Any and all recognizable characters are owned by Quentin Tarantino, Universal Studios and their affiliates. Absolutely no money is or will be made from this original fanfiction.
Warning: Contains graphic violence.
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Capturing Nazis became so easy, Donny was embarrassed for them. The Third Reich was so arrogant that despite knowing the Basterds were fuckin' around all of France, they still didn't seem to take any precautions to protect themselves. The Nazi fucks were so convinced of their own superiority that anyone without a uniform must be harmless. The cache of Nazis was effortless to catch. The Basterds intercepted their car in French peasant clothes; the Nazis stopped and asked what the Basterds in disguise were doing. And then the Basterd's pulled out their guns and held them hostage. Easy. Simple. Effective.
Donny didn't understand their inability to properly protect themselves. He was a simple barber from Boston but even he knew enough that if it was raining, he'd get an umbrella.
Nazi's hubris was their ticket to entertainment though. The Nazis were all enlisted men of low rank, so nobody of importance but could be very informative. Aldo randomly picked one out of the group to be sequestered out. It was the Nazi's lucky day. He would be the only one to survive, the only souvenir he'd have would be a Nazi swastika expertly and artfully done by none other than Aldo the Apache. The other three were not so fortunate. They would be under the care of Zimmerman, Hirschberg, and Sakowitz.
The three Basterds had convened beforehand and decided their plan of attack. Aldo had decided that they all deserved a treat and wouldn't kill the Nazis right away. They were allowed to take their time and do as they pleased. It was a great moral booster as well as a cathartic experience. Each Basterd had his own talents and contributed to the group. Aldo had carefully chosen who would be on this mission with him and no one was there by accident.
Each had a unique quality about them that stood out to Aldo. Donny was his first choice as it was obvious the guy was aching for Nazi blood. There was a darkness that could not be ignored.
Smithson was the best sharp shooter around and it didn't hurt that he had the most Aryan look about him. The Connecticut native blended in better than any of them and those baby blue eyes put the Nazis at ease…right before Smithson blew their brains out.
Wicki was a skilled physician before he was called for war. Being a native German speaker put him on top of the list. It wasn't till Wicki showed his true potential as an interrogator that Aldo learned "Do no harm" did not apply to Nazis.
"Well most Nazis. The damn girl has him all twisted in a knot."
Wilhelm wasn't even at the festivities that day. The medic had decided to stay behind and make sure Adelle was taken care of. She did need a babysitter but Aldo didn't like how quickly Wicki jumped at the opportunity.
Neither did Donny for that matter as he had become very possessive of the chit. Aldo wasn't sure what to make of that. Donny had his peculiar ways and had always been fairly stingy with all his things. Aldo mostly brushed it off to Donny being an only child and never had to share anything. This time it was different though. Donny was acting like a jealous husband who didn't want to leave his wife in the company of other men; as though Wicki was going to do anything with the girl. The Austrian had made it clear the only feelings he had for Adelle were pity and concern. Aldo could tell Donny had wanted to protest leaving Adelle alone but it wasn't like they could bring her along on those trips. They didn't need the distraction and Aldo was certain the delicate girl wouldn't be able to handle the brutality.
Donny never argued but Aldo sensed his second in command was conflicted. Aldo made a mental note to himself to keep an eye on Donny's growing feelings of territoriality. Donny hadn't been insubordinate but Aldo wanted to be prepared to nip it in the bud should it ever even slightly show up.
The three before them had been a special case. Separately they were nothing special. Hirschberg worked as his father's deli and would have inherited it. If the war hadn't happened, Gerald would have been perfectly happy to continue in the family business. Living a completely normal life, but here he was a stone cold killer. He didn't have any of the finesse or imagination of some of the others but he got the job done. He was also the clown of the group; always doing little missteps when it came to killing Nazis before Aldo was done interrogating him. Aldo sometimes got annoyed but he couldn't stay mad long. They were there to kill Nazis, and Gerald had always made sure he wasn't trigger happy to those who really mattered. The short chubby PFC kept them all laughing with his bawdy humor and ability to say what they were thinking but too polite to say.
Michael Zimmerman was a quiet shy boy from New York. He talked about as much as Stigliz but he also went about his duties. He kicked ass, took scalps, and did what he was told in a silent sort of dignity. Never said much unless he knew he had to. Aldo wasn't sure what his life before the Basterds was but he was a hell of a cook.
