Here is chapter 2, enjoy !
In the middle of the night, the stove in the silent quarters of the camp's commandant, discreetly slid. Colonel Klink was deeply asleep in his bedroom, turning and murmuring under his blankets. Only the pale moon lit up the room on this quiet night.
A creaking door, a creaking floor and a shadow run swiftly on the wall.
Suddenly the door hit the wall, pushed by an invisible hand, awaking violently the German colonel.
"Wa… Was ist das?" Klink panicked, looking around the darkened room, searching for the origin of the frightening noise. Like a kid afraid of the monster in the closet, the grown man raised his sheets under his chin as a shield. And a monster there was.
"Mraaaow."
Not in control of his emotions anymore, the iron eagle let a girly scream cross his lips.
A black cat was sitting on his bed, staring at him with one only eye, immobile. Fire danced in the creature's iris as the moonlight dived in it. One eye staring at him… and the other was patched… Could it be? No, it was impossible. Or it was a dream. Yes, it was probably a dream.
"Colonel Ritter?" The German officer asked defiantly.
The cat answered. Well, he just let a little sound roll out his throat but it was already too much for Klink, who jumped again with a little yell and put his head under the blanket, closing his eyes, hoping the cat would disappear.
It took him a few seconds to understand he was being ridiculous. He threw away sheets and blanket to face bravely the cat which was probably just a cat… with an eye patched.
But the cat wasn't there anymore. Klink ran out of his bedroom, looking for the animal and missing the slightly movement of the stove. He checked the doors and windows. They were all closed.
The commandant began to shiver and sweat profusely. The cat had disappeared, like a ghost.
"Schultz! Schultz!"
Under the stove, on his way to the barrack, Newkirk held the cat in his arms and kissed his tiny head.
"Good boy."
oOo
The morning was more peaceful than the night. Hogan was in his quarters, waiting by the coffee-pot for the call Klink would probably make soon. The cat apparition during the German's sleep had really frightened the man. Hogan could as well stop his business right away if after all that Klink didn't complain to general Burckhalter about Ritter,
In the main room, the boys were talking happily around the stove. In fact, Newkirk did a really good imitation of Klink, jumping in his bed, screaming like a little girl. He had done it quite a few times since he return to the barrack due to general demand for an encore. After all, he was the only one who had the privilege to see the scene first hand. Old' Jack had been there too, but they just could not ask the cat, of course.
The animal was asleep on the top of a shelf, not paying attention to the story. Some cans of food were lying on the ground, evidences of the cat's intentions of cleaning up the shelf.
Tired of telling the same story again and again, Newkirk asked:
"Who's for a little poker game?"
"Poker? Again?" Carter moaned. "But, you win all the time!"
"And that, Andrew, is what makes it so fun." The English corporal's joke was not followed by his friends. Apparently they were all tired of losing.
"What about a Tarot game?" Lebeau asked.
"A what?" Three voices echoed.
"A Tarot. It's a French cards game. My family sends me one last week. Wait, I'll show you."
The cook looked under his bunk, got a package from his chest and took the cards out.
"Blimey, Frenchman, what have you done to those poor cards? What do those pictures mean anyway?"
"Pictures don't matter. It is just decoration on the trumps. See, those twenty one cards are trumps, the others are normal cards. It's a seventy-eight cards game."
Lebeau sighted to see his friend's dubious look. Teaching the rules of this beautiful game to the others would not be easy. The French man sat at the table between Carter and Kinch, facing Newkirk.
"Ok, listen to me. It's not really difficult, Lebeau began. The cards values are simple, the king is the heighest. There are also twenty one trumps, their value depending on their numbers. See, this one, the number twenty-one is the better card you can have. The twenty is less powerful, and so on."
"What is the purpose of those trumps?" Carter wanted to know, the young man being truly interested by the explanations.
"Same as in others games, you can only use them if you don't have the played suit."
"Ok," understood Newkirk, "so horrible painted cards are used to make the trick."
"C'est ça!" Lebeau smiled. "Now," he continued, "there are three special cards which have a certain value. When you have one, two or all of them, you'll have to do a score less important than if you had none of them. But I will count so just remember that having those cards is a good way to win, even if it's not necessary. There is the twenty one, the one and…"
"The joker!" Carter tried to guess, catching a card on the table, holding it to Lebeau.
"Yeah… It's not a joker but an Excuse. Anyway, it's all the same. You can put it instead of other card you that don't want to use at the time. However, the Excuse can never win the trick."
"I'm lost." Kinch sighed, looking at the cards with skepticism.
"You are not the only one…" Newkirk replied, examining the trumps. "Are you sure you're not making the rules as we speak?"
"Here are the rules." The French man said, giving him a piece of paper.
"It's in French…"
"So, you'll have to believe my word!" Lebeau argued with a triumphal smile.
"Okay, I surrender. Let's play." The Englishman gave up, interested despite his words in the strange game.
