My Love of War, Part 4
#4 of My Love of War
My Love of War, Part 4
By Surikat
It wasn't until the 27th of June when I finally realized I was alive; my midsection riffed with pain; there really is nothing like aching pain to make you feel alive. I was lying in a warm bed, the most comfortable thing I'd laid in since the war began. I could finally move my arms and paws again, I felt around where the pain was coming from, stitches, many of them. I never felt myself shaved before; the sensation of my skin absent of fur felt queer to me. Pity, even being in that damnable trench I still had such a lovely coat despite the lice and mud, now I must look rather silly and pathetic. I heard a voice then, female, she spoke to me. I couldn't quite make it out at first, my senses still organizing themselves. I opened my eyes as my ears cleared, my sight followed. She was a squirrel, no chipmunk, dressed in white. A well formed girl, her face still seemingly very young and amazingly she must know all too well of the war yet her eyes showed no sign of it. It was comforting and I was blessed she was the first thing I saw when my eye sight rejoined me.
"Welcome back to earth, Southway." She said to me then, her voice was slightly squeaky, but not in an annoying or distracting way.
I smiled back to her; my head still felt swimming, but I tried to play through it. "I still have a bet on the war I want to collect." I replied back in a half-assed attempt at a joke.
She humored me with a laugh. "Good reason not to die, then." I looked past her, to a window opposite me. It was daylight out, bright, probably warm as well. I couldn't ask for a nicer day for my rebirth. I turned to her then, my neck stiff and cracking with the dust of weeks laying in repose. She had a name tag on, Kathleen, was her name. I asked her where this was, western France she said, and I can't remember the name of the village but, that didn't matter. The front was another life away and I hoped I was never going back now; I earned this new found life, even if it was confined to a bed for the time being.
Soon though, reality came rushing back to me in that moment, Nikolaus and the photograph, my paws reacted as fast as they could as I tried searching for it. Unable to find it on me, I asked for it, "Photograph, I had a photograph." I grew more anxious every second till panic set in; I couldn't believe I lost it.
The nurse grabbed my paw. "Stop that!" She said with force, she might only appear to be a young girl but she was strong, especially in my weakened state. "You're likely to open your stitches if you keep flailing about like that. Hold still and I'll get your belongings."
I stopped then, feeling rather the fool. "Sorry..." I whimper to her, rather embarrassed by my behavior. She pats my shoulder then opens up a drawer in the stand beside the bed. She pulls out several of my artifacts and places it upon the side of my bed; few letters from home, pay-book, some notes, and one photograph. I grab for it quickly, nearly pushing Kathleen out of the way. I hug it tightly then stare longingly at till Kathleen interrupted.
"Nikolaus?" She inquires. I looked at her dumbfounded. I clearly don't remember telling her his name. I grew nervous once again, how much had I said unwittingly.
"How...?" I reply back, confused.
She smiles sweetly and sits in the bed beside me and my effects. "After you arrived here you developed a terrible fever from the infection. The field surgeons did all they could to get out the shrapnel, but they did a terrible job cleaning and dressing the wounds. Our surgeons here did what best they could to clean up the others work but it was too late. Honestly, with an infection like yours, no one expected you to wake up. I was assigned to your bedside and in the nights, mostly, your fever would spike and you'd start to mumble, talk, then scream in the fever's madness. The only discernible name you would call for was 'Nikolaus'." Kathleen paused then for a moment, I believe she wasn't sure how to ask the next question. "Who is he and why is does he look like a Hun?"
I felt myself sink in the bed; here I was trapped to these cursed sheets being questioned about an affair that could put me at the wrong end of a rope or rifle. I had no where to run this time, my head was far too disjointed to come up with any reasonable or clever lie. I debated pretending to pass out or faking pain but that would just appear too forced and fake, so I went with a half-truth. I didn't know the extent of Kathleen's knowledge of the front, hopefully that will be to my advantage.
"He's... a friend." I choked. "We met on Christmas, during the truce. Do you know about that?"
She replied with a half nod, stating she really only heard of it in passing. However she didn't know much more then that.
"Well, we met in No Man's Land, talked, etc... We agreed that should we make it out of that war alive we would meet again, either in his homeland our mine. He's a good chap, even if he is a Hun." I had no idea if she bought it, seemed like a reasonable enough excuse to me at the time. However, she gave me that look, I'm not sure how to describe it but only females can pull it off. That 'I know but I'll pretend I don't' look. Freighting, truly freighting.
