Hi, maybe you already have read this story but this is the rectified version, thanks to Sierra Sutherwinds who accepted to help me with that.
So, thanks Sierra
And for the others, good reading !
Summary : a Cat in Stalag 13.
Disclaimer : nothing belongs to me, except the cat of course.
Ol'Jack
There was a boring atmosphere inside the barrack two; no talking, no heavy noises. Violent flashes lit up the falling rain, causing dancing shadows on the floor and walls.
Corporal Peter Newkirk of the RAF was trying to sleep after having read a particularly bad novel for the third time. It was not as if they had a real choice of books, though. He sighed when a loud flash scratched the clouds. It had been a very long day.
Sergeant Andrew Carter was sitting at the table focused on making a house of cards. Despite his concentration, the house kept falling after two hours.
The French man of the barrack, Corporal Louis Lebeau was the only one who did not seem to be bored, his mind focused on his cooking. Dinner would be ready soon: potatoes, again, with some rabbit meat they brought from their last mission in town. Being a prisoner of war did not mean being forced to eat the same horrible soup every day.
Speaking of missions, the bunk hiding the tunnel entrance opened on the American sergeant James Kinchloe. He seemed as bored as the others. That could mean only one thing, no mission from London to change the monotony of the life in the camp.
Suddenly, Carter squeaked, bringing on him everyone's attention. A gust of wind coming through the open door had tumbled down his house of cards. However, the actual reason of his surprise was on the floor. A big black cat, soaked by the rain, entered slowly through the door he had just pushed with his head.
Ignoring the men staring at him, the animal approached the stove. He sat down, licking his fur to help it dry. Lebeau was first out of shock and knelt down in front of the newcomer.
"Hey, kitty, kitty."
He reached out in an attempt to caress the black fur but the cat was not too cooperative. Lebeau barely had time to remove his hand before the cat scratched his fingers. The cat warned him with a wicked look. A long scar closed one of his eyes and the other was red.
The French cook, although a little disappointed, understood the hint. "OK. Not kitty, kitty then."
"I like this little mate," Newkirk laughed slightly from the top of his bunk.
"I think he's kind of creepy," Carter corrected. "He's black, one red eye... and the storm outside. He could be the devil in disguise. I've heard that the devil takes the form of a black cat, sometimes."
Strangely, no one laughed at the sergeant's fantasies. Night began to fall on Stalag 13, a night with noisy lightning... a frightening night. Newkirk was the only one who laughed but he did not mean to mock any one. "Maybe it's an angel in disguise," he said.
"Angels are fair. Demons are dark. And he's got a red eye," replied Carter.
"Have you ever seen an angel?" Asked Newkirk as he crouched in front of the subject in question.
"Nope, but they are bright."
"I used to think like that when I was a wee lad but me sister kept telling me that Ol'Jack was an angel," said the English corporal, looking at the cat in the eye.
"What's an Old Jack?" Asked Lebeau, curious about his friend's peculiar attitude. Newkirk was not much of a believer, as far as he knew.
"It was a cat, pretty much like this one but he had two deep blue eyes. He used to come home, grab some food and take a nap. Mavis loved him. She wanted to call him Ol' Peter because he was grumpy, not really a touchy loving fellow. Just like me, said she. But we chose 'Jack' because I didn't want to have a cat responding to me name."
"Did it have another house?" Kinch asked.
"We never knew where he came from. The streets of London are up its ears of wild cats, you know. Mavis said he was his guardian angel because he was always there when she was sad or alone. I wasn't there much... and when our mum… Well, he was there too, looking after us."
"You really think Old Jack was an angel?" Carter asked with a childlike hope.
"Why, no," Newkirk answered. "But he was a good cat. A good friend."
All the while, Newkirk had kept his eyes on the black cat, who in turn, kept staring at him. It was as though they were scanning each other.
"So, what do you think Ol'Jack?"
