Author's note: Hey, here I am again, with a rather quick update. You can blame my jobless existence and an overload of inspiration for that. I'd like to thank all the people who've reviewed so far, you guys are great :)

Some major torturing ahead in this chapter. I'm not sure if I should change the rating of this fic because of that. I will continue trusting my readers to know for themselves what they can and can't handle.

Dancercuity922, you've been asking if Hugo Stiglitz will be in this story. Don't worry, he'll show up real soon. The reason I've left him out is simply because the Basterds haven't heard of him yet.

Anyway, on with the plot.

Chapter 4: All nightmare long.

He was free. Finally, he was out. He was bleeding, hurting, and scarred for life, physically and mentally, but he was free at last. The morning, although cold and wet, as it had been for weeks now, had never looked so good. Never had the rain on his face felt so good. Something as simple as breathing was a miracle to him, even if his lungs felt as if they were on fire, because he had been running the whole time now.

He kept on running, trying to push back the memories of the previous night to the deepest depths of his mind. But no matter how hard he tried, flashes of the horrible and gruesome scenes kept playing before his eyes, like a film of some sort. Soldiers getting brutally mowed down by a rain of bullets, their blood staining the ground and the walls. His captain being beaten to death by that monster they called the Bear Jew, whom he initially had believed did not exist. The demonic grins of the men that had paid him a visit in his cell, just when he thought he could be a little at peace. That Lt. Aldo Raine, who, before releasing him, had ranted about his uniform and giving him something he couldn't take off, and then had carved something (he thought he could guess what it was) in his forehead with a knife. The faces of all those dirty, devilish Jews.

The world is indeed better off without them, he thought bitterly.

He ran, still. He didn't care where he ran to, or where he would end up. He was free, free, free…

"Get your sorry ass outta there, sergeant!" Lt. Raine banged on the door of the toilet. The noises he heard from inside weren't very pleasant, but it was Donny's own fault for drinking so much.

"I'll…" Raine almost cringed at the sound of Donny throwing up once again. "I'll be right there…"

By the sound of it, this could take some time, and Raine was growing impatient. They'd already lost time when they had kicked Fritz out in the usual fashion they tended to let survivors go, and now they really needed to get going. Utivich had joined his lieutenant's little crusade of getting Donny out of the toilet a few minutes ago.

"Charming, Donny, just charming…" he muttered, barely able to keep a grin of his face.

"C'mon!" Raine banged the door again.

"Ugh…"

Raine raised an eyebrow. Donny had now resorted to groaning incomprehensible, which was quite unlike him. He decided he had about enough of this.

"You get two minutes to get outta there, Donowitz, or we'll be leaving without you!"

Inside the toilet, Donny managed to raise his head from the pot he was leaning over. This had to be the worst hangover he had in his entire life. His head felt like it could explode at any second and it surprised him he hadn't puked all of his intestines out. He needed a painkiller pill… or twelve. And a truckload of coffee. But he realized as much as everybody, they couldn't stay at the base. With much effort, he got up, his headache getting ten times worse immediately. He groaned and rubbed his temples. What an example he was setting. He was second in command in the group, and he knew some of the younger men looked up to him. And here he was now, a complete wreck.

I'm never drinking again, he thought, and exited the toilet.

"Finally." Lt. Raine said, wearing an expression way beyond pissed off. Utivich turned away, not because Donny was looking so bad, but to conceal the grin he couldn't keep from appearing on his face. He deeply respected his sergeant, but this was just too funny. Raine didn't seem to be thinking things remotely close to funny, as he stomped off to the courtyard, where the others were waiting.

They left the base, back to the woods, accompanied by the wind and rain. Lt. Raine marched on ahead at a killer tempo, while Donny tangled on the tail of the group. At least he felt ever so slightly better with the cold breeze on his face.

The Basterds walked all day long, pausing only briefly once around noon. Raine wanted as much distance as possible between them and the military base. It was the best tactic: appearing seemingly out of nowhere, going in for the kill, and then disappearing again. So far, this tactic worked wonders. As far as they knew, and they knew a lot, the Nazis had only a vague idea who they where, and absolutely no idea where they hid and where they would strike next. They had only been in France for a good month, but already, the Germans talked about them and feared them.