"Well, as best a cook one can be out in the woods with limited supplies," Aldo corrected himself.
Still Michael killed and took scalps; out of all of them, he had the least. It wasn't because he had some aversion to killing or was lazy. He just wasn't as greedy as the others when it came to killing Nazis. Aldo had noticed that Zimmerman would always take a step back and let someone else take the lead; nothing wrong with that in Aldo's book. Some people were meant to lead, others meant to follow. Zimmerman was one of Aldo's better soldiers because of it. Never questioned; only followed orders.
Sakowitz was very average, boring even. He was jovial enough without being obnoxious. He was a proficient killer and only second to Donny when it came to scalps. He was an accountant back home and he'd probably go back to that. Simon Sakowitz was a numbers guy. He was really handy at quickly counting all the supplies and Nazis in the field. Hell of a poker player as well. No one wanted to play with him after they quickly learned he could clean their clock very easily.
So all three men were nothing special if observed separately. Together though, they were as ruthless as starving wolves. They worked best as a team and that is how Aldo recruited them. They had special commendations due to team work and he sensed great potential. The three had bonded over the fact they were all Jews in a mostly Christian army. There was also a dark rage at what going on that drew them to each other as most of the other enlisted men where in the army and at war to serve their county. America was at war and that was all most of them needed to know. Other Jews served out of a sense of duty to their Jewish brethren in Europe but didn't have the special thirst for blood the Basterd's had. Hirschberg, Sakowitz, and Zimmerman wanted more than to serve their country. They wanted revenge and it showed in their work.
So as they circled the Nazis, eyeing them like prey, they decided to work together. All three agreed they could do more damage to each Nazi individually than if they each got one to deal with on their own. They also got satisfaction that each Nazi after the first would know their fate and would tremble in anticipation. The Nazis all knew they were going to die, with the exception of the one sequestered, and they also would know exactly how brutally and harshly they would die.
The Basterds were in a huge cavern they had discovered a few days back. They figured it would be perfect for their purposes since it not only had a lot of room it also gave them shelter from prying eyes. Not that there were a lot of populace in the rural part of France they currently occupied but it was still best to try to keep the civilian casualties low. Anyone who had witnessed them, besides the lone survivor they let go to alert the German army of their activities, had to be killed lest they were to be discovered and turned in.
So they all stood in darkness, the dank musk of damp earth and stagnant water permeated the cave. The only light was from the burning of their oil lamps. The Nazis cowered in fear as the light gave the Basterds a strange glow. The horror stories from the survivors were heard around all of the third Reich; most of them describing the Americans as demons who preyed upon soldiers, destroying their bodies and breaking their spirits. The American men and the one German turn coat looked every bit as terrifying as the Nazi soldiers feared them to be. These were not men. These were monsters. They could tell by the soulless look in the Basterd's eyes and the smiles that promised much pain and suffering.
As with most of their kills, the first officer to die was chosen at random. Hirschberg took the lead and grabbed the Nazi closest to him. They dragged him from his fellow soldiers and threw him a short distance away so the Basterds would have room to maneuver and that everyone would get a good view.
Hirschberg was also the first to strike a blow. With his heavy boot, he kicked the Nazi as hard as he could in the ribs. There was a satisfying crunch sound that was music to Gerald's ears.
"Definitely a rib broken. Nazi muther fucker!"
The first kick got the other two riled up and they all started to kick the Nazi with abandon. Each blow was quick and powerful. This was only the appetizer so they paced themselves. There were two others to be dealt with. All three of them were a fury of kicks and trampling. If it was just one of them, it wouldn't be that much damage but there were three of them and they were all pissed. They had an anger that sat in the pit of their stomachs, turning and making everything bitter. The more they thought about what they were fighting for the angrier they got. Colors had no brightness, food was bland, and life was generally miserable with how angry they were. The smallest things could set them off but with their army training they controlled the rage. Held onto it for moments like the one they found themselves in. They could unleash all the pent up fury and suddenly the world felt good again. They could be happy. They were happy with every blow they gave to the Nazi at their feet. All the rage flowed out of them and was replaced with elation. Nothing relives the pains of anger like a bit of gratuitous violence. They were not worried about killing, they lived for killing Nazis. Not just kill them but destroying them in the worst way possible. They wanted to do more than just hurt them. They wanted to take all hope away. Destroy anything they thought was good in their life. The Basterds wanted to leave such a mark on Germany that the German people would piss in their pants in fear and disgust if they ever thought of fucking with the Jewish people again.
