Chapter 5: When a Problem Comes Along...

In this chapter:

· Some effective acting

· Another Nazi officer

· Torture

· An ex-Nazi

· Imprisonment

It took almost five days to reach the proposed destination. The outpost bordered on the edge of an abandoned town, so the Basterds had quietly slipped into one of the furthermost buildings to get themselves organised.

Elsie was standing rather reluctantly in one of the bedrooms, dressed in the milkmaid outfit. With its revealing neckline it screamed one thing: Got Milk?

She looked at herself in the cracked, full-length mirror that the room had to offer, and made a face; she looked like a whore - which she guessed was what they were going for. She covered her eyes with one hand, wondering why the hell she had agree to this, when there was a knock at the door.

Donny popped his head through and gave an appreciative whistle, taking her in. He bit his lip and nodded.

"Yeah, that'll do it," he said, his Boston accent clinging heavily to the 'yeah'.

"For you?" she joked unhappily.

"No fuckin' question," he grinned, before catching her downcast expression, "What's the matter?"

"Aside from the fact that I look like I whore?"

"You're supposed to."

"I thought I was going for 'milkmaid'."

"That too," he said, looking her up and down once more.

The dress pushed her breasts up and out and cinched in at the waist, flowing out to her knees. Her auburn hair was pulled back and styled in the classic milkmaid braid. She looked the part, at least.

"Where am I putting the gun?"

She looked down at the dress and saw no solution to the problem. She was going to have to strap it to her thigh.

"Do you have a holster or something I can borrow?"

Donny was still staring. She sighed and took a few steps closer.

"Yeah, they're called breasts, now would you listen?"

She snapped her fingers in front of his face and he smirked. A piece of hair came loose from her braid and he reached up, brushing it behind her ear.

She glared, "Don't even try it, pal."

But the flush that crept up her neck and onto her face gave her away. Feeling cornered, she moved past him and out through the door, hoping to avoid any further awkwardness. She failed to take into account the other Basterds, who sat waiting in the adjoining room. The reaction was instantaneous. Silent, staring and startled. Wide-eyed, Elsie took a deep breath and nodded awkwardly at them, attempting to lean nonchalantly against the wall.

Aldo walked in then and approached her. He looked her up and down in the same business-like way he would when inspecting a soldier's uniform, and gave a curt nod.

"A'right, then. Ready to do this?"

"I need a holster," she said, gesturing with her handgun.

"Thought you might." He threw one to her and she quickly tied it to her thigh, trying her best not to show any more skin than necessary.

"Need help with that?" Donny asked. She flipped him off.

Just when she thought that her outfit was complete, Aldo was ready to give it the final touch. Elsie hadn't seen the headless chicken he held dangling by its feet, and failed to notice him pass it to Utivich. What she did notice was Donny take a sudden step backwards, before Aldo ordered Utivich to,"Let 'er 'ave it'".

Utivich made a slicing motion through the air just as Elsie turned, blood splurting from the dead animal's neck and spraying across her dress, chest and face. She froze, scrunching up her face in surprise, and then slowly opened her eyes, hoping he was done. As the blood dripped down her face and along her neck, she slowly nodded in accepted defeat.

Of course he had just thrown chicken blood on her. Why wouldn't he have?

"Finishing touch?" she asked, flicking away a warm droplet from under her eye.

Utivich gave her an apologetic shrug and threw the dead animal at Hirschberg, who caught it with a laugh before tossing it at an unimpressed Kagan.

"You're a regular Jackson Pollock," Elsie told the offending Basterd, trying not to sound as annoyed as she felt.

"Yer outfit's gotta be as believable as yer actin'," Aldo told her, "You tell them Nazis that you just came from yer Hitler-supportin' household and that some 'Merican soldiers are after ya. Call 'em yer saviors or whatever. Anythin' that'll make 'em think they're protectin' you. Ya know what to do after that."

The cold steel of that next step sat against her thigh as a reminder.

