Back again, and this is the big one:D It was quite tough to write -except for the violent bits... I don't know why but the violent bits were quite enjoyable to write. Maybe I should have that seen too...

Anyway, let's get cracking on and enjoy part deux of the bar scene. I hope you enjoy, but understand; I have made a couple of big changes. All will be made clear in time though;-P

Disclaimer: I realise I forgot to disclaim my last chapter. That's it, I'm going to get sued. Making damn sure I disclaim this one anyway!

They had been down there ten minutes now. Ten minutes should have been more than enough time. Any good operation moved fast, with no time wasted, and with the bare minimum being said. But they had been ten minutes. Raine didn't like it one bit at all. It was bad enough that they were in a tiny basement and completely out of sight, but this delay really didn't bode well either. For all any of them knew, they were caught or dead already.

No one spoke in the eerie darkness of the room, but Raine was aware that, as usual, the men would be looking at him. What would he say or do? What would he decide on? However insubordinate they could be at times, in particular Donny, it was at times like these that Raine was handed back total control and unquestioning obedience. The situation was bad, and it was up to him alone to do something about it.

But what could he do? If he went charging in while they were still talking, the mission would be compromised. If he waited and did nothing, they could be left undefended, and the mission would also be compromised.

Wicki and Stiglitz were in there. And as unsentimental as Raine was, they were still his men, and he had an obligation to them. They had been doing this for so long at this stage that naturally; he was attached to the whole bunch of Basterds. And none of them had been killed yet, which he was quite proud of. He had done a good job of keeping them safe while they unleashed Hell. True, Wicki and Stiglitz were destined to die, but it wasn't their time yet, and he was going to make damn sure that they didn't.

Ellis was down there too, and while she wasn't one of them, they still owed her. She had put herself on the line several times for them, and she had never betrayed them or let them down. She was no soldier, but Raine could appreciate that. If she could get out, he was going to get her out too. As for Hicox, well, technically he was the most important out of all of them. Truth be told though, Raine didn't make much of him as a man, but he was smart and he knew what to do in these more subtle operations. If he had to be gotten out of there, Raine was going do his damnedest to get him out too.

As for this actress. He didn't really care. She was the contact and she was how they would get in, but he didn't know her and he didn't care to. If she could double-cross the Krauts she could certainly double-cross them. If things started going sour the mission would be kaput anyway, so she wasn't exactly essential to them. Harsh as it seemed, he wasn't going to risk their necks for her.

"Ain't heard nothin' yet," Raine finally spoke. "And if someone tried to take our boys, we all know they wouldn't be polite about it."

No one spoke, listening carefully to Raine in the darkness. He had made a decision at last.

"Ten more minutes," he told them. "Then we go in."

Donny nodded to himself, and he saw the others did the same thing. They didn't lkie waiting, but orders were orders and Raine had a whole lot more experience then the rest of them. He knew best, so he was boss.

Nearly ten minutes later, sound erupted from the tavern. A cacophony of gunshots rang out, causing everyone to jump to their feet. Everyone was caught off guard, shocked. The noise died away very quickly.

"Motherfucker!" Raine yelled, sounding more pained than angry. "Move it! Out the fuckin' door now!"

Things had gone from bad to worse, to downright ridiculous for them. The plan had been to get in, make contact and get out. No muss, no fuss. But they then found themselves surrounded by Germans, who were both drunk and armed, and who then proceeded to harass their contact before she could impart any information to them. And if that wasn't bad enough, Ellis' old Gestapo friend Dieter Hellstrom had decided to join them. And now… Now they all had cards stuck to their foreheads.

"Okay, my native land is the jungle," Hellstrom carefully considered. "I visited America, but my visit was not fortuitous to me… but the implication is that it was to somebody else…"

Hellstrom had roped them into playing games. Bridget had been too aware of causing offence to refuse and so the rest of them were stuck now as well. It was almost comical. Stiglitz even demonstrated some previously untapped humour in writing 'King Kong' on Hellstrom's card. Hellstrom himself was clearly loving it. One by one he asked the appropriate questions and the table responded with unenthusiastic 'yeses'.

