. As he ate, he fingered the photographs of his wife and children that he kept safe in his coat pocket, along with a single letter that she had written to him.

Her name was Elspeth, and she was beautiful. Long, curling black hair framed a face of smooth skin, high cheekbones, and full lips. Her bright brown eyes had been passed on to both their children, who had her hair too – both dark beauties, sweet to look upon but with mischievous streaks a kilometre wide. Elspeth smoked, too; it was the one thing Aldo disliked about her. In everything else that she did and said, he loved her.

Aldo wondered what his children would be doing, and whether it was day or night back in America. Would they be sleeping, side-by-side in the bed they shared? Or might they be at school, or playing with the neighbours, or pestering their mother? A sudden burst of longing surprised Aldo. He hadn't thought about Elias and Naomi in such a long time, and he had forgotten just how much he missed them. Them and their mother. He hoped he would make it back to them. But the chances of his surviving seemed to get slimmer and slimmer as each day went by. And now, with this final mission… he couldn't put his Basterds in danger, not without him joining them. No matter how much they annoyed him, they were still his men.

Aldo gazed around at his boys, and frowned. Were they capable of pulling this off? Could they really do this, the last order they had been given? Had they not done enough already? Were they to have survived this long only to die bringing down two or three members of the High Command?

Aldo had hoped he would be there to witness the end of Hitler himself, the monster who had initiated this whole stupid war. But it seemed that instead he would die, or go back to America, without having even one shot at the Austrian-born maniac. It was a shame, he thought. Such a waste of talent. Give any of these boys a chance at Hitler, and the beast would be dead in a matter of seconds. Even if it cost them their lives. The sacrifice of one to save many – it was in fact the theory that war itself was founded on. And any one of the men surrounding Raine – Hugo Stiglitz, who had killed thirteen Gestapo barehanded; Donny, who murdered Nazis with the bat he so lovingly cleaned; or Wicki, who could kill a man with a toothpick – would be willing to give themselves to the cause that had brought them to that cellar. Because to fight against hate was to fight for love. And what wouldn't a man do to fight for love?

Well I guess it's getting towards the end of the story, and God am I excited! Hopefully you'll like where this is going, but I'm not so sure. I really do want to know what you think. I appreciate you all taking the time to read what I write, but please, how am I to know what you like and dislike if you do not tell me? I would very much appreciate maybe one or two reviews of this chapter, mainly because it is quite different to the others - the Aldo part is, anyway. But thank you and thank you for reading. Au revoir!