"Certainly must have been one friend, if you mumble out his name in the middle of the night." She retorted. "I'll be back to check on you later." She motioned then to my other effects on the bedside, asking if I wished them out. I told her no and she put them away, leaving me with the picture and extraordinarily embarrassed.
The days lingered on, I felt what life was given back to me was slowly being swallowed up as I lay in that bed. Other injured came and went, one way or another, yet I remained. Just me and that tainting window across the room and I was desperate to see what was on the other side. On occasion I would see nurses' wheel carts of indeterminable origin out through a door just ten meters or so away. I was determined to go through that door, get out of this place least for a few moments. It would be a decision I would greatly regret.
I don't know the date, nor did I know even what day of the week it was anymore since I came to this hospital, but on this day I went for my moment of freedom. It was late afternoon, the nurses and doctors had preoccupied themselves with other matters in this late evening. When it was clear, I slowly and painfully moved myself out of that damnable bed towards that door. My backside felt cold, the hospital garment left my back and rump exposed. With every step there was pain in my left leg and lower abdomen, it hurt as all hells but I was determined. Without alerting the nurses or doctors I arrived at my destination, looking around one last time to make sure I wasn't spotted. I checked the handle, unlocked; I quietly and carefully opened the door, rays of sunlight bathing me in almost forgotten warmth.
Once outside I found myself in a back garden surrounded by a flimsy looking wall. Just adjacent to the wall to my left was a single modular structure protruding out from the hospital wing. There laid a broken stone path in front of me, leading right up to the door to this separate structure, I let curiosity get the best of me and I followed the path. The new door was unlocked; I opened it quietly, hopefully as not to alert anyone on the other side. Immediately I was hit with a wave of cool air that caused my fur to stand on end. Intrigued further, I entered inside.
The place was dark and artificially cold, my eyes took a few minutes to adjust. A meat locker, that is exactly what it was, nothing more. I couldn't wrap my mind around as to why it was here, perhaps the hospital once was a factory or slaughter house, it did have that factory feel to it. Ironic, perhaps, that a hospital once was a meat rendering plant. Moment later I found out it still was.
As I stumbled, or should I say hobbled, back to the door, I spied a peculiar sight just off to my left, a bulging gurney draped in white. I then realized where I was, this place must be the morgue. Death was far from new to me and little did it phase me that there was a body no less then three meters away, but a bit of that new found curiosity crept back into and I walked over to inspect it, perhaps he had something of value on him. I'll admit I wasn't above scavenging from the dead, no solider was: fags, boots, money, it was all fair game. It was still dark inside, coupled with a fine vapory white mist, limiting my vision to just better then a haze, so when I peered over the covered body, I could only make the faint outline of someone reposed below the sheet. I grabbed ahold of the cloth and dragged it away from his face just as the ceiling lights flickered on.
A startled yelp came from a nurse that has just walked inside; it spooked me as well, diverting my attention away from the body just long enough to see her, a genet named Lilja who I despised greatly, storming towards me with a burning fury. She spoke in a fast and heated Dutch accent that I found best to ignore, so I turned back to cover the body. I froze then. The body was a kraut... one of the meerkats' no less. In my initial shock I thought I saw the face of Nikolaus, startled and surprised I slipped and fell onto my back, dragging the sheet and body with me. I felt a horrible and sharp pain erupt from my stitches as I hit the floor, in the seconds before the pain knocked me out I saw that lifeless suricate's face staring down at me from atop the gurney, it wasn't Nikolaus.
I awoke that night, with new stitches and the smell of my blood lingering in my nostrils. The night nurse informed me with great annoyance that I had ripped them during my excursion as well as I may be limited to a cane for the rest of my life, I apparently re-injured my leg wound. I also pleasantly found my wrist restrained to the bed, seems I wasn't going to be moving anywhere for awhile now. Least I knew Nikolaus wasn't in a freezer somewhere, but that brought up another question.
I asked her why there was a German in an Alliance hospital morgue; according to her he was from a battle near the Ardun, heavy casualties, possibly the worst in the war. It was so chaotic that many of the injured and dead were just grabbed and brought back, despite their side. My heart sank a little, if there was one meerkat; the Germans surely had more in their ranks to construct the trenches. I prayed that night for Nikolaus, prayed that he was spared that battle.
