Chapter6—Hydrogen Peroxide

The officer stood erect in front of his Fuhrer who was clutching his forehead. His fist pounded onto the desk and the report in German.

"So you mean to tell me—that they burned down the whole annex in Paris and LEFT WITHOUT A TRACE?" the mustachioed man growled in German, violently flinging his arms in his fury.

"Yes, mein fuhrer. That is what my errand boy reported. After an urgent trip to the repair shop, the whole place was in smithereens. Corpses littered everywhere and no sign of the perpetrators."

"Those Jewish dogs…they think they can threaten my boys and have us on the run? I'LL THROW THEIR CARCASSES INTO THEIR SYNAGOGUES AND BURN IT ALL TO RUBBLE AND THROW THE ASHES INTO THE TROUGHS OF PIGS!"

The Fuhrer pushed the button of his desk communicator. His secretary's voice buzzed from the speaker.

"Yes, mein Fuhrer?"

"Franz. Clear my schedule. I am going away for awhile…"

"Yes, mein Fuhrer."

Hugo Stiglitz was about to polish his blade. Inside the lonesome tunnel he contemplated stabbing and knifing several Nazi schmucks who dared question his activities while guarding the ballroom doors as the others finished the job the other night.

Screams and shouts penetrated the vaulted walls. Stiglitz rushed outside where he was greeted by a frantic Zimmerman, Hirschberg climbing a tree, Donny barking orders from its base, Aldo shouting to Donny from atop the bridge and Maria screaming but nowhere to be found. Every other Basterd was with Aldo, taking aim at something on the other side. Stiglitz got his Karabiner and joined in the aiming.

"Do you got a clear shot?" Donny hollered.

"I'm flippin' trying! She's in the way!" Hirschberg attempted fixing a shot with his shotgun.

"AAAAAHHHHH! Donny! Aldo! Guys!" Maria yelled. "Aim for the fucking tires, not me! AAAAHHHH!"

Ignoring the shots, the two Nazis just carried on driving the cycle, dragging the 15-year old by the hair, knotted tightly behind the sidecar. Some strands were already broken or were near breaking, split or frayed.

Yet bad hair was equivalent to a scratch compared to her back getting ravaged by friction and the terrain. Saying it felt like a scalping was an understatement. She continued to scream.

"Damn, witch doesn't know how to shut up," the driver said to his partner in the sidecar.

Her colleagues' bullets hit dirt, leaves, bark. Anything but the—

"NAILED IT!" Hirschberg cried, nearly slipping off the branch between his legs. The driver slumped onto the handles as the man in the sidecar reached for the bloody brakes.

The cycled curbed into an Oak as the man lurched in inertia and hit his forehead at the trunk with Maria's nape hitting the sidecar bumper. He rushed out to the writhing girl, whipped out his Luger and pointed it at the woman and grasping her neck with the other hand, letting her approaching teammates grasp a full view of his threat.

"Tell him "kill her and we shoot."" Aldo ordered Wicki to translate.

The soldier shouted profanities and was about to threaten to press the trigger.

The blood flowed from the laceration at his neck as his forehead smacked onto the dried leaves. Maria tucked her nail file back into her pocket.

Donny entered the lighted alcove with the hissing girl in his arms. The rest of the men followed. He laid her belly-down onto a table as Stiglitz and Aldo started slashing at her shirt, careful to miss her bra. Maria buried her face in her folded arms. In her boots her toes curled so tight that inside they turned pale. She tried not to kick.

"Gimme the scraps. There's hydrogen peroxide in my bag."

The liquid was poured on her wounds as she bit hard into the remnants of her clothes, eyes shut tight. It stung horribly and still hurt.

"Can you manage?" Aldo's tone, unfazed by his concern for one of his men, still maintained the thick Appalachian accent.

"Just give me my clothes and stuff."

"Awright, boys. Backup," Donny signaled for the men to clear the room.

When Maria came out, hair unruly, torso bandaged from her shallow chest to below where her ribcage ends, her jacket hanging by her shoulders, the Basterds gathered over some notes the Nazis had.

"Well, good mornin' sunshine," Aldo greeted. "Had a nice rest?"

"Would've been nicer if my backside hadn't been stinging like a motherfucking—" she hissed, grabbing her shoulder. "Anyway, thanks for asking. What's up?"

"New info," Utivich said.

"The fricken fuhrer's comin' to town," Hirschberg concluded.

"So…" she combed through her matted hair with her fingers. "What, ow, ugh, we do, ow, now?" The more she twisted and tugged, the more knotted it got. It looked disgusting a some bunches started to shed.

"Kid," Donny stared. "You look like something the cat dragged in."

"Care to oblige her, Donnowitz?" Aldo asked.

"I could give her a shot."

Maria didn't complain when Donny borrowed a blade. Not until she saw her reflection 25 minutes later…

"GAH! The fuck is that?" It was uneven at the shoulders, the ends had split even more and since she had naturally wavy or frizzy hair, it exploded into a poof.

The Basterds didn't know who to laugh at.

"Guess you didn't exactly inherit your dad's skill, eh Donnowitz?"

Donny grabbed Hirschberg's collar and was about to throw a punch except it landed in his lieutenant's palm instead. Their commanding officer went to their youngest soldier.

"Shit, Donnwitz. It looks like shit."

"Well that's real reassuring, boss," Maria scowled.

"Shoo', Av'. I never said it was impossible to fix this piece a crap," Aldo tilted her head in different angles. "Stiglitz. Come over here an' help me." Aldo unsheathed his knife. Maria stared.

"Ugh, boss? That's the knife you use to scalp, right?"

"Yup."

"…just checking."

She sat on the leaves, hugging her knees as the two sliced away at dead layers and clumps. Shreds of black-brunette hair lined near her bottom.

Eventually, the teenager stared at her reflection once more. It was close to the scalp and nape but not thin. Uneven but it looked alright.

"Now you look like a boy," Aldo sheathed his bowie. "You live with boys, you fight with boys, might as well look like a boy. Not questionin' your ladyship or nuthin'. Just sayin'."

She stared at the compact.

"Not bad. Anyway. The plan?"