Unexpectedly, the animal let out a long "Miau," that sounded like an answer. Newkirk reached out and, to everybody's amazement, the cat did not crawl away. He stayed there, purring like an old engine as Newkirk pet him on the head.
"You maybe not as grumpy after all," the corporal laughed.
oOo
The colonel Robert Hogan, senior officer in camp, joined his men for dinner. He was surprised to find his English corporal sitting on is bunk with a not-so friendly cat. Hogan had barely come close to caress the animal when he was bitten in one finger. Although the wound was very superficial, the colonel decided not to approach the creature again. The little monster jumped on the table to have a closer look on the menu and seemed to smirk at Hogan with his red eye at the same time.
Lebeau put a bowl of meat and potatoes next to Newkirk's plate. The cat seemed to appreciate the gesture and sat on the table to begin his dinner.
Colonel Hogan's first impression was that Carter had brought the cat in the barrack. After all, he was always the one falling in love with rabbits, mice and any other pets he had met. However, this time, Newkirk seemed fascinated with the beast. In fact, the sentiment was mutual, although there was something else. The Englishman's blue eyes glowed, as if he had just woken up from a long sleep. There was a sort of happiness, different from the usual. Only because of that, Hogan did not even try to explain to his men why they could not have a pet in a POW camp.
"Do you think he could kill Felix?" Carter asked suddenly, looking at the cat. That was the name they have given to their pet mouse. He lived on the walls, and no one was sure if it was just one Felix or an entire family.
"Mice are not stupid, they don't come out if there is a potential danger in the room," said Kinch in a reassuring way.
"So, there is a danger?"
"It's a cat, Andrew. Cats eat mice. It's the way it's always been," Newkirk shrugged. He was not helping at all.
"Don't worry Andrew," Lebeau said, glaring at the English corporal. "I'll feed the monster and he won't have reasons to eat Felix."
"Hey, he's not a monster!" Newkirk protested.
"It's an angel," Carter said, absolutely convinced of his own words. He was also sure that this black cat was a mice killer, though.
"It is a what?" Hogan asked with a puzzled look. Maybe imprisonment was finally driving his men crazy.
oOo
Hogan woke up early the next morning. The rain had slowed down during the night but now, it was falling hard again. Hogan dressed up and left his room, sure that he would not be the only one to be disturb by the rain rattling on the roof. He was wrong. All the men were sleeping like babies. It was not just that they looked immersed in a deep sleep, their faces were peaceful.
Quietly, Hogan put the coffee-pot on the stove. Once the coffee warm enough, he sat on a chair to enjoy it.
A noise drew his attention to Newkirk's bunk. The corporal deep asleep, with the same peaceful expression than the others. The noise came from the black cat, purring as he huddled up to the English man chest, searching for heat. Half asleep like that, the monster almost turned into the angel-cat that Carter had been talking about the night before. Almost was a good word to put it. Hogan still felt the little fang in his poor finger.
"Roll call!" Groaned a heavy voice as the wind opened violently the door and slammed it against the wall.
The big German sergeant Schultz hurried in the barrack, flooding the floor with his wet clothes.
"I pass my turn," Newkirk grumbled, trying to return to his dreams. "I'm not going outside with that bloody rain."
"I was outside. You can too," argued the soaked German.
"You got money for that."
"Colonel Hogan," Schultz appealed to him as his last hope.
The colonel in question smiled at the big man's distress.
"Everyone up," he just needed to say. His orders were instantly followed. Even the cranky Englishman got up at once.
"What is that?" Asked Schultz, staring at the black cat for the first time.
"It's a cat," Hogan answered as a matter of fact.
Schultz looked at the animal for a moment and shuddered when the red eye focused on him.
"I have seen nothing," he mumbled, rolling his eyes. Then, he yelled at the men, dressing up reluctantly as if delaying their time to go outside.
"Raus! Schnell!"