"Well, then I must be King Kong," he finally declared. They all laughed, and clapped feigning amusement. "Now, since I answered correctly, you all need to finish your drinks."

He didn't have to say it twice. Ellis downed her glass of whisky in one gulp, out of nerves more than the party spirit. Champagne, like Bridget, may have been the girlier choice, but Ellis found whisky much better for summoning up courage. Wicki and Hicox similarly finished their drinks in a hasty fashion, seeking the same courage. Stiglitz gave Hellstrom another long lingering look of disdain before knocking back his own whisky, card still attached to his head.

"Who's next?" Hellstrom offered enthusiastically.

"Sturmbannfuhrer…" Hicox replied softly, taking the card off his forehead. "I don't mean to be rude. But we are all good friends here. And we haven't seen each other in quite a while. So… I'm afraid, you are intruding."

No one dared to move a muscle. Their lives very possibly depended on how Hellstrom reacted in this moment. Whether he would find it reasonable or rude was totally up in the air. Wicki found Ellis' hand once more in his, and he squeezed it without shame. This was not a pleasant moment. Bridget suddenly looked very pale as she gazed across at the young Gestapo major.

"I beg to differ, Haupsturmführer," Hellstrom replied in a low, soft voice, which didn't fail to bring a chill to the air. "Its only if one of the Frauleins here considers my presence an intrusion, that I become an intruder."

"How about it then, Frauleins?" he turned and regarded each of the women in turn. "Am I intruding?"

"Of course not, major?" Bridget shrugged, trying to come off as nonchalant. She looked as white as a sheet at this stage. Her cigarette remained lit and untouched between her fingers, there by habit instead of a desire to smoke. Hellstrom turned back to Ellis now, satisfied with Bridget's response. His look seemed to ask Ellis 'you're not up to anything, are you, Fraulein?' She tried to shrug casually in the same fashion as Bridget.

"I didn't think so," Hellstrom grinned, before returning his stare to Hicox. ""It's simply the young Haupsturmführer is immune to my charms."

His voice was completely void of emotion, and barely veiling something very sinister. Holding your breath wasn't an option anymore, it was just impossible to breathe full stop. The table next to them was as rowdy as ever, and yet to them it seemed there was an awful deathly stillness surrounding them. No life, no sound, just something horrible headed straight toward them.

Then, Hellstrom burst into laughter.

"I'm just joking," he wheezed. "I'm just joking. No, no, of course I am intruding. Please, allow me to refill your glasses gentlemen, and will bid you all adieu."

The bubble of tension did not ease. They were all completely on guard. Hicox attempted to look as if he found the joke amusing. Instead he looked ill.

"Eric has a bottle of thirty-three year old scotch whisky from the Scottish highlands," Hellstrom leaned into Hicox with a smile. "What do you say, gentlemen?"

"That's most gracious, sir," Hicox stammered.

And with that Hellstrom called out to the bored-looking barman, barking at him to bring the scotch and new glasses.

"How many glasses?" he asked, rolling his eyes, clearly not thrilled at being barked at.

"Five glasses," replied Hicox, not even bothering to look up at the bar.

"Not me," insisted Hellstrom. "I like scotch, scotch doesn't like me."

"Not me either," Bridget shook her head. "I'll stick to the champers."

'No thanks," Ellis shook her head also. More scotch was not a good idea for her. She already felt sick to her stomach, alcohol would be ill advisable at this moment.

"Three glasses," Hicox called out to the barman, holding up three fingers.

The barman dutifully collected the bottles and glasses on a tray, and made his way over to the table. Another uncomfortable silence fell upon them, even Hellstrom staying silent. Bridget didn't try to make light-hearted conversation or even smile this time, hoping that the Gestapo major hadn't noticed what she had.

But this time was different. Looking across at the young Gestapo, Wicki could see that something was up. He knew something. He wasn't grinning smugly, he was smiling like someone who knew a very special secret, and he no longer looked at any of them, avoiding eye contact entirely. Wicki knew it would be prudent right now to remove his hand from Ellis' and to get in near to his gun, but to do so would only cause her alarm. And what they all needed to do was remain calm.

