Lena
Chapter 8: Blackbird
"Stay down!" Hans watched him as he jumped over the barricade. He rushed right into the enemy's territory. Hans gripped his bleeding torso. It wasn't a fatal gut shot, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch. It throb in time with his heartbeat. Even the thought of recoil from a gun sent his mind spinning with pain.
He stared at the General with complete awe. He had been shot in the thigh and had been stabbed several times. Yet, that did little to slow him down. Hans had always wondered how he could have achieved the status of General and be in his early forties. Now he knew. It was how he bravely, yet strategically, rushed into battle to save his brigade.
He fought his way through the remaining French army. Killing one after the other. He switched out between his handgun and his knife. When he was out of bullets, he grabbed one of the French guns. He barreled rolled behind the building wall. He shot two men as they came around the corner. A grenade was thrown over the wall at his feet. Without a second thought, he picked it up and threw it back over, quick as lightening.
It was truly a sight to see. When the last man fell, Hans saw him standing over the French private. When one would usually spit on his enemy's corpse, he bent down and kissed the dead man's brow. It was an apology for killing him even though the private was trying to kill him.
It was not typical for a General to be seen in actual battle, but he would never leave his men fend for themselves. It was not because he had a need to battle and kill, but it was a need to protect. He was not one to plan an attack and hope his men succeeded. He also saw every plan to the very end with his own eyes.
Hans watched as he walked back to the trench. He was covered in blood. Though the man needed medical attention, he checked all of his men to see if they were okay and if they were fit enough to make it back to base. He made his way over to Hans.
"Are you fit to walk, Landa?" Hans tried to say a yes, not wanting seem weak. The General did not seem to believe it. He picked up Hans and carried him to the truck that he was supposed to ride in. He told the driver to let him ride, that he would walk with the men.
-o-
Hans groaned as he woke. He stretched and popped his protesting joints. He really detested getting old. It was such a nuisance. He rose from the bed and made his way to the bath. He hoped the water would help his joints and maybe wash away the memory-dream.
It had been a long since his brain really thought about Milo Zimmerman. He would mention him, but only in passing. Or recently, to startle his daughter. But it had been decades since he relived the memories.
It seemed the snarky bastard was pissed with him and haunting him from the afterlife. Though he couldn't complain, he had it coming after all. He did send his daughter to a death camp.
He did feel bad about the whole thing. He truly did, somewhat. However, Milo had to understand that he needed to live. He wasn't lying when he said that if he spared Lena, General Schmidt would have his head. He needed his head in tack to carry out his plans.
"If she is still alive after I end this war, I promise I will fetch her myself. Happy now?" He said to the air above. He stubbed his toe as he walked out of the lavatory. He took that as a sign as, 'No, I am still mad'. Milo Zimmerman a.k.a Pain in the ass.
-o-
Dieter paced in his room. He knew that only two weeks had passed, but it has felt like an eternity to him. When Lena was taken he had stormed into that base to tell off Landa, but he fell short when he reached the Colonel's door. He realized that the only thing that he would achieve by storming in there was pissing off the older man. And a pissed off Hans Landa was a frightening aspect. One he was not foolish enough to cause.
He stomped around his room for another ten minutes before he had to report for duty. He knew his men hated to see him coming. He liked vent his anger out on them, than rather slip up while in Landa's presence.
As he walked by Hermon desk, he slapped a list of tasks the young private had to get down. One of which involved him going into town.
-o-
"Wicki, I am this close to kicking your ass," Donny warned, whispering. He did not want the people around him to hear in American accent. Speaking in English was strange enough. They were in town gathering supplies dressed as Nazi privates. "You are not the only one who misses their girl."
"Was your girl kidnapped and is probably dead," he said in a voice that had a far off sound to it. Donny had no idea he felt so strongly for the German girl. He thought it was only a passing fancy. None of them had seen a pretty girl for a good while until Lena came along. Donny was sure all the Basterds thought about how she would look naked. What could he say? They were red blooded, sex deprived men. However, it now occurred to him that Wicki was serious about this girl. He looked more closely at his comrade and saw that he was barely holding it together. How did he not see this before? Seeing this, Donny did something that he was not known for. He kept his mouth shut.
"Donny, sorry. I did not mean to snap at you," Wicki apologized as he noticed Donny's unusual somber demeanor.