The days passed slowly as soldiers came and went, most of them dead, while I just laid there watching the spectacle unfold, broken only by the occasional soldier who would strike up a conversation with me. With every passing soldier I learned more about the conditions of the front and after each time I felt better and better about being far away from that hellish place, I am grateful everyday that my injuries were my lifesaver.
There was one solider in particular that I remember vividly, a bitter one armed Irish raccoon named Collin. He would curse the calm out of the nurses and doctors, throwing bed pans, cups, or whatever else was in arms reach. It was a pleasant, if not slightly loud, divergence from the drudgery of the recovery wing.
In the later hours of one evening Collin grabbed my attention by throwing a piece of wood at me, startled and quite annoyed I picked it up from my lap and was about to throw it back at him with as much force as I could muster, when he told me to take a look at it, through that thick Irish accent. It was a small flute. He explained to me since he could no longer play on account of his lack of two paws that it might as well be used by someone. I promptly informed him that I didn't know how to play, this was met by a round of cursing at me for not liking his gift and giving it a try; since the nurses had loosened my restraint enough to allow me to move around the bed, I could use both my paws with it so I humored him. For several hours he tried to teach me the best he could, until a fed-up nurse came by to silence us. I practiced with it henceforth, even long after Collin left the hospital; it seemed to cheer up some of the injured and made me feel better for it.
I convinced Kathleen late one night to let me enjoy a short soak in one of the tubs, privately. I didn't mind being rubbed down with a sponge, least at first, yet as my strength came back to me I grew tired of it, I wasn't a cub. I just wanted to enjoy the privacy of the bath without constantly being rubbed down and having to strike up conversations.
After the lights were off and the other night nurse went to occupy herself with other matters, Kathleen came to my bed side. Undoing my restraint and helping me to my foot-paws, she guided me towards the bathroom. It was an invigorating sensation; the room was warm from the already drawn water, steamy and pleasant. I was started when my tail batted against her leg as she undid the back-tie of my bed gown, letting it fall to the floor. I shooed her away as I clutched the white tip of my tail between my legs, covering my genitals. As Kathleen went to leave me be, she put on the phonograph and told me I had twenty minutes as she shut the door.
I ran my paw along the waters surface; the temperature could not have been more pleasant. I had a bit of trouble getting into the tub by myself; my left leg was in terrible shape after I tore it up during my trek to the morgue. I finally, quite literally fell into the tub, sending a wave of water over the side. I felt myself melt away in the water; I hadn't been in an actual bath since before the war.
While I soaked the phonograph played a soft and passionate French song with a moving melody; I couldn't make out the words except for the occasional bits of English, that spoke of a stairway named De La Butte, it seemed like sweet love song. The music and the warm water help bring on a wave of thoughts.
I thought of Nikolaus often, but it was always of his safety. Now however, I began to think of us, after the war. If it was too be, where would be go? Our kind is not liked, say for France or Italy, but even there it is a very tongue in cheek concept. Perhaps America, it is a big country where we could get lost together. I don't even know if his feelings for me were mutual, maybe it was just a fling brought on by the circumstances. No, it couldn't have just been that, there was so much more. I began to slowly nod off to sleep and what a wonderful rest it was, it felt like a lifetime.
I dreamt of him, dreamt of us together, after this war was nothing more then a story. We were in Parisian hotel or perhaps apartment, sometime in the night I was laying in bed watching as Nikolaus stood naked against the frame of the door leading out to a balcony that overlooked the Arch, as the tip of his cute tail twitched to the night wind blowing across his fur. He rolled onto his back, a fag in his paw. He took a drag as I admired his wonderful silhouette bathed in the moonlight. It was so perfectly cliché, like a cheesy romance.
He flicked the butt of the fag out over the balcony and joined me back in the bed. He muttered seductive words in his broken and accent thick English, occasionally breaking back into German. We made love then, just like back in the trenches but without the fear of being caught or death. It was just us together without a fear or care. Oh what sex we had, wild and passionate. Nikolaus riding me in the bed, like he had done that first night in the trench, grinding our hips together, then he would lean in for a long kiss as we tied together while my paws wrapped around his back, running through his fur, massaging him as I came for the first time. We'd switch then, Nikolaus turning spinning around on me, still tied to my body, he got on all fours as I knelled behind him. I banged him hard like that, one paw gripping around his bobbing length, his sack beating against the side of my paw with every thrust, while the other ran along his spine and neck. His tail would rest over my shoulder, wrapping a little around my neck as we bucked against each other, Nikolaus pushing back against my member, forcing me into him as deep as I could go while I thrust forward, driving into his warm and welcoming tailhole, my furry sack smacking against his backside with a sloppy smack. We then climaxed together, my canine seed spilling into for a second time while his orgasm shot over the bed sheets and my paw. As I broke the tie with a satisfying plop my seed spilled out of him, coating my member with a delightful warm slickness. I ran my sticky paw against his behind, sopping up some of it then we'd lick the paw clean together, our seed mingling between our tongues.