The kicks were meeting with less and less resistance. Hirschberg delighted in the fact. It meant that bones were shattering and they were more or less rendering the Nazi to tenderized meat. He let out cackles at the good time he was having. It was a rush to kill with his bare hands. The Nazis were helpless underneath him and he couldn't wait to get to the other ones. The first blow was his. The final kill would be his as well. He motioned for the others to stop and they obeyed. They knew Gerald had something in mind because he was a sick bastard when he wanted to be. So Zimmerman and Sakowitz gave Hirschberg some berth and Gerald knelt down at the broken man.
"Hey, you speak English?"
The Nazi nodded his no head as he couldn't speak while he coughed up blood.
Gerald then waved Stigliz over to translate. Hugo was happy to help, even smiled for the occasion. Watching the Basterds work was always fun and he was glad he had someone to share his need to kill Nazis with. So he stooped down to Hirschberg's level and waited for what the PFC wanted translated.
"Tell him to turn over and then open his mouth around that large rock over there." he ordered while pointing to a small flat boulder off to the side.
It was a strange request but Hugo complied. The Nazi was barely able to breathe as many of his bones were now broken and probably had internal bleeding. This was the most pain the unnamed Nazi had ever been in his life. When he signed up for service, they did not warn him he could be in such situations. He knew that there was an inherent danger to being a soldier. He thought he would die on the battle field. He grew confident as he went up in rank and was assigned to France. Now he was in a dark cave surrounded by monsters. The Fuhrer did not prepare him to die in such a way. He was frightened enough to comply with Hirchberg's commands as the Nazi hoped it would all soon be over.
The other Nazis could only look on in horror as they saw the fate of their fellow soldier. They could only imagine the pain and what else the Basterd's had in store for them.
The injured Nazi was ordered to roll over and open his mouth over a nearby rock, an impossible feat for one as injured as him. He had tried but every muscle and bone sent shockwave after shockwave of pain through him and stopped him from completing the task.
Hirschberg grew impatient and he didn't have the mercy in him to help the Nazi to the designated place. So he took the knife he had hilted in his boot and gave the Nazi a few good stabs to give the soldier motivation to move.
It was enough for the Nazi as the sharp pain of the knife cutting through his skin in quick succession was more painful than his broken body. With a sudden burst of energy, the Nazi rolled over to the rock and did what he was told. He had no idea what the short American had in mind but could only hope that it would all be over soon.
The other Basterds were curious as well. This was a peculiar request from Gerald and they waited with gleeful anticipation on what Hirschberg would do.
Hirschberg did not disappoint. He gave a quick look to the other Nazis and with an unholy smile he gave one last powerful stomp to the back of the Nazis head. There was an audible crack as the Nazis skull caved into the pressure. With his foot, Hirschberg rolled the dead Nazi back over so the others could see his handy work.
They were all impressed by the damage a simple stomp could do. The Nazis jaw was clearly broken in several places; the teeth had shattered and he looked like he had a gummy old man mouth. The entire skull looked like it had been broken in half and hung open like a book; Gerald had probably broken the Nazi's neck and instantly killed him.
The Basterds broke out into applause and gave Gerald his due.
"Damn, Hirschberg. Where'd you learn to do that?" Omar asked.
"Back home we call it a curb-stomp," Gerald said, taking in all the admiration and praise.
"Shit, need to use that some time later."
Even Smithson was smiling and congratulating Gerald. It was a fine kill and it was the first time in a while that Utivich felt happy. The blood and death of Nazis was spilt and it was one that deserved it. No more feminine screams for help or tears from cornflower blue eyes. It was replaced with male screams and the smell of hot blood being shed. Smithson felt at peace because he was once again doing what he had set out to do.
There were still the other two Nazis cowering into each other, afraid of their fate. Their fear expressed itself in the evacuation of their bladders. The Basterds were used to this type of fear response and did not seem to notice that the Nazis had urinated on themselves.