"Ya got this one," Aldo assured her, and the Basterds nodded in agreement.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Elsie was in place. She could hear voices - German voices - just beyond the trees. She had been instructed to speak German, rather than French, in order to more quickly gain their trust. Putting her hands on her hips, she put her head back and sighed deeply, psyching herself up for the task ahead. Donny seemed to find something funny about this, laughing from his hiding place among the trees. She shot him a look.

Taking some water from the canteen by her feet, Elsie flicked the liquid onto her face to give the appearance of tears, then she took off running. She began sobbing, gasping as she ran towards the enemy soldiers. They looked around in alarm, raising their guns, but as soon as they saw the distressed young woman they dropped their guard.

"Thank goodness," she cried out in German, grabbing the arm of a bewildered Nazi sergeant and cowering behind him.

"What are you doing?" one of the other soldiers asked.

"The soldiers! They killed my family, the filthy American scum. Help me! Please!"

She pointed in the general direction of the forest. If the plan worked, the Nazi soldiers would move to search the area, where they would meet their end at the hands of the awaiting Basterds. One of the men became momentarily distracted by her trembling breasts until their leader, a lieutenant, called for him and the others to go and investigate. The men obeyed while he remained behind. He glanced back at Elsie, who gave a grateful smile, then turned back to ensure that his men were not met with any trouble. Elsie slid her gun from its holster and fired into his head. Just as his soldiers turned to see what was happening, the Basterds emerged; cutting throats and blasting bodies. Letting go of the man whose throat he had just slashed, Aldo called out to her.

"Go 'round that buildin' over there, will ya? Make sure we ain't in for any surprises."

Elsie nodded, still smiling from her success, and left them to it.

Looking around the side of the old, brick structure Aldo had been referring to, she found the area clear. She turned to call back to him, but froze as she felt cold metal press into the back of her head.

"Ja, you know what that is," a German accent told her.

Shit.

The German put an arm around her neck and began pulling her backwards. With a gun to her head, Elsie could only comply. She was now out of the view of the Basterds. The man pulled the gun from her hand and tossed it away, then a black-bag was placed over her head and her hands were bound behind her back, all without her ever seeing the face of the perpetrator. She was thrown into the back of a car, clambering to sit up as she heard the driver get in. Breathing heavily, she began wishing like hell that she would hear the sound of a baseball bat cracking a skull. But the sound never came. She was alone with a Nazi who had just witnessed her betray his men.

After hours of darkness, Elsie finally sensed light. It wasn't natural light, but it was still something. The car rolled to a stop and she heard the driver get out, then felt a rush of cool air as both passenger doors were thrown open. Someone grabbed her by the legs and pulled her out. She kicked out at them, and the person waiting on the other side managed to catch her by the arms. Seconds later she was out, barefoot on the cobblestone ground. She tried to look bold, standing tall and steadying her breathing, but as the black bag was whipped off her head, her eyes widened in surprise. The man before her smiled, enjoying the look of fear. It was immediately obvious to her that he was an important man; with his detailed, black officer's uniform and telltale hat. Elsie fought to keep her expression indifferent, but couldn't deny the fact that this man looked truly terrible. She was certain that his rank could not have been attributed to his altruism.

"Henker," he greeted with a smug look, pulling a bloodied strand of hair back from her face. She flinched away from him, but the guards held her tight. "We finally meet. Wünderbar."

He glanced at the two men either side of her and ordered them to take her inside. Eyes wide, watching the officer light up a cigarette, Elsie felt scared for the first times in weeks.

In the early morning light, Elsie observed her surroundings. Constructed mainly of brick and metal, the building she was being held in was less than inviting; much like the behavior of her captors. She was certain that she had been taken to some sort of German-controlled prison; at least that's the feeling she got from the vertical metal bars that caged her in and the uniformed guards standing around outside. She had not slept during the night, and now sat with her back against the cold, stone wall; legs stretched out before her on the dirt floor. She looked down at her feet, which were covered in mud and dried blood, and wiggled her freezing toes. When she glanced up again, she found herself looking at her kidnapper. In the natural light she could see him more clearly and, while he wasn't unattractive, she caught the cruel glint in his eyes. She noted the blonde hair beneath his hat; it seemed to be a common feature among the Nazi officers. He stood before her, lighting up a cigarette, and began speaking without so much as glancing in her direction, paying more attention to the object in his hand.

