Here is the last real chapter. I will just have to write the end now and the story will be over. Well, I hope you will enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it.
I really love to create stories with Newkirk and I love pets too : it's the perfect mix for me ;)
And thanks again to Sierra Sutherwinds for the beta reading and the corrections
Chapter 3
"You said it would be okay, you said he would be fine!" The fuming Englishman shouted as he ran into the office.
Hogan was discreetly watching the Germans race across the camp, the window's shutter barely open. Newkirk's irruption in his quarters made him skip a heartbeat and turn over. He frowned at Newkirk obvious anger. He was about to remind him whom he was talking to when Kinch entered the room. He grabbed his friend by the arm. Just in case.
"Calm down, Newkirk! What are you talking about?" The sergeant asked.
"Burckhalter shot him! I knew it was going to be risky but you said it will be fine and I believe you…" The corporal looked at his colonel straight in the eyes.
"Newkirk!" Hogan stopped the man before he went too far. "I don't know what happened in there, okay? We heard the shot but I'm sure your cat wasn't harm. Actually, we weren't so confident about you. That shot lit Burckhalter's room ten or fifteen minutes ago and the way back through the tunnel isn't too long," Hogan said. "I wondered what could have taken you so long." He looked at the Englishman and he noticed the red shade in those blue eyes. Had he been crying?... For a pet?
"How can you be certain Ol'Jack is okay?" Newkirk asked warily. However, he relaxed a little, hopping for a reassuring answer.
Kinch responded, still holding his arm. "LeBeau saw him through the periscope. He was running outside Klink's quarters. Germans didn't even notice him," he said, patting Newkirk on the shoulder.
"Oh." All his anger vanished instantly as a hint of guilt replaced it.
Newkirk stayed still for a moment and without a word walked out the room. He blushed under his fellows prisoners' quizzical looks. It would have been impossible for his shouts to go unnoticed.
Hogan watched in disbelief as the corporal ran away without an apology for his lack of respect. Kinch smiled at his friend's impulsive behavior and the colonel could not contain his own amused smile. That young Englishman was really a lot of work.
oOo
"I don't understand how it is possible to pull a trigger in your sleep?" Commandant Klink faced Burckhalter with his elbows on his desk and his hands crossed under his chin. The general looked puzzled as he paced up and down in the little office.
"Don't start Klink, I said I did a bad move in my sleep. The gun was under my pillow, I'm lucky I don't shot myself."
"Ja… But I am still thinking it's a little odd…"
"Klink!"
The commandant jumped and straightened up, dropping his hands on the desk.
"Ja, Ja! Those things happened all the time." He agreed finally, honestly believing in his words. Of course, he would believe anything if he was ordered to. "It's happen to me all the time. See, last week, I…"
"Klink! Shut your stupid mouth or I will change my mind."
"Change your mind, sir?"
"Ja."The general answered as he finally sat on a chair. "I thought about Colonel Ritter and maybe he's not fit to be a commandant of a prison camp after all."
"Oh, you're so right. He's clearly not as good as me for the job! After all, not a single prisoner has ever escaped from my stalag."
"I can still change my mind…" The German general muttered, rubbing his painful temples.
"Oh, I understand… Shut up Klink…" The commandant of Stalag 13 mumbled, shaking his head sadly.
oOo
Newkirk let a long sigh passed through his lips for the hundredth time. He lied down on his bed, his arms crossed behind his head and watching the ceiling. Another sigh and LeBeau let his spoon fall in the soup in irritation.
"C'est pas bientôt fini? Don't you have anything to do? Like annoying anyone else?"
Slowly, Newkirk turn on his stomach, putting his hands under his chest to have a better view on the French cook. "How can I bother you by doing nothing?"
"That's exactly what annoys me," the French answered, looking at his friend and shaking his head at his childish attitude. He knew that Newkirk was concerned about Ol'Jack, even if he would never admit it. "Well, if you really have nothing to do, what don't you give me a hand?" LeBeau asked.