" Ja, Ja…" responded lazily some of the prisoners.
oOo
Two brief minutes under the rain and everyone was soaking wet and shivering. The wind was so strong that they had to keep caps and hats in their hands to prevent them from flying above the barbed wire. Schultz feared that the poor prisoners would catch pneumonia in that weather, so he rushed to count their heads. Unfortunately, the commandant did not seem to be in a hurry as he kept everybody waiting.
"Qu'est ce qu'il fait cet imbécile de Klink! Il attend qu'on meure tous de froid ou quoi?" Shouted suddenly Lebeau in his native language. He did not require translation, everybody agreed with the French corporal.
"I think the imbecile is finally coming," the Englishman said, trying to keep his hands warm in his pockets. But his wet jacket was not helpful.
Colonel Klink, German commandant of the camp, was approaching the prisoners lines. He stopped in front of them and waited for Schultz's report.
"All present and accounted for!"
"Danke sergeant. They can return on the barracks. Colonel Ritter will not be here today because of the storm. He should come tomorrow."
"Jawohl Herr Kommandant!"
Schultz saluted his colonel and dismissed the prisoners who where more than happy to run inside the barracks.
"Did you hear that?" Colonel Hogan asked once they all were inside.
"I usually can't hear anything with water in me ears," said Newkirk, putting off his wet jacket and urgently using it as a substitute handkerchief to stop his sneeze.
Hogan looked around that the Englishman was not the only one suffering from the morning cold shower. Sneezes and runny noses were all around. He remembered suddenly that he was shivering too.
"Okay, fellas, put on some dry clothes before you die of pneumonia. We'll talk about this colonel Ritter later."
oOo
Sometimes, Hogan felt like the father of a big and troublesome family. It might sound like fun all the way, but it could be terribly exhausting most of the time. He changed into drier clothes and opened his door. He had barely crossed the room when he caught a conversation unworthy of military men or adults for all that mattered.
"It's not fair!" Shouted Carter.
"War is not fair." Newkirk was on his bunk, petting Old Jack on his lap.
The rest of the men were by the stove, shivering in their blankets.
"He's warm and I'm cold. You can lend him to me for a while, can't you?"
"But I'm the only one he fancies," said Newkirk. "You don't want to be scratched all over, do you? So take your blanket like anybody else and shut up."
"Boys!" Barked the colonel, wanting to put an end to it. "We have more important things to do."
"You mean about that colonel?" Asked Kinch, playing cards. He was just grateful for not having to listen to his friends' argument anymore.
"What colonel is that, Colonel?" Asked the English corporal.
Hogan sighed with exasperation. desperate. He was too old for those things.
"Colonel Ritter. A German. He'll be at the camp tomorrow. I want to know everything about him. I don't really like surprise guests."
"Absolutely, that's rude to drop by without a warning phone call," Kinch agreed with a smile.
"You never have enough food when it happens," nodded Carter.
"You don't have to worry about that, Carter," said Hogan. "I always find something for to a Kraut colonel."
"That really worries me," said Newkirk.
Hogan turned to him and rolled his eyes. Newkirk cradled held his pet in his arms like a baby. His chin was on the cat's head right between two cute and quivering black ears. The cat seemed to like it and stared deeply at Hogan.
I'm really too old for this job, thought the colonel.
oOo
Dear Mavis,
Here at Stalag 13, things don't change. It's the same routine again and again. But don't worry about that because it feels all right. Reading, playing cards with the guys, or should I say, beating the poor blokes at the game. You know me; I have the touch with cards and no I don't cheat. Not always the time.
Maybe the main problem here is the food. Lebeau never listens to me and I have to eat his rubbish dishes with frogs if I don't want to starve. I'm sure that someday we'll find snails in our soup. There are a lot of them when it rains around the barracks and I can't help looking at them with some apprehension.
Speaking of rain, weather has been awful these days. We have to stay in the barracks, occupying our minds with stuff and such. However, we had a surprise. You remember Old Jack? He is here. It's not exactly the same but he has this grumpy temperament you loved.
