Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. German translations at the bottom!
"Was machen Sie hier?"
Wicki's reply was hard to understand from Donny's position. One of the other guys was with him, Herschberg, standing silent, not speaking. Sending Stiglitz up with Wicki was too risky.
He listened to his breathing. In, out, hold for a moment, then in again.
"Warum brauchen Sie Essen? Sie sollten ausreichand fuer drei Wochen!" one of them barked. "Wo ist das Camp, Diedrich?"
Donny smirked. Nice alias, Wicki. They'd done their best to conceal Wicki and Herschberg, to make them look more like a bunch of Nazis who were on the move for a couple of weeks rather than the bastards they were. As the group became more and more infamous, the risk of being caught grew greater.
"Wir haben keine Zeit." one Nazi said dismissively. He was different from the first speaker- his voice was deeper. Donny could only see the back of his head- bald as a baby's...
This man was his target. He glanced to his left, where Raine was buried. He saw Raine nod and the swoosh in his stomach returned.
Donny and Raine lept up on their haunches and crept, both pulling out their knives with a flourish. Was this what that game Raine was talking about, Cowboys and Indians, all about? Donny sure felt like an Indian, felt like the ones he saw in the paintings back home.
Then, they bolted. Donny wrapped his arm around the bald German's neck and slit the throat, blood spraying over his arms, his hand, on Herschberg's shoes. He watched the body stagger to the ground, a weak hand lifting in a lame attempt to staunch the wound, then lay unmoving. Blood rippled through the French ground, forming a morbid sort of river.
The four worked quickly to move the bodies out of sight, to hide them best as they could. Raine dusted off his hands on his pants before exchanging a look with Donny. "Got your baseball bat?"
Donny snorted. "Of course I do."
The young man had been right when he said there had only been twelve Krauts or so- including the two that Wicki and Herschberg had come across.
He was also right on the artillery, on the fact that they were a mere two miles outside a small town.
"Donny boy's already got one. Y'all owe me one scalp. Donny can have a little fun with whatever little shitter still clings to life."
Donny gaped. Raine was making him stay behind? Not the sergeant, no one made Sergeant Donowitz stand around and watch while his buddies got a piece of the action! "Lieutenant-" he started in a furious hush, but Raine shook his head, patting Donny on the shoulder.
"Don't worry, boys, we'll still have our entertainment."
Donny was more than sure that Stiglitz had seen him flinch under Raine's touch.
He circled the Nazi, gazing down into the dark green eyes with fury. "You a Jew killer?" he hissed, kicking the man in his bleeding shoulder. The man gasped, groped for his shoulder, to shoo Donny's foot away, but no response.
"You know what I'm gonna do right now?" No answer. The man was opening and closing his mouth, swallowing, trying desperately to breathe-
Wham! Wood met bone as a horrifying scream filled the air. Donny repeated the action, hitting the shoulder over and over again until the screams were silenced. "Gimme the other one!" he shouted, sprinting to the next dying soul. He repeated the action, putting the dying into as much pain as possible. The bat passed over wounds, knocked out teeth and eyes and other parts and blood was all over him, all over the bat.
This time, they were clapping. There was not the awkward silence of the first encounter, of the beating with the Garand. This was entertainment. Donny thought he heard Raine whistle.
He was leering in the last one's face, the bat under his arm. "Whatcha gonna do to me?" he spat in the face. "Can't kill me, can you?" The Nazi's lips peeled back in a snarl and he saw the hand move, grasp for something, but Donny was having too much fun. "Pretty pathetic, you just flunked outta being a lawyer or a banker or something, think you can make yourself look big killing my buddies-" he heard someone shout, two blasts. A sharp pain in his thigh.
Donny swore and rolled onto his back, clutching his leg. As if Zimmerman going and getting his hand almost shot off wasn't enough, now he had a bullet wound in his leg. He seethed as he heard the men's footsteps, heard one of them shoot the Nazi again for good measure. Raine's voice.
"What a little fucker!" Raine's arms lifted Donny up, the older man's hand taking Donny's and wrapping it around his shoulders for support. "All right.." a deep breath. "Anyone here good at diggin' bullet holes outta people?"
"Raine sure seems to have favorites." It was Omar. Donny kept his eyes shut, fingers barely touching the wrappings around the wound.
"Talking about Donowitz?" Stiglitz responded. A silence; Donny assumed Omar had nodded. "Can't disagree with that, Omar."
"'Course you can't." Utivich piped up. "But Donny's the sergeant, after all. He has more rank than any of us. Besides you, of course, Stiglitz." he added sheepishly.
"Doesn't matter." Donny was unsure what Stiglitz was responding to until the man continued. "The two met up in Italy, before any of you came along for this little expedition. I would gather that Donowitz is Raine's most trusted, rank aside."
Donny wanted to snort. He contemplated responding, saying something just to piss them all off, but the conversation veered away.
"So, how many scalps, Utivich?"
"How are you feeling, Donny?" Raine held out a dirty canister of water to the young man. He was crouched down so the two were eye-to-eye. So that Donny couldn't turn away.
"Fine. Was never that bad in the first place." he grumbled, taking a swig of the water before spitting it back out. "Yeesh, Raine, what kind of shit water you feeding me?" he wiped his mouth, irritated.
Raine shrugged, then glanced behind him. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "You smoke?"
Donny shook his head. "Not often." he admitted, setting the canteen down.
Raine smirked. "My last one. Gotta stop in that there town and get me some more or I'll go off the wall." he breathed out the smoke slowly before extending it to Donny. It was an offer, an offer to share the cigarette. My last one.
Donny felt sick as he shook his head again. Raine stuck it back in his mouth. "Suit yourself." Before he knew it, Raine was rolling up Donny's pant leg. Donny's leg jerked in reaction.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"Checkin' yer little boo-boo." Raine was smirking again.
"Your hands are fucking cold." Donny complained. This was a lie, of course, a comment meant to fill the air, to make it less strange and foreign to him. On the contrary- Raine's hands were large and very warm.
The hands unwrapped the bindings and threw them aside. Raine fished a roll of the stuff out of his pocket and set to binding it again. Unsure of what to do with himself, Donny stared at the old wrappings, covered in his dry blood turned black.
When his eyes moved away, he jumped. Raine's hand settled on his knee- "Jesus, Donny, calm down, you want this done or ya wanna bleed to death?"
Stiglitz was supposed to be on watch with Utivich, yet here he was, cold eyes watching him. Donny opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, feeling absurdly like the Nazi that he had beaten to death earlier. But Stiglitz had no bat in his hand, nor did he speak.
He didn't have to.
Was machen Sie hier?- What are you doing here?
Warum brauchen Sie Essen? Sie sollten ausreichand fuer drei Wochen!- Why do you need food? You should have enough for three weeks!
Wo ist das Camp, Diedrich?- Where is the camp, Diedrich?
Wir haben keine Zeit.- We have no time.