The only reaction was the slight smirk from Sakowitz.
"And that makes 57. Fifty-seven Nazis we've made piss their pants. I wonder if we can get it to an even 100."
The first kill had the Basterds hungry for more blood. Zimmerman admired Hirschberg's work and wanted to emulate it without totally copying it. He found his own inspiration with a hand sized rock. Michael picked up the rock and felt its cool and slightly smooth surface. The grey limestone felt heavy in his hands and he knew it would serve his purpose. The rock had probably been there for ages. Rocks were immortal that way; Zimmerman idly wondered what else the cave had seen in its existence.
"Well, it's getting a hell of a show today."
He grabbed his own Nazi and threw the soldier to the ground, much like his former fellow soldier. This one was a lot more vocal though, screaming something in German he couldn't comprehend. He really hoped it was for mercy; if it was then he'd show exactly the same type of mercy the Nazis were giving the Jews.
The Nazi was struggling as Zimmerman straddled him and the Basterd easily subdued his captive. Michael placed a firm choke hold on the Nazi's neck with his free hand. He then positioned himself to lock the Nazi in placed between his legs. The Nazi was helpless and Zimmerman took in the fear in the Nazis eyes. They were blood shot and dilated to the point there was hardly any iris left. Michael gave a small laugh at the pathetic scene the Nazi displayed. He was sure that the German was begging silently for his life but it was something the Nazi forfeited as soon as he crossed paths with the Basterds. Zimmerman was thankful that he'd get the joy of ending the sonova bitch's life.
He gave the stone a quick toss in his hand, gripped it with all his might and pounded down right in the middle of the Nazis face. With several quick successions of strikes, the Nazis face caved in. Zimmerman was finding he much preferred his method over Hirschburgs because he got the pleasure of repeatedly hurting the Nazi instead of one quick blow with his foot.
Michael always loved working with his hands.
When he was finally done, there wasn't much of a face left on the Nazi. His blood covered Zimmerman's hand, making the Basterd's grip on the rock slick.
"I might let the blood dry and take it home as a souvenir."
The Nazi amazingly enough was still alive. He wasn't moving other than the struggled up and down of his chest. A wet nasally sound emitted from where his mouth and nose use to be.
Since Zimmernan had started the attack, he felt the others should be able to finish it. Michael gave an exaggerated arm gesture and small bow to say "After you."
Hirschberg and Sakowitz gladly stepped forward to finish the job. They both grabbed the Nazi by the hair and crossed their blades at the base of his throat. Simultaneously they had dragged their knives and cut the Nazi's throat. The Nazi's blood gurgled out of the wound, a cut so deep it was like the Nazi had a second mouth. The Basterd's cheered again as the Nazi twitched around as his blood seeped out and pooled on the cave floor.
Sakowitz had taken the third guy and propped him up against a cave wall.
"English?'
Like the others, the Nazi shook his head and cried. The Nazi was terrified of his fate but Sakowitz was glad the soldier wasn't blubbering to the point of being incoherent. Simon really wanted to fuck with him and in order to do that, he needed the Nazi to be aware of what he was talking about.
Stigliz stepped forward, silently offering his services.
"Well now, did you know there were two hundred and six bones in the human body?"
Hugo translated and the Nazi could only cry harder. Sakowitz took this as a "no."
"No? Well let me educate ya. I'm no doctor, so excuse me if I can't name them all."
He took the Nazi's arm and pointed to the forearm.
"This is the ulna and radius." Simon said calmed, as if he was teaching a student the different parts of the skeletal system.
While Stiglitz translated, Sakowitz then took the Nazi's arm over his knee and held it down with his own arm. Quickly he used his elbow to thrust down upon the Nazi's arm, breaking the appendage. Simon smiled at the audible snap of the bone (he'd never get tired of hearing it), knowing he had accomplished his goal.
The Nazi howled in pain and struggled to take his arm back. Simon let him because he knew the Nazi couldn't escape him.
"That's two."
Simon then went lower to the Nazi's legs. He pointed to the Nazi's upper thigh and said, "That is your femur."
