Disclaimer: I in no way own the rights to Inglourious Basterds or any of its characters. Being as I wasn't sure of the dates of "Operation Kino," however, I made up my own. These comments and views are not my own. I thought the actor did an excellent job portraying his character and I wanted to fill in his future. I intend no offense to any ethnic/religious/cultural groups, and the story will reflect that.

June 13,1944

I suppose one could argue that what happened to me was fair. One might even argue that it wasn't enough. Wasn't I the one responsible for the death of countless innocents, certainly numbering into the tens of thousands? Yet here I am, walking away from the war with my life intact, though I cannot say the same for my face. I had personally viewed the bodies of viciously beaten and scalped Nazis, courtesy of the very group I had somehow depended on to vindicate me. These slaughtered men were merely foot soldiers, men simply carrying out wartime duties. Bakers, tailors, shopkeepers, blacksmiths. I, on the other hand, was for all intents and purposes, a mercenary, one who had spent years earning my infamous nickname. I was personally responsible for the deaths of innocent men, women and children who had never wronged me in any way. And yet, I'm alive, by my own volition.

Obviously the end was nigh: millions upon millions of Russians were practically at our doorstep, with British and American troops landing all along the shores of our occupied lands. As soon as our forces took out the Russians, in particular, more would appear in their place—the new ones even more vengeful than the last. I had escaped this inevitable aftermath with a flesh wound, as denigrating as it was—the very symbol I had come to represent, and later—of course, in hindsight—to regret.

The Führer always rubbed me the wrong way, even though the masses tended to worship his every word. Maybe it was his perpetual sweatiness that seemed to indicate he knew what he said was absurd, and his knowledge that he could be called out at any time. Perhaps it was that stupid little Chaplin moustache, on second thought. I never was one for the comedies, and certainly not one to watching that simpering American fool. Only after Hitler had assumed power, I read his belligerent book, My Struggle, and felt oddly enough at that time that his prison sentence wasn't enough. Frankly, the man was insane. Yes, Germany was going through difficult times, what with the humiliating treaty we had to sign at the end of World War I, but really, to blame it on a harmless, albeit small, subset of civilians? They weren't even the ones who forced us to sign that treaty.

Though I could see the overall flaw in the Führer's plans, I am not claiming to be a tenderhearted person. Bridget von Hammersmark, as lovely as she was, simply had to die. Did she honestly believe she could slip those I-talians past me without suspicion? Maybe she could have fooled the majority of the crowd, but to believe that she alone would be the sole German receiving credit for Operation Kino, well—I couldn't have that. Her death was her own fault. She should have known better than to challenge me. I saw right through her scheme. And mountain climbing, of all activities? How preposterous! To imagine her mountain climbing still sends me into fits of laughter. I'm sorry; I've just been rendered incapable of finishing what I was going to say. I still cannot stop laughing about her "mountain climbing" adventures.

A/N: The action picks up in chapter 3.