He rarely asked for help when he was cooking. The main reason was his friends' totally lack of culinary competence. The second reason was the way he looked at cooking. This was his little moment of peace, a private matter. He might ask for help, but only if he had too much work to do. However, even in those cases, no one would respond right away… Especially Newkirk who was always the first one on criticize LeBeau's food.
So, when the English corporal jumped down his bunk to join him near the stove, LeBeau could not be more surprised. Definitely, there was a first time for everything.
"What do you want me to do? And… What are you doing anyway? It's smell terrible!"
"Snails." The cook answered.
Newkirk did not notice the French teasing tone. He paled while wincing with disgust. LeBeau shook his head in despair and threw a cloth on his friend face.
"Hey!" Newkirk complaint as he caught the cloth in the air.
"Idiot," LeBeau smiled. "Believe me, when these snails will be cooked, you'll see. I'm sure even you will appreciate it." He did not need words to know what the Englishman was thinking; his wary expression was readable enough. He opened the pot and inhaled. "That, my friend," the cook said, "is a Pot-au-feu."
"No, it's not." Newkirk noticed after a quick look.
"Comment ça? What do you mean?" The Frenchman shouted, with a warning in his eyes.
" Louis…" sighted Newkirk. "There is no meat in that pot…"
LeBeau stayed silent. His friend had a point; there was no meat. Moreover, without meet, it was not a Pot-au-feu. Schultz had promised to bring some for lunch but he was late.
"Oh! Shut up." LeBeau finally said, returning to his cooking. "Peel those potatoes."
Newkirk did not argue. He enjoyed annoying his French friend but he was not crazy. With or without meat, he wanted to eat. He sat on a chair, grabbed a knife and a potato. The moment he was getting started, the barrack door opened slowly with a cracking sound.
There was no one behind the door, not a human being at least.
Pawns hung tightly on the door handle; Ol'Jack glanced at the astonished prisoners.
"Mraaaaow…"
"Well," LeBeau began, "now we know how he managed to escape from Klink's quarters…"
oOo
"Look, look!"
Carter jumped out the tunnel, happier than a kid in front of a Christmas tree, and ran towards Newkirk. The Englishman put his cards down, ignoring Kinch's objections. The older sergeant was winning his first game of the day and Carter's interruption was not welcome at all, especially because Newkirk was taking advantage of the distraction to mix his cards with the rest of the deck…
"Look at what?" Newkirk asked to his younger friend, ignoring Kinch's killing stare.
"I did this for Old Jack. If he plays with it, maybe he wouldn't run after Felix." Carter explained, presenting him the object he had been hiding behind his back.
"I will probably regret it but I need to ask… What is this supposed to be exactly? Oh, let me guess! It's a stick."
A simple tree branch with a string tied at one end. On the other end of the string, Carter glued some feathers of different sizes and colors that he probably found in the forest. Most of them were brown and white, but there were some of more vivid colors. Newkirk caught one red. It was soft and delicate.
"You really think Jack will play with this?"
"Let's try it!" Carter suggested, putting his invention in his friend's hands.
"I was winning…" Kinch mumbled as Carter and Newkirk left him alone to go after the cat.
Finding the animal was not hard in such a confined space. All the boys had to do was following the sound of scratching wood. Old Jack was sharpening his claws on the wall, between two bunks. That would not bother anyone; the wall was already a mess.
"Hey, little fellow." Newkirk called his attention.
Hearing the voice of his favorite human, Jack stopped his manicure work and raised his eye toward the two prisoners knelt behind him. The red eye focused immediately on the moving feathers his human was agitating in front of him. He stared solemnly at them for a moment. He was not a kitten anymore to play with everything he saw. However, the colors and the movement of the feathers were irresistible. Carefully, as though testing the ground for a trap, he stretched a paw to touch a feather. The whole thing moved at the contact.