As swiftly as he broke the Nazi's arm, Sakowitz's foot came down as heavily as he could manage and stomped on the Nazi's thigh. With the thicker muscle mass there wasn't as a satisfactory crunch or popping sound but he knew he had broken the bone.
"Hey, guys want to lend a hand?"
Hirschberg and Zimmerman were more than happy to help; they waited for Sakowitz's directions.
"Hold him down, he's fidgeting. "
They did as they were told, each grabbing an arm and restraining the Nazi down. Hirschberg pained the Nazi further by being particularly rough with the Nazi's broken arm. Simon walked away when he felt confident that the Nazi couldn't try to run away and then came back with two rocks that were similar to the one Michael used.
"Now a lot of the bones that make up the human body are very tiny so it'd be easiest to break them all at once, such as the ones in the hand. There are 27 bones, just in the hand. Gentleman, if you please."
The two Basterds didn't need to be told what to do; they got busy to work; pounding the Nazi's hands with the rocks Simon gave them. They pounded, laughing at the pain the Nazi was going through, until the hands were nothing but mush.
So Sakowitz went systematically up the Nazi's body, naming bones he could remember and breaking them as violently as he could. The Basterd's learned a lot; not just what the bones were called but how resilient the skeleton could be. Not all of the Nazi's bones could be broken in one shot. That was okay though; Sakowitz, Hirschberg, and Zimmerman didn't mind trying again and again till they got the result they wanted. The Nazi would have to take all the pain, not them.
The Nazi was coughing up blood by the time Simon got to his head. As the blood dribbled from the mouth, staining the teeth red; Sakowitz got an idea.
"Hey, Hirschberg, can ya give me that rock I gave ya?"
Gerald complied and Sakowitz held the stone in his hand. Casually gesturing towards the Nazi while he spoke.
"Now the teeth aren't technically bones. More like, layers of different kinds of tissues varying in hardness."
"Hmmph. I didn't know that." Donny commented. "Did you know that?" he asked the captain.
"Sure didn't. Learn a goddamn new thang everyday."
Simon was still goading the Nazi.
"But seeing how my esteemed colleagues had all broken some teeth today, I feel obligated to do the same. Don't want to be the only one that didn't break no teeth, get what I'm sayin'?"
The Nazi's chest heaved up and down in his panic as he figured out where the Basterd was going with this. It's was excruciatingly painful but his body's natural response overcame his will to lie still.
Simon smashed the rock into the Nazi's jaw, being careful not to kill him. Sakowitz didn't want to kill the Nazi just yet; he had a plan for the grand finale that would require his fellow bastards. The lower part of the Nazi's face hung off his face like a loose hinge, covered in a dark crimson paint. The blood was lightly flowing out of the broken orifice but the Nazi was still conscious and trying very hard not to move because since most of his bones were broken, any movement was agonizing. From the look in the Nazi's eyes, Simon could tell this was the most pain the soldier had ever been in.
"It's a shame but all good things must come to an end."
"Now, what I just broke was the mandible as well as all his teeth. Now there's one bone left. Anyone care to take a guess as to what that bone is?"
Sakowitz looked around and it seemed most of the Basterd's were being shy. They didn't want to answer because they weren't sure. Simon smiled indulgently.
"It'd be the skull! Can I have two volunteers to help me break the skull?"
All the Basterd's laughed because Simon was always good for a laugh. They played his game and they all raised their hands like school children who were eager to help the teacher out.
Sakowitz chose Hirschberg and Zimmerman. The others gave the comical grown of disappointed children who weren't picked for the coveted job.
Simon motioned them to come to a medium sized boulder. It was definitely too heavy for just one man to carry. So they gathered round the stone and lifted it to the dying Nazi. Simon supposed they could prolong the Nazi's suffering by leaving him to die of natural causes but they didn't know how long that would be.
Plus it wouldn't be nearly as fun as what they are about to do.
"Now…" Simon stressed out, struggling to keep talking and carrying the heavy rock. "The skull is made up of several bones. Such as the alveolar process, temporal bone, blah blah blah I won't bore you with the specifics. But with this last demonstration we should be good with breaking all two-hundred and six bones…give a lumbar or two."
The Basterd's had no idea what the hell Simon was talking about but were glad to see he was getting creative. Overall it was a great show.
