The Infamous Adventures of the Basterds Chapter 7: Killing in the name of, an inglourious basterds fanfic

WARNING: drinking excessively during the weekend gives you brain damage, causing your imagination to crash. Do not attempt to do what I did. Seriously.

I meant to update during the weekend, but I just had to squeeze this chapter out of me. It took me much longer than usual to get it the way I wanted it to be. I rewrote the whole thing after I wasted 7 pages and 2 hours of typing (I type real slow, I know).

This chapter is loosely based on Linndechir's one shot fanfic 'Winter', which I recommend to everybody, unless you really, really hate awkward cuddly moments. Don't get scared now, though: it's very well written and in-character and stuff. Oh, and no awkward cuddling here. I'm really trying to be original. And cuddly isn't my style.

Done ranting. Read!

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Chapter 6: Killing in the name of.

(December 1943)

The autumn rains were gradually replaced by heavy snowfall. The wind changed direction, blowing harshly from the north now instead of the west, causing the temperature to drop below zero. The trees had lost the last of their leaves. The landscape, that had been a red, orange and brown painting first, was now covered in a bright, white blanket, occasionally disrupted by the contrasting webs the tree branches wove, and by houses, farms, or small villages, that looked like they were cut straight out of a Christmas card. Little moved or made noise. Sometimes, a bird would whistle a tune, trying to break the silence that lay over the land, only to be caught seconds later by a kind of wild cat, that had hungrily been lurking for scarce becoming food. It was hard to imagine that nature was merely sleeping, waiting for spring to break the frosty grip of winter. But that was still a few months away.

The Basterds had been trekking through this freezing desert in a thin populated area in the west of France for some time now. They had been slowed down somewhat, having to look for empty barns, mills, or any sort of abandoned building to spend the nights, which had become too cold to camp outside. No one wanted to freeze to death in their sleep.

Now, they were once again looking for a place to stay. It was late in the afternoon. Lt. Raine cast a rather concerned look at the sky. It was a very light shade of grey, and he could practically smell the snow the clouds carried, even if most people said you couldn't smell snow, because, well, snow didn't really have a smell. But it was about to snow again alright. The Basterds were walking along the edge of a forest. They didn't need to worry too much about any Germans. There weren't many of them around here, in fact, they hadn't encountered any of them for almost a week now, despite their efforts to catch a patrol and staying on the move, trying to ignore the weather. Apparently, they were the only ones insane enough to spend more than five minutes outside, not that they had much of a choice anyway. The situation got on their nerves.

Things didn't get much better. The wind, that had been pretty much absent the whole day, now started to blow heavily again. It wasn't long before the first snowflakes fell. The men narrowed their eyes, all of them looking around for a building of some kind, anything with walls and a roof. The wind whipped the snow in their faces, causing their cheeks and noses to go numb. Soon, they were caught in a snowstorm. They barely could see ahead anymore, making the search for a building extremely difficult, and the trees right of them didn't protect them much.

They struggled on. Lt. Raine knew it wasn't a good idea to keep going in this storm, but stopping an waiting it out probably was an even worse idea. The risk of all of them dying in the storm was more real then he dared to admit. Funny, he thought, I always imagined I'd die of old age or somethin'. Or more likely, a bullet. He tried to think of something that could save their asses out of this mess, but it felt as if half of his brain had already frozen over.

"Lieutenant!"

Raine stopped, and looked behind him. He could vaguely distinguish Hirschberg through the falling snow, as he was the shortest, and he was pointing at something.

"I saw something over there!" he called.

"Are you sure?" Raine called back.

"Pretty damn sure, sir!"

"Alright, let's check it out."

With Hirschberg at the front now, The Basterds made their way through the increasing snowfall. Hirschberg had been right. Soon, they all could see the tall and very welcomingly looking shape of an old windmill. They hurried to the door, which opened easily. Once inside, they all let out sighs of relief, brushing the snow of their clothes. It was still freezing inside, but at least they were out of the storm.

The mill looked like there hadn't been anyone in for a long time. The round space was very dusty, and smelled of rotting wood and something they couldn't really put their finger on. There were only two windows, both covered in dirt and old cobwebs. By the looks of it, there had been stairs leading up to the second floor, but something had caused the wooden construction to collapse.

The Basterds settled down, ate something, and talked or played card games for the rest of the evening. Even after having to stick with each other for weeks, they hadn't grown tired of each other yet. On the contrary, they had formed a strong bond, knowing they could rely on each other no matter what. After all, they all played the same dangerous game. And frankly, they had become slightly addicted to danger.

But for the last two weeks, the atmosphere in the group had changed. No one would go as far as say it out loud, but since Lt. Raine had decided to add one Hugo Stiglitz to the group, things had been off. Uncomfortable almost. Stiglitz was a stranger, and the fact that he rarely said anything and usually sat a bit away from them, didn't help anyone getting used to him either.

Donny, who had been watching the game Utivich, Kagan, Sakowitz and Omar were playing, tore his gaze away from them, and looked over his left shoulder, to where Stiglitz had chosen to sit down, just outside the circle of light from the candles in the middle of the room, were everyone else was gathered. He was leaning against the wall, seemingly doing nothing more but stare at the others, and listening to the howling wind that still blew outside the mill. Donny had been thinking a lot lately. At first, he hadn't been too keen about Lt. Raine's idea, and, as he had told himself, had kept an eye out. Stiglitz hadn't acted suspicious in any way; he enjoyed killing his countrymen a little too much to be a spy or something. But Donny had started to wonder why Stiglitz did it. What had Germany done to him to make him hate his own country so much?