"I presume you've come to realize that you're in a prison," he said in his native tongue, "This is generally where we bring prisoners to be punished for their crimes against the state. Or to be tortured for information."

He said this without expression and motioned with his cigarette-holding hand to the general area. His eyes flicked towards her to see how this last little detail sat with her, but she was doing well to maintain her cold stare. He smiled.

"I am Major Dieter Hellstrom. As luck would have it I was on my way here to make an inspection when I ran into you. It must have been fate."

Elsie begged to differ.

He tapped his cigarette and took another drag.

"I've asked the guards to bring you into the interrogation room. I would very much like to speak with you about the things I've been hearing..."

He left this statement open and purposely vague. Two guards stepped up beside him and looked in at her.

"Do you really need two?" she asked, speaking German.

"Ah, she speaks at last," Hellstrom smiled, ignoring her question.

He had a similar air to him as Landa; with their polite, friendly facade. But this man couldn't hide the mad glint in his eyes. One of the guards opened her cell and both of them stepped in to grab her. She was led to a small, dimly lit room that was occupied only by a table and two chairs. Hellstrom took the seat facing the doorway, while Elsie was pushed into the chair opposite him. He observed her with his light blue eyes. The man was Hitler's wet dream.

"Wait outside," he told the guards.

They left, closing the door behind them. Elsie glanced around at them as they went, and then turned to face the Nazi in front of her. She was still in the same outfit that she had been abducted in, much to her own disgust. She tugged at the neckline to cover herself more, but this only seemed to amuse him. He took off his hat and placed it on the table, proceeding to light up another cigarette.

"Do you always dress as a whore?"

Elsie stared at his newly-exposed forehead, wondering how it would look with a swastika carved into it.

"No, not usually." She gave a thin-lipped smile to show how little his question had impressed her.

"I would think not. From what I've heard, you've earned your little nickname from the German army, Henker. But surprisingly you don't look like much. In fact, I doubt you've accomplished half of what they say you have. Compared to some of the other prisoners who have passed through here, you're really nothing special."

"So why take me?"

"It's not your reputation that interests me, Miss Marigold," he said, his eyes trailing suggestively down her neck and chest as he sucked on his cigarette, "so much as the crowd you run with these days. The Basterds?"

Trying not to appear too surprised by the fact that he knew her name, she said, "Basterds?"

"Don't play stupid. Unless, of course, you aren't playing," he smirked, "You know where they are and you're going to tell me."

She scoffed, unable to maintain her aloof behavior any longer. Not only had he just ridiculed her, but now he expected her to betray her friends.

"Nein," she said simply. Then he smiled, and she felt some of her confidence falter.

"I'm glad to hear you say that. I've been waiting for an opportunity to witness how they break their prisoners here."

The smile fell from Elsie's face.

"Garde!"

The two men re-entered the room.

"Our little friend here has decided she will not talk."

The guards understood perfectly. Grabbing her roughly by the arms, they dragged her out of the room. On their way through, they passed another cell. The man inside it glanced up briefly and caught sight of Elsie. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. She was willing to bet that he had seen his fair share of whatever treatment she was about to receive.

The basement below the prison was set up for the 'management' of its prisoners. Whips hung from hooks along the wall, with knives laid out on a table beside a handgun - for the particularly hardened prisoners. While one of the guards took Elsie towards a wooden pole that stood in the center of the room, the other decided which whip to use. Elsie's hands were bound once more and raised above her head, while the rope was tied to a hook. Unable to move, with her back to the men, she felt increasingly vulnerable. Spikes of fear shot through her body, but she grit her teeth. She would rather endure the lashings than give her friends away.

She was unable to withhold a gasp of surprise, as one of the guards cut open her dress using one of the knives from the table. They tore it completely open, leaving her bare from the waist up. Smoking another cigarette, Hellstrom gave a little chuckle as she hugged the pole to hide her nakedness from their leering eyes. She was so concerned with maintaining her dignity, that she didn't hear the guard step up behind her.