"S'okay, man," Donny said smiling, slapping Wicki on the shoulder. He was always quick to recover. "I know you are just worried about Lena. We all are. Hirschberg is a crying mess," he joked a little too loud, attracting the attention of another Nazi private. Hugo tensed, ready for any threat, when he saw the man headed their way. However, the man stopped and was now only discreetly looking at them.
Hugo grunted, grabbing the attention of Wicki and Donny. He nodded in the direction of the Nazi private. They glanced at the man, who made eye contact with them before slipping down a secluded alleyway. Three men thought the man was either very brave or extremely stupid.
Hugo, Donny, and Wicki followed the man down the alley. He was leaning against the wall, looking very nervous. He stood up straight when he saw the three Nazi imposters. He met them half way and they stared at each other.
"You are not Nazis," he said boldly in English. Hugo pulled out his knife and the man paled with fear. "Wait, wait, wait…" he said holding up his hands in defense. "I am not here to report you. If was going to do that I would have blew my whistle on the crowded sidewalk. I wanted to ask you a question about the name you said." Hugo did not put away his blade away, but he did lower it. The man took that as incentive to speak. "You mentioned a Lena. I also heard kidnapped."
"That wasn't question. If you are going to ask one, ask it," Donny growled, towering over the young man.
"Was h…her name Le…Lena Zimm…erman?" he stuttered. Donny and Hugo pushed him up against the wall. Hugo had his knife at his throat.
"What happened to her?" asked Wicki, barely controlling his anger.
"She was bro…ught in by Major Hellstrom. Colonel Landa had her sent to a concentration c…camp," he answered staring at the knife with wide eyes.
"Fuck. A. Duck!" Donny fumed, slamming his fist onto the wall close to the man's head.
"Where?" Wicki asked angrily mixed with a twinge of fear.
"I don't know." Hugo pressed the knife closer to his neck and small trickle of blood ran down his neck. "I really don't know. He put her on a truck that was already headed out," he pleaded. Hugo and Donny shoved him before stepping back.
"Are you going to kill me now?" he asked surprisingly calm. The three were at odds. However, Hugo did the oddest thing. He hit the man on the top of head with the handle of his knife, rendering the man unconscious.
"But, he is a Nazi!" Donny protested, completely dumbfounded.
"So was I," Hugo said simply before walking out of the alleyway.
-o-
I looked to the sky. It was so bright and blue, a strong contrast to the dark, dirty scene that surrounded me. I ran my hand over my short, uneven hair. When I first arrived, I was made to sit as a soldier roughly cut my hair with a dull knife. The short hair helped control the lice endowed camp.
I dug the shovel back into the dirt. I knew we were digging graves, possibly our own. My hands shook and my vision clouded with unshed tears. My body hurt from all the labor. In the two weeks I have been here, I have already learned the true meaning of sorrow and fear.
This place was beyond words. There was no hope here. I have seen children in nothing but rags for clothing and their tiny bodies starved. I have seen people die in the trenches because they were worked to death. It does not take time to lose hope in this place. My hope died, like many others, at the front gate.
I watched as a blackbird landed on the bobbed wire wall. It glanced around the camp before flying away. I dreamed and wished that I were a blackbird. To be able to fly away. However, life has killed the dream I dreamed.
When night came, we returned back to the disease invested barracks. We were given scarps for dinner that barely curved the hunger. I crawled into my bunk and pulled the sickly boy onto my lap. The same boy had held onto me for comfort in the truck that brought us to this hell. He had gotten sick the first couple of days and he was only getting worse.
"Milo, I am back," I whispered gently. It made it all the worse that the little boy had the same name as papa. "Here, you need to eat." I have been giving him my rations for the past four days, hoping that it would give him strength.
I placed the bread in his mouth but he did not respond. I gently shook him in attempt to wake him up. I checked his pulse and my heart felt like a led weight in my chest. I held his limp body close as I rocked us back and forth. I cried all through the night because I knew he would never wake again, so I refused to sleep.
A/N: I am so sorry… I wrote this chapter as I watched a documentary on the concentration camps. The ending to this chapter, was the hardest I ever had to write. I cried and my hands shook as I tried to write. It kills me that this really happened. How could those soldiers ever justify that with themselves? I always had a hard time in History class when we talked about the Nazis. Till next time -Macbeth