Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Nicht mir!

Donny knew their names within the minutes he first met them.

Wilhelm Wicki, originally from Austria. Utivich, from Virginia. Hirschberg, who used to work at a steel mill. Omar Ulmer, all the way from sunny Calee-for-neeya. Sakowitz, Zimmerman, Kagan.

Raine could care less. They were all the same to him- Jewish military boys who maybe wanted a little risk, who were bored with the good old Armed Forces. He had what he wanted, time to make a good impression on them, convince them if they weren't already. Donny was ready to explain their names and their backgrounds to Raine, but the Tennessee native had shrugged and walked on down the hall. "Don't care, pal."

Donny had spat in his direction before making his way outside to attend to the new recruits. The past couple of days, Donny had come to the conclusion that just because Raine came from a shithole doesn't mean he couldn't act like an uppity rich..person. The words Donny exchanged with Raine were harsh and offensive, delivered in the Boston accent he was so proud of.

The sergeant had once said, late at night to the boards above him, that Raine was nothing more than a dirty hillbilly, had no military experience, where Donny's father was a veteran, a hardened, experienced, Jewish man. What did Raine care about the Nazis? Why did he act like such a goddamned know-it all? Donny told the boards he hated those types.

Later, he had stood back dutifully, watched his lieutenant speak, ordered the runts around. He had observed them, judged their capability.

Utivich was a little shifty, and Omar struck him as impressively inexperienced- hell, he could tell by the way he stood. But they were young, just as Donny was, and could be trained easily.

"Like havin' a bunch of stupid little hounds around." Raine had joked later, a lame attempt at camaraderie with Donny. "Betcha they'll piss their pants and shake like kids at first, but then ya build 'em back up."

Donny had said nothing from his place on the bottom bunk. He was holding his baseball bat in his hands, reading the names he had etched into its wood; names from back home, back in Boston. Raine went silent too before Donny heard the bunk above him shift in weight, the heavy feet thudding to the floor as the Southerner jumped to the floor.

Hands balled in fists against his hips, Raine addressed the wall rather than his companion. "Thought you little Bostonian water rats talked a mile an hour or somethin' like that. You have barely spoken a word to your superior. Seems to me you ain't so excited about all this after all."

Donny tapped the bat against the wall. Water rats? What was this redneck talking about? "Well, sir, I have a big fucking headache today, sir, and I'm not too fucking keen on talking a mile an hour, sir. If you want to know I'm pretty fine with killin' these here Nazis," here he mimicked Raine's thick accent; he saw Raine's back stiffen. "Sorry that I don't alert you every second I can like Utivich, sir!"

He should have seen the punch coming, should have expected it. How many fights had been staged between him and his buddies in their meager backyards? It hurt more than he expected; Raine had caught him right in the eye. Donny hissed; it would be bruised tomorrow.

The young man rolled off the bed and landed with a thud on the hard linoleum floor, the baseball bat under him, before a hard boot kicked him in the shin. He scrambled upright and faced Raine, his jaw working stupidly, trying to speak, before he decided to swing the baseball bat at the lieutenant. He barely missed- impossible, Donny never missed, never- his lieutenant's meaty shoulder. Donny stood there, silently fuming, fuck fuck fuck who does he think he is, cocky bastard-

"Lazy bastard." he heard Raine mutter. "I ask for a sergeant and this is what they send me?"

Time to go. Time to leave the safety of that little obscure base and get in deep, find the Nazis, and, as Murphy would have simply put it, "kick their asses all the way to Zimbabwe!" Wherever that was.

Wicki had stared at Donny throughout their meal of soggy bread and cold oatmeal. It was the bruise, he was sure of it, but Donny wasn't going to let on how it happened. None of their damn business anyways.

Of course it was Zimmerman who made the mistake. "'Scusin' me, Lieutenant Donowitz, what happened to your eye? Get in a fight with a bear or somethin'?" he flashed his pearly whites as he sat down next to Omar. Donny slowly lifted his eyes to look at Zimmerman, his spoon paused inches from his mouth.

"You are interrupting my eating time to ask me how I got this bruise?"

Zimmerman leaned back, hands in the air. "Didn't mean no offense by it, sir, I apologize."

The damage, however, was done. Donny slammed the grimy spoon on the table, oatmeal flying onto Hirschberg's lap. "Next time, don't fucking ask." he leaned over the table, knuckles resting on top of Zimmerman's weak toast, crushing it.

He could hear them mumbling as he left the hall, a sneer imprinted on his face.

Nico, Benny, Murphy. Rabbi Chomsky. Mrs. Dreyfus. Old Man Berkowitz. Ester and Eva. It was only a handful of the names he'd carved into his lucky baseball bat before he'd boarded the plane bound for Italy. He missed them, all of them, even Ester and Eva, those nosy twins with the straight teeth and straight hair and straight eyebrows.

"Ready, lieutenant?" Omar had poked his head in the room- not the rest of him, it was like he was afraid to even go in. Donny gave the bat one last slap against the wall before sitting up.

"Sure am." he slung it over his shoulder before sauntering past Omar, hand stuck in his pocket. Make a good impression, buddy, don't let 'em see ya sweat!

Raine was watching him, chewing a slice of cheese before spitting it on the ground. "Tastes like shit, what do they put in this cheese anyway?" he grunted, kicking dirt over it. "Nice boo-boo there, Donowitz. In case you didn't get the memo, you better change outta them clothes." Raine nodded at a lump residing in a truck. A truck that looked very...

German.

"You're kidding me!" Donny gaped as Raine clapped him on the shoulder.

Wearing a bunch of Nazi uniforms was not Donny's idea of fun. He twirled the baseball bat in the dirt and glared at Raine as his superior shrugged again.

"You signed up for this shit." Raine nodded at the clothes. "Unless you want a pair of sunglasses as a souvenir before we send ya back home."