Velvet Waltz [An Inglourious Basterds fic]

Untrustable

The atmosphere at the Basterds' camp crackled with tension the next morning. Not only was Private Utivich a prisoner of the SS, and almost certainly being tortured, one of SOE's men took a bullet in the chest and had to be rushed into kitchen table surgery before dawn. Stiglitz had stayed behind in a safehouse, for however long SOE could contain him.

Their target, it turns out, had been prepared, with twice the men and firepower both in and just outside of the rendezvous. To everyone else at the meeting, Stiglitz and Utivich looked like the infiltrators. Edward had not only evaded capture, he had actually reinforced his standing within the Resistance.

To Sylvia's chagrin, as soon as she slipped into the breakfast line, the men immediately clammed up.

"Excuse me..." she tapped the shoulder in front of her, belonging to a baby-faced young man who flinched to see a woman behind him. Her eyes found the name on his jacket. "...Private Hirschberg. Who is this 'Scott,'?"

"Edward Scott, some English traitor." Hirschberg scowled. "But you know all about that, don'tcha?"

Sylvia raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, I do, he was my commander."

"I meant the traitor part." The private stiffly turned around, leaving Sylvia open-mouthed.

So they had managed to find Americans who somehow knew she was a Standartenführer's mistress. Fantastic. This was sure to be a nice, relaxing stay at their camp, then.

As the line inched forward, she peered into the pot of beans. "I'm guessing no pork in that?"

"No, ma'am," the cook smiled, ladling a generous amount into her bowl. She thanked the cook, and began scanning the campsite for somewhere to sit.

Away from the other men, she spied a lanky figure out of uniform. A familiar head of wavy brown hair, elbow patches on his sweater. Could it possibly be? What the hell!!?

"Alain?" she squeaked.

Alain finished wiping his glasses and slid them back on, grinning as he made out the figure hurtling towards him. She nearly knocked him to the ground with the force of her hug.

"Love of my wretched life," Alain nearly sang, planting kisses on both cheeks. "Let's sit before you quite literally spill the beans."

Sylvia laughed, and joined him on a felled tree, which creaked beneath their weight. She took a bite of the beans. "Not bad, but everything's good when you're starving."

"Frankly," Alain sniffed. "When Americans feed me, I half expect you lot to bring out a gelatin mold."

She snorted. "How did you get here? Tell me everything."

"You first." He seemed strangely coy.

"Okay..." She pushed the beans around the bowl, watching the watery broth rush to fill in the spaces she made. "We met Edward, it turned out to be a trap, of course, so Bunny shot him in the leg and stole his radio. We've been on the run ever since."

"What I wouldn't give to see his face," Alain crowed.

"Ha, yeah. He was, as you Brits say, rather cross."

"How'd you find the camp?"

"Oh, Bunny followed the signal. She's damn good at that radio, actually." Another bite of the bland, mushy beans. "Your turn."

Alain hesitated a moment. "Well...Hans got hold of a list of informants, with Edward's name on it. He came to the newsstand to confirm with me, and...we tried to intercept your train. Obviously, we ran into this lot instead."