Eric the Barman placed down the glasses onto the table and proceeded to pour the drinks amidst the silence. Hicox tried to play it casual, but he could feel his heart pound in his chest.

"Not to worry, old boy," he thought to himself, willing his heart to slow down. "You've been in worse jams than this. Remember the Rotterdam job? Got out of that one, didn't you?"

The barman stepped away and walked back to the bar once again. Hicox handed the scotch to his two comrades, who took it with an air of caution. For a moment afterwards no one did anything. Hellstrom was the first to speak as had become custom.

"To a thousand year Reich," he toasted, lifting his beer stein for them all to join.

"A thousand year Reich," they all muttered in response, only Hicox raised his voice with faux-conviction, proclaiming loudly for all to hear. The Germans from the other table looked over, puzzled for a moment, before returning to their game.

The men all then took a drink, except for Hicox, who still seemed unsure of this drink. There was little chance of it being tampered with, but he still didn't trust Hellstrom's intentions. Hellstrom on the other hand took a generous gulp of his beer, and belched rather unpleasantly.

"Enough of these games," Hellstrom finally said, his eyes harshly set on Hicox's face. A quiet, yet still audible, and very ominous click was then heard. Wicki instantly let go of Ellis' hand this time, hand now poised to grab his gun in a heartbeat. Ellis took a sharp intake of breath, despite herself. She was no military expert, but she knew the sound of cocked gun when she heard it. Stiglitz and Bridget didn't move. Bridget, out of fear, and Stiglitz, not even startled. Hicox had heard the sound too, but it hadn't registered with him yet, as if it was truly unexpected.

"Did you hear that?" Hellstrom said, unsmiling. "That's the sound of my Walther pointed right at your testicles."

"Why do you have a gun pointed at my testicles?" Hicox asked, after a seconds pause, still caught slightly off guard.

"Because you have just given yourself away, Haupsturmführer. You are no more German than that scotch."

Looking over at the bar, Wicki could see that while the barman was pretending to read his book. He was in fact listening in very carefully to the exchange between the two men. Being a sensible bartender in this day and age meant that there was probably a weapon concealed behind that very bar. This was going to end a bloody mess, but Wicki knew that if any of them were going to get out alive, he would have to take out that barman. They would have to kill everyone, but the others wouldn't be expecting it. They would need a moment or two to register what was going on before they pulled out their guns. This barman was poised for action. Wicki knew their lives would depend on him being able to get him down in one shot.

"Major…" Bridget attempted to reason with Hellstrom. Hicox began to say something at the same time, however.

"Shut up, slut," he retorted, his eyes never leaving Hicox's face. She was silenced immediately. The jig was definitely up, and there was no amount of charm or wit that would get her out of this one.

"And you, Fraulein de Vries," he addressed her, not even bothering to look over at her. "Up to your old tricks. How very stupid of you."

She didn't reply, or even move to respond. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of unnerving her, even if he was doing just that. Her mind raced, trying to find a way out of this situation, but there was none she could see. There was only way out of this basement and she would never be able to reach it without getting a bullet and even if she was, she didn't want to leave this place alone.

"But you were saying?" Hellstrom spoke to Hicox again, his finger readily poised to pull the trigger.

"I was saying," Hicox continued, looking nonplussed now having regained his confidence. "That makes two of us. I've had a gun pointed at your balls since you sat down."

"That makes three of us," Stiglitz interred, pulling out his gun quickly and without subtlety, pointing it downwards at Hellstrom's crotch. "And at this range, I'm a real Frederick Zöller."

A devilish grin flashed across Stiglitz's face, and he gave a small laugh. He could certainly be funny when he wanted to be. He was going to give this Gestapo bastard the most unpleasant last few moments that he possibly could. Hellstrom's face was awash with anxiety now, although he tried to suppress it in front of his enemies.

"Quite the sticky situation," he tried to quip.

"What's going to happen," Hicox instructed him. "Is that you're going to stand up, and walk out that door with all of us."

"No, no, no," Hellstrom insisted, his face twisted in a mixture of a grin and grimace, the bitterest smile Ellis had ever seen. "I'm afraid that we both know, no matter what happens to anyone else in this room, the two of us aren't going anywhere."