He's got only one eye, a red eye and Andrew was afraid that he could be the devil, disguised as a black cat. So, I tell him the story of our Old Jack and now he's sure the cat is an angel who came with the rain. Infantile, isn't he? Anyway, this cat reminds me of the times we were at home me, you, my lovely little sister and our guardian angel in the shape of a black cat and who brought the blue sky in his eyes.
I miss you but with Old Jack here, it's like having a little piece of home with me.
Your Brother who loves you.
Newkirk put his pen on the table and blew out the candle. It was late or almost, he could not tell. After tossing and turning in his bed without getting any sleep, he decided to spend the time writing a letter to his sister.
The others were all asleep. No one seemed to mind the weak light. Newkirk knew that he was not allowed to be up this late, but Schultz, the rule enforcer, was probably fast asleep by now.
Newkirk carefully slipped the letter under his mattress where the Old Jack was slightly snoring. He took a look at the lower bunk and frown to see his friend Carter shuddering in his sleep. Roll calls under the rain had successfully given him a cold. Newkirk gently caught the black cat and placed him on his friend's bunk, next to his chest.
"There little mate, keep him warm."
Newkirk climbed up his own bunk and fell asleep as soon as his head touched the mattress.
oOo
After three days of rain, it finally stopped, making way for the snow. A white coat had covered the camp overnight.
"Hey, we could do a snow fight after roll call!" Carter suggested enthusiastically.
"Yeah, you do that," Newkirk mumbled, rolling his eyes at the idea. The rain had stop but the cold was still there.
Carter smiled at him, taking his answer for a yes. The Englishman raised his eyes toward the gray sky, silently praying for mental sanity.
"There he is," said Hogan, as a car entered the Stalag. "Our guest is here."
"I wonder why this colonel Ritter returned from the Russian front. It's not natural, for a living soldier, that is," Sergeant Kinchloe commented.
"I think I have an answer to that," Hogan said, watching the man getting out the car. Ritter was a Luftwaffe colonel, younger than Klink, but still a colonel and that was not good for Stalag 13 business. He talked a moment with the commandant before walking toward the prisoners' line.
"Now, we know why he's back to his mother land," Hogan noticed.
The German had not been spared from battle. His right arm and right eye were missing. He wore an eye patch instead, but in some ways, he was one of the lucky ones. He was still alive and walking. Newkirk smirked slightly, wondering what his cat would look like with an eye patch like that.
"Do you have a problem, corporal?" Colonel Ritter reacted immediately as he stood right in front of Newkirk.
"No, sir!" The English shouted, in a perfect parody of respectful manners.
The German grimaced but said nothing, turning back to Klink's office. The commandant dismissed the prisoners and followed his guest.
"Un parfait boche. I'm going to love him," joked Lebeau. "Hopefully he won't stay too long."
"Don't speak too fast Louis. I have good reasons to believe that he may be our new commandant…"
"What?"
There were protests all around.
"You're not serious colonel," said Lebeau
"Oh, I am, and I don't like the idea at all." Hogan shook his head. "A colonel who can't fight anymore needs a new affectation."
"Do you think that Klink knows about that?" Newkirk asked.
"What do you think?" Hogan returned the question with a sad look.
"Blimey, we're in trouble."
Klink, the iron colonel, was never aware of anything, much less of his own situation. Hogan tapped Newkirk on the shoulder and went into Klink's office.
"Wasn't it you complaining about the lack of action?" Lebeau asked his English friend.
"Me?" Newkirk stared innocently at him. Before he could say anything else, a big snow ball crashed on his face. A little far from him, there was Carter staring defiantly.
Newkirk slowly wiped off the snow and said nothing. The others prisoners waited for a reaction against the perpetrator. Instead of getting angry, the English corporal squatted digging with his hand into the snow. He kneaded a handful very carefully.
While everyone thought he was going to threw it back to Carter, he grinned mischievously and turned the shot against Lebeau's surprise face.
"Non mais ça va pas ? What are you doing?"