And they had every reason to.

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(three weeks later)

Col. Hans Landa put down the receiver of his telephone, a frown started to form on his face. He had just gotten bad news. They had found the missing Major Stephan Müller at last, after he had gone missing 4 days ago. Or rather, they had found what was left of him. Whoever had taken Müller hadn't been very nice to him in his final moments alive.

Landa hadn't been the slightest bit worried when he had first heard Müller had disappeared. It wouldn't be the first time a high ranking officer went missing, just to turn up several days later, claiming to have taken a short vacation to the French coast or something. It was undisciplined, but perfectly understandable. Most of those officers had too much time on their hands anyway. France was a calm country to occupy.

Or at least it had been. Everyone had been getting rather nervous lately, because of that group of American soldiers, that were called the Basterds. Things had been awfully quiet around them . Their last reported action had been their attack on a German military base in the east. After that, the Basterds seemed to have fallen of the face of the earth. As no one reported any new attacks of them, some officers had begun to think they had perhaps given up and left France. But Landa knew better. From what he had heard, it wasn't sure yet who had killed Müller. No one dared to think it might be their new, sneaky enemies. These Basterds played it clever. They had delivered a major blow, and then had disappeared for some time, to take the attention of them and to put their enemies at ease, so when they returned, it would seem completely out of the blue. It was a good strategy; precisely the kind Landa would use himself if he had been in a similar situation. Nevertheless, the Basterds were still very difficult to predict. Landa knew where they had been, and what their tactics were. He knew more about the Basterds then anyone. But the whole situation rather frustrated him. If only he could predict where they would strike next…

Landa took out his oversized pipe, a pack of tobacco and a box of matches. The whole routine of putting the tobacco in his pipe, strike a match, light his pipe and inhale the smoke always managed to calm him. A plan was starting to form at the back of his mind. He wasn't quite sure of anything just yet, but he would get what he wanted. It would take time, but that didn't matter.

He smiled. Things would turn out just fine for him, just like they always had.

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(3 days earlier)

The mist that covered his mind like a heavy grey blanket finally started to clear up. He tried to move, but soon found his arms tied behind his back. What was going on? A moan escaped his lips as he tried to turn over. His head started to throb and he suddenly felt sick in his stomach. He managed to crack his eyelids open. He blinked, getting used to the darkness that surrounded him. Where in the world was he? Where ever it was, it had to be outside, he thought, as he felt a cold wind stroke his face. Was that the rustle of leaves he heard? He blinked a few times again. Slowly, he started to see the black shapes of trees against the dark sky. He saw the half full moon through the branches. How the hell did he end up in a forest?

Then, it hit him like a tidal wave. He felt even sicker.

Some time ago he had been sitting in his office, enjoying a glass of top class French wine and the music from his record player. It had been evening, he remembered. All of a sudden, disturbing sounds had reached his ears. Cursing, he had set his glass on his richly decorated desk, and had paced angrily towards the door. He had barely reached it, when the door suddenly burst open. Several men, he couldn't recall exactly how many, had stormed inside, carrying guns, which they had pointed at him. The men had spoken a foreign language. He vaguely remembered one brown haired man to have a funny accent. Then, everything had blacked out.

How long had he been here? It was still dark, but he had no idea how much time had passed during his unconsciousness. His headache got worse. It was bitterly cold. By the looks of it, he was all alone. Panic started to spread in his mind like a rat, that bit and scratched and ran around, driving him nuts. He resisted the urge to scream, figuring that it would be best to keep as quiet as possible. His plan instantly dissolved when his body started to tremble, in an attempt to keep his temperature stable. Then, he heard voices. Light shone through the trees. A group of men appeared, carrying torches. The light reflected on the guns they carried with them. When one of them spoke, he immediately recognized the man's voice. The one with the funny accent. The man spoke in English.

"Heh, looks like our Sleepin' Beauty finally woke up."

He immediately felt the blood drain from his face, as he stared up at the men who had now formed a circle around him.

Them.

