Disclaimer: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

This is my first fan-fic Narrative.

Glossary: Battojutsu - The art of using the Katana

Katana: Samurai Sword

Chapter 1

9th of April 1942

It was surprising to Annabelle at how two years and seven months of war could change a country. France was a shell that had been smashed beneath the feet of every Nazi soldier that had marched across it. Towns that were still intact were infested with Nazi officers that created a cold that chilled even the hardest of bones, even in summer. As she lay on the wet undergrowth of the frail old forest she thought of her chateaux in Brittany with its white walls and ancient wisteria; her mother pruning the Jasmine, little George tugging her dress pestering her about his twelfth birthday. Her father would have been on his way back from the French embassy. He stayed there for days conversing about the white hot drive of Hitler and how he was fast becoming a threat. Annabelle thought of Major Hellstrom. She did not want to but his face was burned into her mind and thus she became more hateful every day. Alone and isolated Annabelle was only a shadow of who she was before; no longer a lady but a warrior thirsty for blood who had been trained in the art of Battojutsu in Japan and wielded a black handled, Katana with gold lettering glowing as it hung on her belt. After the massacre of her family, Annabelle fled to Japan in search of Hayato Tanaka her father's old friend from his travelling days. He lived on the third highest peak of mount Haguro where he taught Battojutsu to any who he deemed worthy and on hearing Annabelle's story he harnessed her fear and grief and used it to transform her into a Samurai master. She stroked the ebony case of the sword and imagined herself laying under a sugi tree. Coming back to France was not out of choice but as war raged between Japan and China she knew that it was time for her to return. Hayato had kissed her forehead before she went telling her she did not need luck as she was his greatest student, a prodigy anger in true form and oh she felt like anger personified. Her blood was a boiling acid that exploded with adrenalin when she struck her sword through buttery Nazi flesh. Her body was a hard, hot mass. She was death. Being alone for so many years had left her feeling like a ghost. She new no more about herself than a stranger would so revenge was all she lived for as that was the only thing she was certain of.

~.~.~

Lieutenant Aldo Raine breathed in a deep breath of smoke frilled air. He and the Basterds looked out over a wasteland of rubble and dust. They had been dropped five miles from what was believed to be a Nazi camp and their first target. flags bearing the Swastika were strewn on the floor. They spat at them, loathing them. They hungered for a massacre as they walked the skeletal maze that was once a happy market town. Sanity was now a luxury and when death does nothing but rear his ugly head, blood is all we lust for. Aldo looked at his companions whom he did not know or love but each was like a son that he would be able to mould to fit his plan of becoming the most feared and indestructible force in Europe. Each of the men had his own talent, his own spark that made him dangerous. They laughed and joked genuinely, something Aldo himself had lost the ability to do. He felt the scar on his neck that held tight like a rope, glaring at him every time he saw his reflection. Only Aldo knew what it was like to stare death in the face and defeat him, only Aldo knew true fear and only Aldo knew how to destroy it. By the end of the war all of those boys would be like him and he would become God.

~.~.~

Shosanna was weak and alone. She looked as if every tree had purposefully taken a swing at her, tearing her beautiful face to shreads, her feet bleeding and her body bruised. Paris was a sleazy mess of German soldiers that fucked girls who were all too willing to give themselves up to them. Alcohol and piss flowed down the once white streets biting each cut, infecting her humanity. The blood of her mother still clung in her hair, matting it together so she was more russet than blonde. Her journey had been hard and perilous and the glimmer of hope she thought Paris was began to dim as the dirt muddied its once glorious appearance. Each step pained her further. The fire in her was burning out. Step. Nausea. Step. Pain. Step. Collapse... Shosanna welcomed Death. The ice of his breath eased her. She felt him wrap his arms around her and lift her from the ground. His black face and eyes were as soothing as night and she flew and slept and was at peace.

When Shosanna woke, white sunshine poured through the open window and a smell of wood filled the air reminding her of the barns at home. She must be in heaven. Her body was clean and her clothes dry and soft. A gentle woman sat beside her combing her golden locks.

"Ah, she awakens! Come Jean, look at her. Don't look so startled chicken. You are safe now. I am Ada Mimieux and this is my husband Jean-Pierre."

Ada beamed at her. Her eyes framed with lines making her look kind and cheerful. Her hair was much like Shosanna's own - Dark blonde with a soft wave.

"We thought you would not make it. If it wasn't for Marcel finding you, it would have been Death that would have had you or worse, a soldier. Marcel!" said Jean "Come here right away. The lady is awake."

A young black boy came through the door swiftly. He looked about the same age as Shosanna but in contrast to her delicate frame he was broad across the shoulders with a soft face. It had been the first time Shosanna had seen a person of such dark skin and was in awe of his handsome features and great height.

"Marcel has not left your side until now my dear and you had the cheek to wake just as he left to eat his supper! How funny the world is."

Ada smiled again when she saw Marcel's eye flit downwards in embarrassment and yet he twisted his hands like a young boy who has discovered his first love.

"I thank you Madame" Her voice was gruff and sore. "I will repay you..."

"Nonsense!" They all chuckled "You will stay with us. Jean and I always wanted a daughter. Besides, Marcel has already taken a shine to you."

"Ada..." Marcel shifted his feet nervously.

Shosanna smiled for the first time in a year. A genuine warming glow flushed through the sadness and dark. There was hope for her and she knew it.