"Snow fight!" Newkirk shouted, smiling as snow balls began to fly across the camp.
oOo
"Commandant!" Shouted Hogan, entering in the office without knocking, interrupting intentionally a discussion between the two German colonels.
"Hooogan. What are you doing here?"
"Who is this man?" Asked curiously Colonel Ritter.
"Nobody," Klink answered, glaring at the prisoner.
"Nobody ?" Hogan repeated, hurt in his feelings. He turned toward Ritter and introduced himself.
"Colonel Robert Hogan, US Air Force, senior officer in camp, sir."
"What do you want, Hogan?" Klink asked with exasperation.
"I wanted to present you the guys' congratulations, Colonel," said Hogan, smiling proudly at the commandant.
"Oh, thank you," Klink smiled back before frowning. "Congratulations for what?"
"Your promotion, sir."
"Promotion?"
"Yes. Back to the fight! Maybe you'll have the chance to join the east front. Why didn't you tell me that you decided to leave us? The boys were a little sad when they heard the new but I'm sure they'll learn to love the new commandant in the same way they love you."
As Hogan was speaking, Klink's face was literally falling.
"Wha… What?"
The American colonel looked at his commandant, faking the realization that he may have made a mistake. "Oh, you are not leaving, then?"
"No!" Klink yelled. "Why should I leave?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Hogan said, apparently embarrassed. "I was sure that…" Began the American, looking from Klink to Ritter. He wanted to make sure that Klink would understand the link between the rumors and the new arrival.
As soon as the commandant turned to Ritter, Hogan knew that his job was done and he could leave. He kept his expression of embarrassment and muttered a last sorry, before closing the door after him.
"Do you know something about this, colonel Ritter?"
Hogan heard Klink asked, behind the closed door. Smiling with satisfaction, Hogan kissed Hilda's forehead before coming out the building. The minute he stepped outside, he received a cold snow ball on his chest.
"Sorry colonel."
He recognized the French accent, but as he raised his head, the cook was already returning on the battle. He sat down on a step, taking time to watch his men playing and laughing like children. Around them, there were barbered wire and guards.
oOo
"There. Don't move, Ol'Jack. It's nearly done," Newkirk whispered to the cat.
Lebeau who had just begun to prepare dinner, turned his head to the table where Newkirk was sitting. The cat was on the table, immobile and quiet. The Frenchman was a little jealous. Newkirk could do anything to the cat without a protest from the pet, while the others prisoners couldn't even get close. Anything was the word. Ol'Jack was now bearing a black eye patch which made him look like a pirate.
"Poor cat…" The cook smiled, returning to his soup.
The cat in question stretched and had a long yawn before jumping on the chair, next to the stove. He was clearly waiting for something. Lebeau took a spoon and plunge it into the soup. He presented the spoon to the cat, who licked it carefully and meowed of satisfaction.
"Glad to have your approval," joked the French man.
"Is dinner is ready?" Asked Hogan as he entered the room. He had spent a few hours in his quarters, searching a solution to save Klink and all their underground operation at the same time. "I'm starving!" He stopped walking when he saw the cat, sitting on the chair and staring at him as he usually did.
"What happened to this cat?" He asked, stunned.
"He looks cute, doesn't he?"
Listening to his English corporal using the term 'cute' to describe a cat definitely convinced the colonel that he might be the only one in the camp who was not going totally crazy. At least, he hoped so.
A foolish idea began to form in Hogan's mind. Suddenly, he realized that he may be as mad as his men. "He looks like a Kraut, doesn't he?"
"Now, that's not really nice," Newkirk commented, a little disappointed on the colonel's observation.
"But it's perfect!" The colonel continued, grinning with satisfaction for his new plan.
"Oh, seigneur," said Lebeau, rolling his eyes. "I think our colonel has an idea."
"Oh yeah," confirmed Hogan while his devilish smile frightened the prisoners.
To be continued…
I hope you liked it. Maybe a little review ?
I'll try to write the next chapter as soon as possible but I have a lot of work so it will not be too soon…