CRACK!

She screamed as the long leather whip sliced across her back and around her side. She felt a warm trickle of blood on her skin. Clenching her jaw, she received five more lashings, swallowing any further noise. She refused to give them the satisfaction.

Then Hellstrom stepped in.

"Give me the whip," he ordered, cigarette dangling from him lip, sounding displeased with her sudden silence.

The guard passed it to him obediently.

"Now, Elsie, are you going to tell me what I want to hear?"

He stood directly behind her as he asked this, running his leather-gloved hand over the bloodied skin of her back.

"Fuck you, you Nazi-fuck," she told him in English, sickened by his proximity and his touch.

"Not very nice language for a young lady," he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her bare skin.

He stepped away and she braced herself for the pain. It came a second later, then six times after that. Her back felt raw and unbearably painful. She would have collapsed were it not for the ropes forcing her to remain on her feet.

"Bring Stiglitz down here," Hellstrom ordered one of the men, "I might as well make the most of my visit."

The prisoner Elsie had locked eyes with earlier was brought down the stairs shackled and shirtless, with three guards surrounding him. She risked a glance over her shoulder to see what was happening. Despite the man being secured in chains, the guards were keeping their weapons trained firmly on him; this one was a high-risk prisoner. He was tied to the opposite side of the pole, carefully averting his eyes from Elsie's bare chest. She was grateful for the gesture. She had lost enough dignity as it was.

Hellstrom gave Elsie one last lash before approaching the newcomer.

"How has your stay been, pig?" Hellstrom asked him.

There was no reply.

Stiglitz looked Elsie in the eye, their faces close; his stony expression gave her some reassurance. His gaze didn't break when Hellstrom gave the first lash. He barely flinched, but he clenched his jaw tightly. Hellstrom tried many more times, apparently waiting for some sort of reaction, but he did not receive it. Stiglitz wasn't giving in, either.

"Leave us," Hellstrom ordered the guards.

When it was just the three of them left in the basement, Hellstrom moved towards Elsie. Using one of the knives, he cut her dress the rest of the way down. The clothing fell to the ground around her feet. Elsie stood only in her underwear, but Hellstrom soon cut through that, too. She pressed herself closer to the pole, trying desperately to distance herself from the Nazi officer, while Stiglitz glared at him, fury swarming in his eyes.

Hellstrom was too preoccupied with the sight of Elsie's body to notice the other prisoner pulling against his restraints. Stiglitz managed to get one hand free and, just as the Nazi officer stepped forward, his intentions clear, he moved around the pole and slugged the man in the face.

"GARDE!" Hellstrom shouted, rubbing his jaw.

The men reappeared to take Stiglitz away, glancing from the now-naked girl to their major, but saying nothing. Stiglitz struggled against them, but the four men managed to drag him back up to his cell.

Hellstrom returned to his position behind Elsie, who was breathing unsteadily, and grabbed her hips.

"I'm going to make you scream one way or the other," he assured her, kissing along her neck. He tossed his hat on the table of knives and pulled her away from the pole. It was then that she lost her composure, breaking into silent sobs.

Using one hand to keep her still and the other to undo the buckle of his belt, Elsie now had no doubt in her mind what he was planning. She willed herself to pass out.

But she was awake through it all.

When she was finally thrown back into her cell, naked and numb, a guard came by to toss some dirty clothes at her. She looked down at the filthy, long-sleeved shirt, and the pair of torn grey pants. She didn't care what they were. Anything was better than that dress.

She sat silent in her prison cell, day after day enduring more lashings and ridicule from the guards.

On the second day, Major Hellstrom had informed her, almost regretfully, that he was leaving for business elsewhere. But that hadn't stopped him having one last goodbye with her in the basement. She had wanted to curl up on the floor and stay there, but she knew she had to remain strong. She managed to glimpse Stiglitz every day when she passed his cell on the way to the whip, and each time he gave her a sullen nod; a reminder that she wasn't alone.

And every time she was returned to her cold, stone cell she would sit and wait, hoping for the Basterds to show up.

She didn't have to wait long.