"Maooo!" Apparently, it was fun.
Newkirk and Carter laughed at the cat's reaction. Sitting on the floor in an almost human way, Jack hit the feathers with his two paws, opening his little mouth trying to catch one inside. But Newkirk would not let that happen. He moved the stick to make the game more fun for the animal. It worked!
"He could play alone too, if we stuck the toy somewhere," said Carter, taking his invention from Newkirk's hands to tickle the cat's nose with the feathers. Jack sneezed, making everyone laugh. The other prisoners gathered around to see the cat playing. Most of the time, Jack was rather creepy but at this moment, he looked just like the nice pet they should all have back home.
The peaceful atmosphere was brutally broken by the heavy entrance of Sergeant Schultz. His eyes went directly on the black cat.
"Oh boy! You have to hide that creature, colonel Ritter is on his…"
Newkirk threw a blanket on the cat just in time. He got up and pulled Andrew by his arm. Ritter was already in there and no one could say if he had seen the cat or no. Moreover, it was impossible to know how much time Jack would stay still.
"Was ist that?" The German colonel asked, visibly upset. He was not stupid. He had already seen Klink's strange behavior, as well as Burckhalter's when he was around. He did not understand the cause but he was getting angry at it. He needed to take it out on someone.
Everyone froze.
Newkirk was the first to notice that Ritter was pointing at Old'Jack's new toy.
"On, that... It's a… well, a…" He was not good at stressful situations.
Hogan came out of his office the moment he heard the German's arrival. He understood the situation right away and stepped forward. He looked at the branch, full of feathers and cleared his throat to speak.
"It's a ceremonial stick. Carter here is part Sioux. He uses for... the rain dance."
"Rain dance? But it's snowing outside!" Ritter yelled.
"Yes," Hogan agreed. "Rain will be an improvement, compare to the snow, don't you think so? The dance for a sunny day would be way too much complicate to accomplish."
Ritter turned red. Were they all crazy in this camp? He left the barrack in an urge for fresh air, walking away as fast as he could.
That was just the cue that Old Jack was waiting for to jump out the blanket and catch his new toy with his four paws, planting his fangs in the feathers under the laughs of his roommates.
oOo
"You… what?" Ritter was livid. He could not believe the thing he was hearing.
Klink was sitting at his desk not even bothering to hide his amusement. Burckhalter, on the other hand, looked deadly serious at the opposite side of the room.
"I have changed my mind. This Stalag doesn't need a new commandant. After all, no one has escaped under Colonel Klink's watch," the general repeated, slightly chocking on the latest. Congratulating Klink on a job well done was rather painful.
"I don't understand. You were the one who told me that Colonel Klink was nothing more than an incompetent clown, General."
"I don't have to explain myself, my decision is final." On these words, the general left.
Klink sprung up. "Look at the time," he said. "Roll call never waits." He rushed out of his office, not wanting to stay behind with Ritter.
The snow had just stop, making easier for Schultz to count the boys of Barrack 2. He was about to do his report when Ritter suddenly stormed out Klink's office. The officer walked directly toward Burckhalter and Klink.
"Show time," whispered Hogan to his men. He did not look surprised because he had listened to the entire conversation at Klink's office. The others could perfectly understand what was going on. After all, they had worked hard for this moment.
"You can't do that to me. I turned down many offers better than this one just to come here. What am I supposed to do now?"
"You are forgetting whom you are talking to. I am your superior!" Burckhalter shouted.
German officers' yelling at each other was always a great spectacle for the prisoners. They were all having a good time, but all of a sudden...
"Oh no…" Newkirk and the other prisoners gasped.
Hogan looked on the same direction and got pale. Old Jack passed by, indifferent to the German officers' quarrel and everyone else present in the yard. Apparently, he was returning to the barrack after a walk. His pawns sank in the snow, black on white; it was impossible to miss the cat. No one did.
"This is Ritter!" Klink yelled, too surprised at the apparition to be careful with what he was saying.
