Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Reviews always appreciated, flames forwarded to Hans Landa!
He had gotten that Kraut pissed. It had been amusing, listening to him jabber and spit at Donny.
This time, Donny wasn't gonna use the Garand. This time, he had his bat. This time, it would be entertainment. He wrapped his hand around one of the names- Murphy- and tapped the mans shoes, ankles, shoulders with it. Everyone around him was silent, save the panicking Nazi. The man squirmed, anticipating what was going to happen next- after all, what else could the bat be for?
Herschberg and Zimmerman had tied him to a tree at the base of the little hill; everyone had a view. In an absurd way Donny felt like he was on a stage, the guys sitting on the hill his audience while he and the Nazi were the matinee. Omar had snickered that it was just like the movie theaters back home- but better.
"Do you know," Donny breathed just loud enough for the guys to hear, "how much fun I'm gonna have?"
The Nazi gulped.
He was trying hard not to fall asleep. He was so tired, goddammit, why was Aldo torturing him into being on watch tonight? Donny stifled a yawn and blinked, balancing the rifle across his knees.
"Thinkin' about me?" It was none other than the bootleggin' bastard himself. Donny scowled and knocked Aldo's hand from his shoulder.
"Don't I get a little beauty rest now and then or what?"
Aldo laughed and wrapped his arm around Donny's shoulders again. "Fuck no. Just watch." He dug around in his pocket and threw something on Donny's laugh. "Cheese, swiped it from the kitchens after we got done scarin' the shit outta those cooks and the manager."
Donny remembered. They'd been caught by the Frenchies and it sure took plenty of rounds of convincing and threatening to make sure they'd keep their mouths shut. He opened the little package slowly, his eyes surveying the dark woods around them.
Aldo's grip tightened on his shoulder momentarily before moving away. He released the breath he had been holding- one, two, three- before popping the cheese in his mouth and resting his head against the tree trunk.
A week before they had arrived in Nadine. Donny, circling another Nazi. This one wasn't a squealer. No matter how much poking and prodding Donny did, the bastard wouldn't speak, wouldn't open his mouth a bit. Frustrated, Donny pursed his lips and turned to Omar and Utivich, impatiently waving them over.
"Hold him by the arms," the sergeant commanded, pointing to the man on the ground with his bat. The Nazi's eyes widened as he twisted his head to look at Utivich, then Omar, then back at Donny.
"Mercy!" he finally cried. "Please, sir-"
"Mercy?" Donny shouted, leaning forward on his bat as if it were a cane. He paused, then heaved the bat over his shoulder, slamming it full force into the man's stomach. The man's legs crumbled under him and he dry-heaved. "Pull him back up!" Donny screamed.
Another blow multiplied into five, ten, twenty. The Kraut was yanked up over and over again by the two Bastards until he heard a strange popping noise from his left shoulder.
Donny crouched down now, breathing fast and hard, his adrenaline pumping through his entire being. The man's head was bowed, slippery with blood and spit and sweat. "You still want mercy?" Donny whispered, speaking just loud enough for Aldo to hear.
The man raised his head, one eye twitching, his mouth hanging open and loose like a dummy, like he had no control over his body. Donny took a step back and aimed straight between the eyes.
Later Aldo would take Donny into the truck while the others ate dinner, the body mutilated and forgotten; all that mattered was the reward, the hard kisses to his neck, the struggle to free the sergeant of his bloodied clothes.