Some explanations and a half hour later, the boys were still playing the French game, attracting around them some of their fellow prisoners.
"I take a Guard!" Newkirk announced loudly, a guard being the most valuable bid in the simplified rules Lebeau taught them.
"You can't take all the time ! You take even if you don't have good cards!" Carter complained.
"Even with bad cards, he wins… That can't be only good luck." Kinch pointed out.
"What do you mean, I'm not cheating," Newkirk defended himself, "I was born under a lucky star!"
"Yeah?" Lebeau asked, warily.
"Cross me heart!"
"You'll go to hell you know?" The cook joked.
"I heard it's a lot of fun down there."
Laughs echoed to the statement, interrupted by Colonel Hogan who entered the room.
"Good news boys!" He declared. "Burckhalter is on his way."
"How could that be good news?" Carter asked, receiving a slight tap from the Englishman behind his head
"Blimey! Andrew! Don't you ever listen?"
"Klink wants to talk to Burckhalter about Ritter, and the general will be here before nightfall. It's perfect." Hogan explained. "Klink complains about Ritter and Burckhalter don't listen to him. But tonight…"
"No." Newkirk cut his commanding officer.
"No?"
"You can't do the same trick twice, sir. All con-men in the world know that. What if Klink tell him about Ol'Jack? Burckhalter will never buy that. It's too dangerous."
"Why are you always so pessimistic, Newkirk? Have ever my plans gone wrong?"
The look of despair he received in return came not only from the English corporal but from all his men. Hogan thought intently about his last question. Okay, maybe his plans not always went as smoothly as he had expected them to go, but it was not like that all the time, or was it?
The main subject on the colonel's plan chose that very moment to jump over Newkirk's shoulder, using it as a trampoline to land on the table. He dispersed all the cards. Ignoring the insults in French, the cat rubbed tenderly his head on his Englishman's chest, purring loudly.
"I don't want him to be hurt colonel…" Newkirk said with puppy eyes, catching his furry friend to hold him tight.
"He won't be hurt," Hogan assured him.
oOo
Klink acted strangely all the day long, doing his best to avoid colonel Ritter. Every time he looked the man in the eye, he could only think about the black cat which wore a similar eye-patch. He knew it had been a dream, what else could it have been? In spite of it, he could not forget that creepy red eye.
"Colonel Klink, did you have a problem?" Ritter asked him, concerned about the way the commandant was looking at him as he walked in his direction.
Klink was started, not paying attention at the giggles around him. Obviously, some prisoners heard him screamed last night…
"Ja, Colonel Ritter? I mean, no, I don't have any problem. I just had a rough night."
"I know." Ritter said, not detailing his thoughts and living the commandant to walk around the camp.
Klink watched the man as he walked away, thinking about Ritter words. What did it mean? Did he hear him scream too or…? No, it was not possible. It was not possible... Klink shook his head in disbelieve and walked into his office.
There was snow everywhere, covering Stalag 13 with a white and bright coat. In the middle of the yard, men from barrack 2 were doing their daily exercises, jumping and raising their arms in a rhythmic manner.
"One, two. One, two." Hogan shouted to encourage his men, his cold breathing elevating in the gray sky.
"Why shall we to do that outside?" Newkirk complained, suddenly stopping.
"Are you cold?" Hogan asked.
"Yes sir!" The Englishman responded hopping for his commanding officer to be nice enough to let him go inside the barrack. He should have known it was not that simple.
"It's perfect! These exercises will warm you up."
Newkirk glared at the American and his fellow prisoners laughing at him.
"Ah, ah… Funny sir… »
He did not see the German officer who was watching them, a distasteful grin deforming his face.
"And you call yourself a soldier." He said with no trace of humor, approaching the little group.
"I'm a soldier. Sir." Newkirk responded, hurt by the comment.
The German did not miss the Englishman's arrogant intonation and decided to teach him a little lesson.
"So, it's exercise time? What do you think about fifty push-ups, corporal?"
"Now? In the snow?"
"Unless you want to wait until the spring thaw."
"Oh, thanks sir, I'll do that." Newkirk smiled innocently.
The German face went red and he hit the snow with his foot.
"Now!" He shouted.
Newkirk glanced at Hogan who frowned but said nothing. The American did not want to put them in more trouble they already were. Newkirk understood. He did what the German was asking him to do, placing his bared hands on the snow and starting to up and down.
"Good boy. » The one-eye colonel smirked, enjoying the scene.
Newkirk clenched his teeth and did not say a word. He really hoped this man would not stay at Stalag 13 as the new commandant. Cursing the man in thoughts, the Englishman barely noticed the men around him who began to bend down and follow him. Soon, all the prisoners of the barrack two were doing push-ups in the snow, ignoring the flaming look upon them.
"One, two. One, two." Hogan gave the rhythm, doing the exercise himself, as if the German was not even there.
The German officer would not stay any longer. After a last irritated look at the insubordinate prisoners, Ritter turned on his heels and went away, clearly angry.
