FIC: The Ballad Of Hugo Stiglitz And Aldo Raine
Disclaimer: QT is God. As we hearken to his Word, goin' to the movies, we write our Gospels from within our souls... being geeky nutters and cheerfully raping "the canon". Just like 2000 years ago, eh?
Rating: PG-13 so far.
A/N: As promised a while ago, the actual story behind the ambiguous slash hints in The Basterds' Epitaph. Grrrrazie to Valerie for beta reading. No thanks to linndechir for distracting me with Landa/Hellstrom. ;)
Summary: 1941.The Basterds arrive in France. Hugo Stiglitz, bitter, smarting from betrayal,finds an unexpected measure of peace with them, despite the lack of welcome. Aldo takes it upon himself to fix him,because a broken gun is dangerous on both ends.
The Ballad of Hugo Stiglitz and Aldo Raine
Spring 1941, a clouded day.
A small plane above Nazi-occupied France
-/-
"Lieutenant, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're kinda pale."
"Shut up, Donny."
"No, really."
"I said, shut the fuck up, Sarge."
"No shame in being uncomfy in a tin box five miles above a Nazi army, sir..."
Aldo growled and kicked him, ending the conversation.
His breath came fast between clenched teeth, and try as he might, he couldn't forget that they were flying. In air. It wasn't right, people flying. It wasn't fuckin' American. Looking down, he'd see clouds under his feet. And his feet tingled, already awaiting the sensation of turning into bloody mush five miles below. He hated flying. Hated it more than goddamn Hitler himself - right now, anyway.
Trust Donny to fucking notice.
He'd kill the sonuvabitch, if he dared to laugh. No, better.
Donny's wide mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile. He was tucked in tight on the wooden bench between the Lieutenant and young Utivich. Lt. Raine was stuck between Donny and the wall. He had thought it would provide him with a sense of stability and comfort, but all he could think of were that three inches of steel was all that was between him and five miles of air. Damn it.
Donny snorted a little, like he always did when he was about to laugh. He could probably feel Aldo shivering.
One thing left to do, then. Aldo summoned his best commanding voice.
"Sergeant?" Hm, not bad.
"Sir?" Donny was definitely smirking, goddam smug kike bastard. Raine leaned over to whisper into his ear, close enough for Donny's hair to tickle his nose.
"You wanna have a laugh at my expense, you little cocksucker, do it. And I'll tell 'em your first name. Your REAL first name."
The blood drained from Donny's face. "You wouldn't. Fuck no!"
Aldo smirked. "Language... Ishmael."
Donny whimpered silently, even though the whisper had been almost too quiet for him to hear over the roar of the plane. The Lieutenant's mouth was almost covering his ear, to ensure nobody else heard. No sense in wasting such a trump card. He sighed in relief when Aldo leaned back, triumphant grin and all. But the Lieutenant's merriment was short-lived and lasted for exactly ten seconds, until his eyes fell on the parachutes.
They were supposed to jump from an aeroplane. At least, he wasn't the only one with shaky knees about this.
When the time came though, it was as if his nerves had turned off, overloaded. And the jump was the last thing that stood between him and killin' Nazis. Now, either he would die, horribly but quickly... or he'd live, which had a pretty good chance of happening. He could only hang on and pray.
The responsibilities of a commanding officer, making decisions, waited below.
Rating: PG-13 so far.
A/N: As promised a while ago, the actual story behind the ambiguous slash hints in The Basterds' Epitaph. Grrrrazie to Valerie for beta reading. No thanks to linndechir for distracting me with Landa/Hellstrom. ;)
Summary: 1941.The Basterds arrive in France. Hugo Stiglitz, bitter, smarting from betrayal,finds an unexpected measure of peace with them, despite the lack of welcome. Aldo takes it upon himself to fix him,because a broken gun is dangerous on both ends.
The Ballad of Hugo Stiglitz and Aldo Raine
Spring 1941, a clouded day.
A small plane above Nazi-occupied France
-/-
"Lieutenant, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're kinda pale."
"Shut up, Donny."
"No, really."
"I said, shut the fuck up, Sarge."
"No shame in being uncomfy in a tin box five miles above a Nazi army, sir..."
Aldo growled and kicked him, ending the conversation.
His breath came fast between clenched teeth, and try as he might, he couldn't forget that they were flying. In air. It wasn't right, people flying. It wasn't fuckin' American. Looking down, he'd see clouds under his feet. And his feet tingled, already awaiting the sensation of turning into bloody mush five miles below. He hated flying. Hated it more than goddamn Hitler himself - right now, anyway.
Trust Donny to fucking notice.
He'd kill the sonuvabitch, if he dared to laugh. No, better.
Donny's wide mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile. He was tucked in tight on the wooden bench between the Lieutenant and young Utivich. Lt. Raine was stuck between Donny and the wall. He had thought it would provide him with a sense of stability and comfort, but all he could think of were that three inches of steel was all that was between him and five miles of air. Damn it.
Donny snorted a little, like he always did when he was about to laugh. He could probably feel Aldo shivering.
One thing left to do, then. Aldo summoned his best commanding voice.
"Sergeant?" Hm, not bad.
"Sir?" Donny was definitely smirking, goddam smug kike bastard. Raine leaned over to whisper into his ear, close enough for Donny's hair to tickle his nose.
"You wanna have a laugh at my expense, you little cocksucker, do it. And I'll tell 'em your first name. Your REAL first name."
The blood drained from Donny's face. "You wouldn't. Fuck no!"
Aldo smirked. "Language... Ishmael."
Donny whimpered silently, even though the whisper had been almost too quiet for him to hear over the roar of the plane. The Lieutenant's mouth was almost covering his ear, to ensure nobody else heard. No sense in wasting such a trump card. He sighed in relief when Aldo leaned back, triumphant grin and all. But the Lieutenant's merriment was short-lived and lasted for exactly ten seconds, until his eyes fell on the parachutes.
They were supposed to jump from an aeroplane. At least, he wasn't the only one with shaky knees about this.
When the time came though, it was as if his nerves had turned off, overloaded. And the jump was the last thing that stood between him and killin' Nazis. Now, either he would die, horribly but quickly... or he'd live, which had a pretty good chance of happening. He could only hang on and pray.
The responsibilities of a commanding officer, making decisions, waited below.