So the Nazi lay horizontal to his fellow dead soldiers. The only noise that could be heard was the crying of the secluded Nazi, bound and helplessly looking as his fellow soldiers were murdered horribly. The Nazi didn't understand what the Americans were saying but their brutality was a loud and clear massage: he wasn't going to make it out unscathed, if alive at all. Part of him wondered if he would rather be dead because the actions of the Basterd's would haunt him forever. Seeing them break his brother in arms would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. The part of him that put self-preservation above all else knew he would tell the Basterd's anything they wanted, as long as they didn't let the three that killed that day at him or the one rumored to be the Bear Jew near him. The tall stout fellow who smiled through the whole ordeal had to be the Bear Jew. The Nazi had never seen anyone more entertained or happy about such inhumanity. The Nazi was beginning to think that hating Jews and starting this war was not worth a "cleansed" Germany. Suddenly his Jewish neighbors who used to live next door to him didn't seem so bad. All of what the Führer said about Jews being thieves and muddying the gene pool didn't seem like such a bad thing compared to the American Jews who were bent on vitiating any Nazi they came across.
"Oh Gott, bitte. Ich werde freundlich zu allen Juden, wenn ich lebend heraus kommen." He desperately prayed. No one heard him.
The Nazi wanted to look away. He truely did but something was holding him back. Perhaps it was the threat of the one called " Aldo the Apache" threats to cut out his eyelids if he should look away. Or it was a morbid curiosity that got to him. Either way he could only watch with rapt attention as the three Basterds dropped the rock upon Dolph's head.
The heavy boulder landed perfected upon the Nazi's head. The crunch of the bones shattering under the weight of the rock, the splattering of blood and flesh like an insect under a shoe; all of it made the Nazi, Casper, want to vomit. He wretched a couple of times but his empty stomach had nothing to offer. The shouts and praises the American's gave each other fell on deaf ears. Everything had stopped and Casper's world narrowed till he only knew the cave. The end was near and he was in no way ready to die. He would do anything to survive. He would betray the entire Third Reich to get away from these monsters. He didn't care if they killed hundreds of more German's with the info he gave them, he just wanted to live.
Donny sat back and admired the trio's work. They did a really good job at killing that day and the Staff Sergergent had a welling of pride bubble up in him. When he first met the three they were clumsly at the craft but showed great promise. That promise shined that day and Donny couldn't be happier. He hoped that he would get to see more and more days like the one he had.
Hirschberg and Zimmerman scalped what was left of the Nazis they killed skulls. Sakowitz had a bit harder time scalping since there was no skull left to scalp. Just a squished pile of goo that consisted of brains matter, blood, and tiny fragments of the skull. Sakowitz figured out how to get the scalp eventually. It was more cutting through the flesh than scalping but Simon wasn't one to leave without his trophy.
The surviving Nazi was getting the Aldo treatment. He was asked what he'd do after the war. The Nazi gave the trite and possibly sincere answer of contrition to Jews and to never wear the uniform again. Even going so far as to promising to flee Germany and do "the right thing." Aldo only smiled because the Nazi gave the perfect opening to be mutilated.
Donny looked around and felt very satisfied with the days events.
"So three Nazis dead. One tagged and full of wonderful bedtime stories for the Third Reich along with lots and lots of info of other Nazis fucking around France. God! It's good to be a Basterd."
"Here, here!" all the other Basterds happily agreed.
A/N: And so that concludes my first "kill" chapter. Any thoughts? Not enough violence? More gory details? More detailed warning at the beginning? lol
Thanks to everyone who follows/favorites this fic. It's awesome and I hope everyone enjoys my writing.
Thank you to all my reviewers, your praise is humbling and very much appreciated. Shout out to: Danielle KJ- You're doing great with your English and much better than most native English speakers on this site. lol. Itsalljustalie and WhatsGoingOn- Thanks for multiple reviews. It's great to have readers who care enough to keep up with the fic and comment. Liliesshadow- Thanks for the lovely comments and yes, I was aiming for dark. If I wasn't and this is what I came up with; I'd be very worried for myself. lol RJPlummer- Glad you are liking the fic and hope you like this update.
Expect a more chapters like this one in the future because Q. Tarantino is totally BAMF and the aesthetician of violence is what this fic is all about.
Happy Reading