Burckhalter's eyes went from the cat to Ritter. Then, he looked at Hogan and his men. This trick could only have come from the American colonel.
Ritter narrowed his eyes. He looked at the cat's patched eye, Klink's reaction and Burckhalter's stare. "Are you kidding me? Is this why you reject me as Stalag 13's commandment? For a prisoner's prank? Well, suddenly you're not smarter than Klink, my general."
"Ritter!" Yelled Burckhalter, turning red.
The prisoners watched the German colonel digging his own grave. His anger was carrying him away from all logic and self-preservation.
"What are you going to do? Call the fire squad on me to cover your stupidity?" Ritter took out his pistol and made a shot in the air. The echo hit hard on the hearts of the men of Barrack 2.
They went quiet as they saw the little black and furry form of Old Jack rolling a few feet away. The snow tinted slowly in red.
"Is that what you want, general? Shot me?" Ritter continued, ignoring the prisoners' pale faces. He did not even see Newkirk's hand already looking for the knife that he kept hid in his coat.
Fortunately, Hogan saw his man first and caught his arm before he had a chance to throw the knife against Ritter.
"Newkirk, don't," the colonel ordered.
"He deserves it," the English corporal protested, his voice trembled out of rage and pain.
"But you don't," Hogan whispered. "I can't afford to lose one of my best men for a cat. Ritter will have what he deserves, I promise," he said.
Newkirk looked at Ritter. Five guards, ready to fire, surrounded him.
"I'm not going to kill you," Burckhalter said. He grinned as one of his men took the man's gun. "It would be too easy. What would you think about a little trip to the east?"
"You can't send me back to the front." Ritter did not look so sure about that.
"I can and I will."
"With one arm, I will not be of any use!"
"Well, with the Russians, you will not need your arms anyway, only your legs. To run."
Anger disappeared from Ritter's face and it was replaced by fear. The guards escorted him to the cooler.
"Klink," Burckhalter began, looking at the astonished commandant, "You will keep your post for the moment but it's only a question of time before a mistake sends you to the Russian front."
"Ja general, thank you general," Klink smiled painfully.
Burckhalter got into his staff car and rushed out that crazy place as fast as the snow allowed him.
"Schultz!" Klink shouted. "Pick up that cat and threw it away. And you" he pointed at the prisoners, "you'll have to respond for that joke of yours!" He had no proof of the prisoners' participation in all that mess but he recognized Hogan's signature when he saw it. Thate man was always the source of his troubles.
Newkirk waited until Klink entered in his office before running towards the immobile and red soaking cat, lying down on the cold snow. He knelt down, gently petting the dead cat's head. He was still warm and soft. "I'm sorry little mate, I'm so sorry".
"Oh Newkirk…" Schultz said sadly, uncertain of what to say to comfort the corporal. No one knew.
LeBeau knelt beside his friend, squeezing his shoulder. The sight of blood made him dizzy and he had to struggle to stay awake.
Hogan felt terribly guilty. He knew what that cat represented for Newkirk and he used him in his plans all the same. He was about to said something when Newkirk gasped with surprise. Right under his fingers, the little chest began to move. Slowly. Up and down!
"He's breathing! Guv, he's not dead!"
A feeling of relief surprised Hogan. He had not notice it before but that cat had become a true member of their small family. "Newkirk, take him to Wilson. Maybe, we still can save him."
The Englishman did not need to hear the order twice. He lifted up Old Jack, keeping him warm under his coat. He ran to Wilson's barrack. Some German guards saw him but they let him go. Not all of them were as heartless as they looked.
"And Schultz…" Hogan added.
"I saw nothing. Noooothing."
"Good," Hogan smiled. He was about to follow his men when Schultz called him.
"I saw nothing but I hope the Englander's cat will recover. Even if he's really creepy…"
"Thanks, Schultz."
To follow…
So, what is your opinion ? Is that what you except?
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