The Basterds looked down on their captive, Major Stephan Müller. They had heard he was an intimidating and uncompromising man, but he didn't look any of those things right now. He was pale, his hair lay messy over his forehead, and he was shaking. His grey eyes were full of fear. People who knew him, would have a difficult time recognizing him now. Müller was known for having no mercy, and his tall figure sure helped him get any of his points across. They called him 'Stoneface', because he hardly ever smiled. He was responsible for capturing and killing many Jews in horrible ways, in the Netherlands, Belgium and parts of France. All of the Basterds agreed they couldn't possibly let this man live.

Lt. Raine had started making a black list of high ranking Nazi officers he wanted to kill. 'Stoneface' Müller had appeared in the top three, which made him perfect to be the first to die. He had been easy to find. Müller was also arrogant, and hadn't thought he was in any danger. His private home in the country had had barely any guards or any other form of protection. The Basterds had easily found a way inside and back outside without being seen. Müller wouldn't be missed right away. And if anyone would start looking for him tonight, they had maybe one chance out of a billion to find him.

They still stood around Müller, all keeping perfectly still. The man gazed at them, and they could see he was getting very nervous because they hadn't done or said anything yet. They had it all planned out. Müller would suffer.

Without warning, Lt. Raine stepped forward, grabbing Müller by the back of his collar, yanking him on his knees.

"Do you know who we are?" he whispered in the man's ear.

Müller's bottom lip started to tremble. He nodded.

He was pulled to his feet. The fact that he was taller even then Donny didn't matter. He was greatly outnumbered, had his hands tied and was weakened from being in the freezing cold for hours. They started to push him around the circle. Whenever he fell, they laughed and hollered, and violently pulled him up again. They spat at him. He fell once more, but this time, they left him on the ground. He breathed heavily. Fear still had its iron grip on his mind, but somehow, he hadn't let a sound escape from his lips yet. He gritted his teeth and silently swore to not give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream, which started out to be very difficult when someone violently kicked him in the groin.

"Looks like he's pretty tough after all."

"Did someone glue your mouth shut?"

"Hey, don't worry. We just got started."

"Kick him again!"

So they did. It went on and on, until Müller felt like every inch of his body ached. He was barely conscious when they finally stopped. He vomited some blood on the ground. Then, he got yanked up by his collar again. He got dragged along for a few feet, and was ruthlessly pushed against a tree. Lt. Raine kneeled in front of him, knife in hand. Behind him, the rest of the Basterds gathered. The light of their torches threw ugly shadows on their faces, making them look like something out of a nightmare, which was exactly how Müller thought of them.

A nightmare.

"How's it goin', Steph?" Lt. Raine's voice suddenly came to him through the blur. Müller laughed a crooked laugh.

"How does it look like I'm doing?" he managed to say.

"Well, if you'd see yourself in a mirror right now, you wouldn't be too happy, I guess. But we here think that new bloody mess look we gave ya suits you like a glove."

Müller glared.

"How many good brave men have you and your men already killed?" he whispered hatefully.

Raine's stare darkened.

"For how many innocent people's deaths are you responsible?"

"It proves us right!" Müller spat. "You filthy Jewish dogs are a disease, and the world is better off when you are all wiped out, before you can infect the good people of the Third Reich."

"Your precious Third Reich is the disease, pal. I'm not sure if we're the best cure, but gettin' rid of guys like you has gotta do some good."

Müller didn't answer. So be it, he thought.

"Then, kill me if it will make you feel any good."

Raine chuckled.

"It sure will. I do hope you don't mind my boys playing with you some more before we end it all for you."

The fear was suddenly back in Müller's eyes. He didn't get another chance to say anything. Hands grabbed him, lifted him up and threw him to the ground. A gunshot echoed through the trees, and Müller felt a horrible pain in his right ankle. This time, he did scream. Their laughing rang in his ears. Another gunshot, this time in his left ankle. The Basterds shot him several more times in places were getting shot wouldn't immediately kill someone. Through his hands, in his knees… Müller lost track eventually. All he felt was pain, all he heard where his own cries, which in time turned into tired sobs. He wanted it all to end. He begged them to stop. They pulled him on his knees again.

"What did ya say, Müller?" It was Raine.

"Please… stop…" the man muttered.

"You had enough?"

"Please…"

"Say the word, Müller. You had enough, yes or no?"