Hicox's jaw tightened. He was right. The only two people who were certain to die at this point were he and the Gestapo major. A shot to the genitals wouldn't necessarily be fatal, however unpleasant, but there would be no running and no ability to shoot or defend themselves. They were both already dead men.

"Too bad about Oberfeldwebel Wilhelm and his famous friends," Hellstrom inclined his head slightly at the table full of German soldiers. "If any of you expect to live you'll have to shoot them too. And poor little Max will grow up an orphan. How sad."

The mocking tone which he took in saying this made Wicki's blood run cold. He wasn't supposed to feel bad about killing Germans. Just the same as so many Germans didn't care about killing Jews. But somewhere in Germany right now, there was a tiny, defenceless baby who had nothing to do with any of this, and who was about to lose his father; just some idiot who did what he was being told. An innocent child who would never know his father, and Hellstrom didn't care one tiny bit.

"In fact," Hellstrom sardonically remarked, casting quick glances at both the women at the table. "I wouldn't be surprised if it was one of your harpies who ended up doing it. Women can be so cruel."

"To pigs like you…" Ellis snapped, not sure if she wanted to cry or leap over the table and slap the grin right of his mouth. Wicki raised a hand, stopping her. There could be no raised voices. Their best chance lay in the soldiers suspecting nothing.

"Well, if this is it, old boy," Hicox interrupted them, switching back to English, and turning to his untouched scotch. "I hope you don't mind if I go out speaking the King's."

"By all means, Captain" Hellstrom replied in English.

Hicox took a cigarette from Bridget's open case on the table, and lit up one last time, taking a deep inhalation and savouring it. He then picked up his glass and looked intently at the warm amber-coloured liquid inside, swilling it around only ever so slightly. One good gulp was all he would need. A final stinging and warming sensation to liven him up for his final seconds. He had been bought this drink, after all, and it would be just downright rude not to drink it.

"There's a special rung in Hell reserved for people who waste good scotch," he informed the young Gestapo. "And seeing as I might be rapping on the door momentarily…"

And with that he downed the entire glass, feeling the harsh warming immediately as it slid down his throat. He closed his eyes for a second to block out every other sensory distraction from that one sensation. Hellstrom hadn't lied. This was quality stuff. It was almost comforting to him that one of his last earthly experiences would be one of his best. God's ironic consolation prize, even.

"I must say," Hicox smiled and gave a nod. "Damn good stuff."

Bridget shifted nervously in her seat. If they fired under the table there was one certain outcome; she was going to get shot. In all likelihood she would never walk again, or at least lose a leg. That was, if she managed to survive by some miracle, which was very doubtful.

"Now about this 'pickle', we find ourselves in…" Hicox continued, taking in another long drag of his cigarette. The moment was coming. He could almost hear the countdown to the explosion in his head. Strangely enough, he didn't feel the fear of it though. Perhaps his subconscious was blessing him with some blind denial in order to preserve him from any mental or emotional pain, but he felt very calm. More calm than one should in this sort of situation, he supposed.

"…It would appear there's only one thing left for you do."

"And what would that be?" Hellstrom asked him bitterly.

"Stiglitz," Hicox addressed the man across from him.

"Say auf wiedersehen to your Nazi balls," Stiglitz informed him, with wicked delight etched across his face.

And with that the crack of gunshots began, and Hellstrom could barely managed to choke out a gasping cry before his hand fired automatically, hitting Hicox right on target and also ripping into Bridget's calf. She let out an all mighty scream before tumbling backwards off her chair. Hicox was thrown back immediately also, hitting his skull against the bar and mercifully snapping his neck before he could feel anything.

Wicki immediately leapt up and shot straight at the barman's head before he had a chance to move, hitting him almost dead centre between the eyes. The man fell back straight away, his poised shotgun falling to the ground with a clatter. The barmaid screamed in fear and horror, frozen to the spot with shock. He then turned his attention to the Germans, pushing any thoughts of the boy Max from his mind.