The others weren't so curious. Most of them thought Stiglitz was a psycho, just sane enough to tell he'd better stick to their side if he wanted to live for some time longer. The only emotions he seemed to posses were hatred, determination, and a morbid kind of pleasure. No one could really guess how stable the guy was. Surely, they admired his little murder frenzy he was known for, and whenever they attacked an enemy patrol, he really prove his worth as a member of the Basterds. But when they weren't killing any Nazi's, Stiglitz kept to himself, and the others hadn't bothered to make him feel any more included. Lt. Raine, who seemed to trust him most, sometimes asked for his advice, seeing as he knew more about the German army then any of them, and Wicki would sometimes have short conversations in German with him.

But so far, no one had really tried to find out what Stiglitz was like underneath his distant and stoic shell.

Later that night, Donny sat alone by the one candle that was still burning, with his baseball bat in his hands, looking over the names carved into it. He didn't so much as read them (he knew them all by heart anyway), but it made him feel comfortable to know that back home, there were so many people supporting his cause. His thoughts weren't about home now, though. What really occupied his mind was the man he could see from the corner of his eye. Stiglitz was, besides Donny, the only one awake. He was still sitting in the same place, playing with the knife he'd took from one of his victims.

Donny was thinking he should talk with his new team mate. He had noticed they had more in common then he'd initially thought. They both had the same rank in their respective armies, even if Stiglitz wasn't a part of his army anymore. They both killed Nazis with a similar, insane pleasure, even though Donny let his more gentle nature overrule that little psycho corner of his mind whenever he wasn't shooting Germans or crushing their skulls. And, apparently, they both liked to stay up late.

Donny put his bat aside, got up, and walked over to Stiglitz. He sat down, and started digging around in his pockets, looking for the nearly empty pack of cigarettes he was sure he had on him somewhere. Stiglitz looked at him with a mix of mild irritation and curiosity on his face. Donny finally found his pack of smokes, and saw he had just two left. Oh well.

"Here," he said, offering one to Stiglitz. He looked at it rather skeptically, but took it anyway. Donny in the meantime lit a match, set fire to his cigarette, inhaled and passed the still burning match to his companion. Stiglitz took it and lit his own, never taking his gaze of Donny, looking more curious than ever. Donny chose to ignore that gaze for the moment, taking another drag.

"So," he said at length, "how do you like it with us so far?"

Stiglitz didn't immediately answer, and Donny let him take his time.

"It's good." he simply replied.

"Better then prison?" Donny asked, half smiling at him.

"Much better." Stiglitz sort of half smiled back. Then, silence fell between them, and they both listened to the wind that was still blowing harshly outside, and the slow breathing of the others, while they all lay close together to benefit from each other's body heat. It wasn't that cold in the mill, but sleeping was easier when you felt warm.

"Why are you doing this anyway?" Donny asked. Stiglitz looked at him, thoughtful.

"Why are you doing this?"

Donny frowned at his answer, slightly surprised Stiglitz seemed interested about his motivations. They were obvious enough.

"Well, because the Nazis deserve it for what they do to our people."

My people, he corrected himself mentally. Stiglitz was about as Jewish as Hitler was. He noticed Stiglitz had cleverly turned the conversation around, as if he didn't want to talk about what fueled him. He half considered to let the subject rest, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"But what's in it for you, killing your own people?"

Stiglitz stared ahead this time, an odd look on his face, as if he didn't know the answer for sure. Donny frowned, and tried to guess what the hell was going on inside Stiglitz's head.

"Like you said, they deserve it." he replied.

"And?" Donny felt there had to be more. He didn't have all that much psychological insight, but this was anything but a satisfying answer.

The longest silence yet fell between them. Donny thought he should've kept his mouth shut, when Stiglitz finally responded.

"What Germany is doing is wrong. It is my country, but I can't stay loyal when it's causing so much suffering."

Donny gawked at him in surprise. Wait a minute, this guy has morals? Stiglitz raised an eyebrow at him. Donny realized how stupid he had to look, and got his face straight again, feeling awkward. But his mind raced on. It seemed the most insane guy in the Basterds wasn't that insane after all. There was much, much more to Hugo Stiglitz then met the eye. Donny knew he'd never know the man through and through, but at least, he knew what made him tick in this war. He wondered if Lt. Raine knew. He probably did. Raine had a gift for reading people like a book, something Donny had to admit he was a little jealous of. But he had actually gotten to know Stiglitz a little better, and he felt rather proud of it as he was the first in the group to do so.

Donny stifled a yawn. He had no idea what time it was, but he guessed it had to be pretty late already. He finally felt the effects of the snowstorm on his energy level.

"I'm going to sleep." he said, getting up, leaving Stiglitz to his thoughts. He walked back to the others, took his blankets and lay down next to Omar. He turned about for some time until he found a comfortable position to sleep, and closed his eyes, the exhaustion now getting to him completely. Some time later, he felt some one next to him, and could've sworn he heard a mumbled "Thanks for the cigarette." , before he finally drifted off into his dreams and away from the cares of the world.

There. Character development. Yes, lots of Stiglitz again, he's really very interesting to write. And lots of Donny, because he's my favorite character. Deal with it.

Okay, I'm not all that happy with this chapter, it just took me too long to get it right. I hope it's alright though. No action, I know, but I'll make up for that in the next chapters. I got some great ideas that hopefully will get you all on the edge of your seats :) The Nazis just can't let our favorite Jewish-American guerilla army kill unharmed, right? Oops, maybe I said a little too much… Meh.

Review! The Dark Side compels you…