For awhile we laid together, arm in arm, Nikolaus at my side. He would lick at my shoulder to grab for my attention. We'll talk then, never about the war, always about the future, the next day or next week, any time but the past. We'll leave the war behind us forever.
The mood would strike Nikolaus again - he is so sexually insatiable. I'd found myself naked and perched on the balcony, facing out over the city as Nikolaus approached from behind. He'd grab my tail, parting it to the side as he ran a few fingers under its base, poking and massaging my tailhole. He prepares it for the pounding I was about to receive, licking his fingers while savoring my taste for a brief moment. Finally then wetting my pucker as he fingers probed into my body, relaxing me for his generous length.
We kissed over my shoulder, a long tender kiss, our tongues interlocking for a moment and as he broke away, I'd feel his tip begin to part my rear. It was wonderful as he slide inside me, the feeling of being full and the pleasure that swept over me. I gripped the handrail as he pumps, his paws on my hips, clenching tight. My own erect member, still glistening to the fluids of stale sex, would bob up and down in the night air to each thrust. We didn't care if someone saw, we were hiding nothing. It was rough, it was primal, and it was amazing. He nips at my neck and back, drawing just a spot of blood. I yelped as he planted an open against my rump, sending a bolt of pleasure and pain up my spine. My fur stands on end as he grips a paw around my shaft, stroking me with each thrust from his hip. The sensations of him driving in and out of me drove me to new heights of pleasure, my moans echoing down the Paris streets. I felt him quiver and shake behind and with one last deep thrust, he peaks. His warm fluid filling my insides; I swore I could feel each spurt as it entered me.
He slides out of me; the dampness of his seed feels cool as the night air surrounds it. As he then nibbles on my, his tongue playing with the hole in my ear-lobe, he whispers loving words. His stroking becomes faster; my legs feel weak as I edge closer and closer to climax with each rub from his paw. I let myself go, right above the street, sending a stream down below. We both stand together, leaning against the rail, panting and riding the last moments of our pleasure as we turned to kiss once more... crack! A spray of Nikolaus's blood pelts my face.
I startle myself awake, splashing around as I grabbed a hold of the sides of the tub; my head had momentarily sunk under the water as I was sleeping. I was panting hard when Kathleen came through the door to check on me. I believe I startled her as much as I startled myself; her eyes became transfixed down at my crotch, my member poking its head just above the water. Quickly I cover myself; my paws grab my tail and slap it against my groan trying to hide this embarrassment. I told her I had fallen asleep, I slipped beneath the water and startled myself awake; I avoided mentioning the reason behind my erection.
Without a word, Kathleen grabbed a towel and held it up beside the tub as I struggled to get out; the pains in my leg were troubling me again. Finally, with some slight assistance, I was on my foot-paws and out of the tub. My member still at full attention, sadly, I really hated when it did that in the most inappropriate times, it took forever to go limp - a minor downside to male canine anatomy.
Kathleen wiped my fur down with several towels, I could see in her eyes that she tried desperately to ignore my 'feature'. I was taken by surprise when she grabbed a hold of me there and wiped it down, before moving down to the rest of my genital region and then finally my legs. I could almost believe that she wanted to touch me, I'm sure it must have been a sight, even for a nurse.
After I had been wiped me down, she helped me into my gown - I still had a problem standing for more then a minute or two without assistance. We waited a few moments before leaving, letting my member slide back into its proper place then as she lead me back to my bed for the night, she whispered in my ear about warning her the next time I was indispose. I couldn't shake the embarrassment as she helped me into the bed. As she redid my wrist restraint, she leaned in close to my ear one last time and whispered lowly that I'll see Nikolaus again, just keep your prayers with him. I couldn't sleep that night, the last bits of that wonderful yet horrible dream still lingering on my mind. I wished dearly that Nikolaus was beside me then, to whisper still my fearful heart.