He hit one with his back to him right off, killing the man before he knew what was happening. The man sitting beside him reeled around though, pulling his own gun out as two of the others sprung up, confused but firing anyway. Wicki gunned down the woman soldier and the smaller man quickly, leaving him only with the two surviving soldiers to deal with. The young father stumbled off his chair, dazed and frightened, landing on the floor and scrambling for something to defend himself with.

Stiglitz, unconcerned with the furore erupting around him, pulled out his knife quickly to finish the job. He violently stabbed the back of Hellstrom's head and neck, not caring if he was already dead. But before his fury could be sated he felt a searing pain rip through the back of his shoulder, sending him spinning off his chair and into darkness before he even hit the floor.

Before Ellis had had time to react at the start of the chaos, Wicki's elbow had collided painfully with her breastbone, sending her chair backwards as he leapt up to shoot. Before she could crack her skull against the wall though, her chair fell against one of the wooden supports embedded in the wall, causing it then to tilt and twist around, sending her flying to ground, smacking her face sharply on the stone floor. She lost her vision in a flash of shocking white light, before everything became black, and she couldn't even feel the pain of her injured body. Her mind was wiped completely for that moment. All her blurred thoughts could make out was shooting and then utter silence. She then could make out voices, but not what they were saying. There was more firing and then just voices. She couldn't focus or concentrate any mental power on deciphering them though.

"We got another live one!" came a voice, sounding very far away.

"He's alive too!" came another one seconds later.

She heard the words, but couldn't make sense of anything, her head now beginning to wring in pain of the abuse it had just taken.

"Don't worry, Ellis," a voice spoke softly to her from nearby, and she became aware that a pair of arms was lifting her from the cold floor. "We're getting out of here."

She knew that voice, her mind coming back into focus. She knew who this was.

Wicki.

Only when she was hit by a mass of cold air did she realise she had been taken outside. They were escaping. Was it over? Her eyes were still too blurred for her to make out anything but shapes and shadows around her, and she still struggled to make sense of all the noises and sensations, but two things were for certain. She was not dead, she was in far too much pain to have been released from it. And secondly, Wicki was alive and he was with her too.

"Fuck, man!" Omar cried out, watching the injured quickly being pulled from the basement as he sat ready behind the wheel of the truck.

"Don't panic, Omar," Raine ordered him as he climbed in the front seat next to him. "Last thing we need's a fuckin' car crash."

The others climbed in the back, pulling in their injured comrades with them, carefully aware of any further damage they may do. Donny then quickly jumped in the front with Raine and Omar.

"They're in," he told them breathlessly. "Now drive like Hell to the woods."

"They need a doctor!" Omar yelled in exasperation. "We can't just hightail it and end up with three bodies."

"We are getting help, asshole!" Donny roared back at him. "On he way here Kagan said he saw a house with a plaque on the door saying 'doctor' on it."

"Keep it down," Raine warned them both. "The whole village is probably already up with that racket, let's not screw ourselves over anymore than we have. Omar, get your ass movin' to that doctor now!"

Omar didn't need to be told twice. He wrenched the truck into gear and hit the accelerator hard, sending the vehicle flying forwards and onto the road ahead with a bump. With a further screech of their tyres, they were off like lightening.

In the back the other Basterds tried to hold their injured friends down as still as possible to prevent any more pain. As they bumped and shook on the poorly made roads, another shot of burning, sharp pain erupted in Bridget's leg as she was jilted side to side where she sat, left unaided by the Basterds. She burst into sobs of pain, only to have Hirschberg pin her back and cover her mouth to keep her quiet.

Aw, bye bye Hellstrom:( He was fun to write, a total and utter creep. Watching and re-watching the bar scene as I did I really came to appreciate August Diehl's performance, awesome characterisation and just a dream to write for. Major props to August then. As an actor he really deserves it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway, its been one of those things that I've been thinking for ages like "Oh no, I have to do that!" but now it's done and dusted and i am quite happy with the result, so please let me know if you are. Or if you think its crap then please do say so, but nicely.

Thank you so much for your reading, and also for the very nice reviews I've been given. They are so much appreciated (even if my sister STILL hasn't reviewed me). Silly cow.

Merci beaucoup!