"Yes…"

"Alrighty then." Müller could see Raine disappear through the blur. Instead, a large man with dark eyes appeared. He had a club of some sort over his shoulder. Müller couldn't be bothered anymore. He closed his eyes, waiting for the darkness…

It came quickly.

Donny swung his bat back over his shoulder. The usual adrenaline rushed through his veins, but something was different. He didn't feel the same satisfaction he felt whenever he put the lights out of a Nazi. It was odd. They'd never tortured any of their captives before. Sure, they had been cruel, but most of their victims had died a pretty quick death. He looked at the others, and saw several of them wearing strange and confused expressions as well. But this is normal, he thought. In the end, we're all just a bunch of ordinary guys in a extraordinary situation. They had all eagerly agreed to the idea of giving Müller a taste of his own medicine, but none of them had known what they had gotten into. Donny doubted if even Lt. Raine had fully known.

It was awfully quiet in the forest. Everyone tried their best not to look directly at the bloody, battered and bruised body in their midst, as if they felt a little guilt. As if they almost felt sorry for the dead man. It was Raine that eventually broke the tense silence.

"Let's get rid of the body." He merely said.

They dumped Müller in a trench outside the forest, nearby a road were many German soldiers passed by, so the body would surely be found by them. Then they all went back to their camp again, to get some sleep. Raine, who had immediately noticed his men where all a little spooked, had volunteered to stand on guard the first hours before dawn, so the rest could sort out their thoughts and rest properly. It wasn't like he would get much sleep anyway. He hoped that, when this war was over, they all could get to go home and lead a normal life again.

Utivich turned over in his blankets. He was already so used to sleeping in a forest that he barely heard the sounds typical for such an environment anymore. The reason he couldn't just close his eyes and drift off was the dead body they'd just left in a trench somewhere. He was convinced they'd done the right thing by killing Müller, but something had felt out of place. Surely, the man had deserved it, but still… He didn't think he'd do such things again anytime in the near future. Just shooting Nazis was much easier. And the scalping wasn't so bad either, since the only did it to the dead ones anyway. Ending someone's life with torture was a different matter. He turned again, deciding it would be best if he didn't think this through too much, in case he'd start to feel any sympathy towards any Nazis. They didn't deserve sympathy. It was as simple as that.

Left of Utivich, Hirschberg couldn't sleep either. He had initially quite enjoyed kicking the crap out of Müller, and he had been the one to fire the first bullet. He had laughed, just like everybody else. He wondered if he would've been capable of severe physical torture if there hadn't been any war, nor any Nazis to kill. He didn't think so. He didn't think anyone in his right mind could be up to it, or you had to be a psycho killer. He didn't believe he was a psycho killer. Or was he? Had this war really turned him into some kind of monster? He bit his lip, not sure what to think of himself. His last reassuring thought before he finally slipped into sleep, was that they were doing the right thing.

Omar lay on his back, staring at the few stars he could detect through the roof of the forest. He hadn't done much more than just watch when the others had gone wild on Müller. He was thinking thoughts similar to those of Utivich and Hirschberg. He was also thinking about home. He hadn't been away for that long, but he missed it nonetheless. He thought of his mother and father, and his five younger sisters. Hell, he even missed the weird old lady who sold news papers on the corner of the street. He was sure his family missed him as well, and maybe they were thinking about him at this very moment. He closed his eyes and wished from the bottom of his heart he could have the chance to seeing them all back one day.

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Done. I hope I didn't freak anyone out with my little torment scene O.o and I also hope the ending wasn't too corny :p. Yeah, poor Omar…( I just invented on the spot he has five sisters). It was interesting to explore some of the Basterd's thoughts. Also, Landa and his oversized pipe. I felt it would be good to include him somewhat. I hope he came across, he's not the easiest character to write. And some more Basterds randomness at the beginning. It was just too funny in my head to leave out :) I will include more randomness in the future, don't want things to get too serious, I just don't really like that in a story.

You may or may not have noticed that most of my chapter titles are also song titles (aside from chapter 1, I'm not sure if that's a song). The particular songs don't have much to do with the content of the chapters though. First to guess all the artists behind the songs gets a cookie. A virtual cookie that is, you can't send real cookies through the internet. But who knows what the future will bring?