"Well, it wasn't too soon!" Newkirk whispered, getting up and hiding his hands in his pockets, trying to warm them. "Thanks mates."
The only comment he heard in response was not really one he could have expected at all…
"Who wants to do a snowman?"
"Andrew?" Newkirk began, trying to be indulgent.
"Yes?"
"Are you insane?"
oOo
"And why do you think colonel Ritter is untruthfully?" General Burckhalter tried to understand as a headache began to make him dizzy, a headache named Klink…
"Well…" Colonel Klink didn't know how to bring up the subject, playing nervously with the papers on his desk.
"Maybe you're just afraid he could be a better commandant than you?"
"How could he be? There are no escapes at Stalag 13! This is the toughest…" The iron colonel began to panic.
"Klink! I know that, but I assure you I'm ready to exchange a few escapes for erasing the headache I have every time I come here. Ritter or someone else, it doesn't matter."
Klink blinked a few times, already seeing the snowflakes on the Russian front.
"But… but I can assure you General, colonel Ritter can't take my place."
"Well, I'm sure I will regret the question but why?"
"I, I… I." The commandant stammered.
"Klink!"
"I had a dream!"
Burckhalter stared at him wide-eyed, unable to say anything, his headache suddenly blowing up in his brain.
oOo
"Old Jack! Let him go, nasty cat!"
The cat sat on Newkirk's bunk scratched Carter's hand as the sergeant tried to catch him. He jumped gracefully out of reach, landing on Lebeau's bed, and watched the man who was carefully approaching him. Old Jack sat on the blanket, ears in alert, ready to run away, paying no attention at the little paws which were grabbing his fur.
The mouse tail was stuck between the feline's fangs and the poor creature was desperately trying to get free, scratching and biting his captor's fur.
"Hang on Felix, I'll save you!" Carter promised as he jumped on the cat. Too late.
The animal was faster than him, his soft pawns touching the floor before the human had a chance to catch him. Two others prisoners tried to stop the cat, but he was too smart. He noticed the door opening and ran outside.
"No!" Carter screamed.
Kinch, who just opened the door to enter, had barely time to grab the black spark before he disappeared between his legs.
"What's happening here?" He asked, shooting the door behind him and holding the obviously angry cat away from his neck skin. Nonetheless, Old Jack kept trying to scratch the American sergeant several times.
Carter forced the cat to open his mouth and squeezed the poor and trembling mouse in his hands. He was relieved to see Felix was unharmed, terrified and slobber sticky, but alive.
Old Jack watched his prey as it was vanishing in the younger sergeant's pocket. He did not understand why those men took his new toy away.
"Mraow?"
Newkirk chose the perfect moment to come in, staring in shock at the scene. His poor cat imploring as he was hanging upon the floor. He did not wait longer and catch his furry friend to save him from his torturers.
"What do you think you're doing?" The Englishman asked, protecting the purring cat within his arms.
"He tried to eat Felix!" Carter argued.
"He didn't." Newkirk responded, self-confident, scraping Old Jack ears. "You're not a killer, are you? Nooooo, you're not."
"Well," Kinch tried, amused by the Englishman's attitude, "maybe he just wanted to play with it."
"Play with it! Carter shouted. Have you ever seen a cat playing with a mouse without killing it?"
"Don't be so dramatic Andrew, I'll explain him and he will not hurt Felix, okay?"
"Okay…"
And that was it, the mouse was safe, for the moment, and the cat was happy despite the loss of his prey, purring in his master arms. Carter put Felix in his locker to protect him but did not argue more with his English friend. He liked seeing him smiling. Newkirk was truly happy to have Old Jack and for Carter, it was enough to not throwing the potential mice killer out.
oOo
As Hogan had predicted, Burckhalter stayed for the night in Klink's quarters, and it was now time for Newkirk and Old Jack to do their little ghost performance again.
"Here we are. Don't worry little mate, it will be okay." The English corporal whispered, trying to reassure himself as he moved the stove in Klink's living room. Getting out the tunnel, holding his cat with one arm, Newkirk moved slowly toward Burckhalter's room. The loud snore reassured him as he walked in the room. The General was deeply asleep.
Newkirk put the cat on the bet, letting him sat as he usually did, still, without moving a single whisker. He hesitated a moment not really sure about Colonel Hogan's plan. Fooling Klink was a thing, but Burckhalter…
Despite his doubts, Newkirk left the room and, like he did it the night before, he slammed the door, running toward the tunnel entrance as the General jumped out his dreams. He slammed the door just to make noise but let it open. The night before, he did not have to wait long before the cat ran in his arms after Klink's terrified scream.
But all con men knew that a trick never worked twice.
Newkirk heard the General yelling but then… all he heard was a cold and petrifying gunshot. There was no cat running out of the bedroom, no sound, nothing.
To be continued
So, what do you think about the story, it will not be too long, one or two more chapter only (Believe me, it's not easy to write in English .) The cat is cute no ? Please, reviews ?