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.

Chapter 8

17th September 1942

A gentle spit of rain tumbled from the quilted sky and onto the black truck, swelling with enemies of the state. Dieter sat in the passenger seat almost wrenching at the stink of damp bodies pilled together, his companion silently maneuvering the vehicle through the long winding roads of the Vosges Mountains. This was the part of his job that Dieter hated as they headed for the Natzweiler-Struthof concentration camp. What Dieter wanted was to hunt and seek out, be presented with a challenge and terrify anyone who did not comply with him and leave it to someone else to transport the prisoners. He thought about Hans and coveted his position, feeling both jealousy and inspiration believing one day that he too could be just like Hans; as smart as Hans. As his thoughts began to run dry, Dieter noticed his stomach begin to churn as the road became bumpy and rough. It was not terrain that he was likely to keep his stomach calm and smelling the mess coming from the containment unit behind them turned his stomach even more. Soon the gray burn became apparent on the landscape, smoke billowing in thin wisps like impossible ropes falling from heaven. Barbed wire laced the solemn circle, containing the equally gray figures that roamed the gritty wasteland. They were greeted by Major Hans Huttig: a stern looking man with a long face, nose sharp as an arrow with deep set eyes under thick brows. His hair was parted in the middle, greased down flat and shaved above his ears so that the shape of his head could be seen clearly. He was tall enough to look right into the passenger window at Dieters pale nauseous face and smirked, opening the door to reveal a stocky frame.

"You must be Major Hellstrom." He eyed the truck "And these must be a new herd." He slapped the side of the truck and shouted for it to be unloaded.
"Come Major; let us have a drink in my office. You are too over qualified to oversea this job."

Dieter followed him towards the gray building of stone into a small cramped office, the scent of body odor lingering in the stuffy room. As Huttig slumps into the leather chair - situated behind a large oak desk laden with papers – Dieter frowns at the cluttered mass of books and maps littering the room.

"So Major Hellstrom, what is it that you are focusing on at this present time? Surely transporting prisoners is not your main job?" He sips some whisky from a glass that has been left in the office which bothered Dieter as he wondered how old it was.
"I am a Gestapo as you know so I deal with high profile matters that, with respect, I could not possibly discuss." Dieter laughed his fast rhythmic chuckle which infected Huttig whose harsh frown unfolded into an unnatural look of amusement.
"And what of these 'Basterds'? Quite a bit of trouble they have been causing eh? That Iron Maiden too. I have heard a great deal about them. Who would have guessed a mere girl could cause so much fear throughout the German army? I have heard some soldiers dreading entering the forests because of her. Fancy that?"
"I am sure it is just gossip and hysteria. She is as much real as the bogeyman is and frightens the soldiers like children. A vigilante. It will not be long before they are caught.
"Major, I am not a fool. Anyone with a reputation like that is bound to carry risk and you know it. Those officials trying to silence the spread of their reputation are running a fool's errand including you but let's not burden ourselves with such things."

Dieter could not help but feel burdened as he knew that one day she would come for him and if she had joined the Basterds, there would be no stopping her from finding and killing him. A knock at the door causes the abnormal amusement on Huttig's face to recline into the crevices of his brow. It was the driver, informing them both that the truck was unloaded and ready for departure. Dieter rose quickly from the wooden chair he had been occupying and headed for the door quickly with Huttig following closely behind. Not once did Dieter look back until he was safe in the passenger seat of the van so that he viewed Huttig from the safe proximity of the vehicle.

"Hellstrom, there is a party in Paris next week which you are welcome to attend if you are ever inclined to take a break. You simply must attend, I insist."

Dieter nods his head and signals to the driver to leave. The truck crunches on the dull gravel below and the image of Huttig fades into the distance. A party could be the exact thing he needed thought Dieter as dread began to creep into his mind.