September 5th, that was the day I was told I would be released for England. I was beyond cheery; I couldn't even recall what her foggy shores looked like anymore. I wrote mother immediately, telling her that I'd be home in the month. However, old George wouldn't let me celebrate long.
Some officers visited me late one afternoon; they were from the hospital corps. I wasn't out of the war yet, oh no, heaven forbid. I was being reassigned to a non-combatant position inside the hospital corps to be determined upon my return from medical leave. I threw my bed-pan at them as they left, Collin would have been so proud of this Englishman.
The day of my departure from France I made sure to dress myself in the finest attire I had available, which to say wasn't all that impressive even for a pauper. Kathleen was there to help see me off. She aided me, along with a crutch I was so graciously lent, to the front of the facility where an auto waited to take me to the docks. My father had sprung for a private cabin aboard a civilian vessel, not that it would be any less of a target in the channel. Kathleen kissed me goodbye on the cheek as I stumbled into the vehicle, I waved back to her as the car departed.
Too say I was glad to leave that place would be a gross understatement, however I'd miss Kathleen and several of the other nicer nurses. The rest... well, to hell with the rest of them.
The ship took two days to cross the channel; thankfully those underwater ships never paid notice in any discernible manor to the older steamer cruising along as fast as she could. When I arrived at Liverpool, my parents were waiting for me at the dock. I was struck back at how age had begun to kick in, my father, I hardly recognized him. I would say it must have been a good five years since last I saw him, well before the war began. I was so glad to see them; I didn't know how to react. I mostly smiled and nodded as they asked me question after question. They also had a gift for me, I beautifully crafted cane. Made of cheery wood with a high gloss finish, the handle and tip were polished to a mirror shine with my initials inscribed into the metal. I loved it dearly and still have it to this day, even if I felt like a gray muzzle using it.
I was home for five months as I recovered; I got back in contact with those I left behind. Learned who had died, who was home, and who was still in the trenches. I got back in touch with Julia, her brother had died in north-eastern France while I was in the hospital. I was shocked to see her in such good spirits about it, least outwardly; she said he died the way he would have wanted to. Apparently he joined the air-corps, flying those rickety looking contraptions over the battlefield. Won a number of commendations and had a confirmed kill record that had yet to be broken.
My home life was like I never left, say for my father being back from South Africa. They were so proud of me, I don't know why. I never did anything note-worthy in battle except for running too close to a field gun blast. I felt I didn't deserve their praise or their good-natured humor about my bullet hole through my ear. I did, on occasion, play for them melodies I taught myself on the flute. They quite enjoyed it after dinner as we relaxed in the study; it also was an excuse for me to avoid any discussion of the war.
I still thought of Nikolaus often, especially at night. I'd stay awake long into the morning, just staring out of my window as I thought of him. I even wrote him letters, I couldn't mail it too him but I made sure to save them, along with several pictures of me. I kept those hidden; only taking them out from their corner hiding spot when I was completely alone.
In late January, I reported back where I was given my next assignment, ambulance driver for field hospitals on the western front. I tried to protest, explaining the pain and limp in my stride, but I was met with deaf ears. The King needed all he could take and I was still usable... for king and country. Both my parents cried as I sailed off for France once again, cane in hand and feelings of bitterness bubbling up in my heart.
I could tell you the stories from this time, like how I drove for 10 kilometers not realizing the damned causality had fallen out the back of the vehicle after I hit a series of aggressive humps in the road. Or perhaps the night I spent with a very insistent wolf near Agde. However, I believe I'll save those stories and several more for another time.
So I returned home after eight months time, tired and dreary and terribly dead inside. I hobbled from the ship to greet my parents once more and as we left the port, I looked back only once at the Channel and cursed the war just beyond the fog.
I waited out the remainder of the war in the pub along side Julia, as we overheard the glorious stories of the officers on leave, how they single-handedly took over trench after trench while the common soldiers lamented the loss of their friends that would be forever lost under the mud of the western front.
I kept Nikolaus close to my heart, the old photograph now worn and tattered, waiting for the day the war would end. I couldn't figure out how to explain it to my parents, why I wanted to go back there and so soon. A friend in France perhaps, maybe even Spain or Denmark. I suppose it wouldn't really matter what I told them, I would be lying all the same.
Then the day came, cease fire, so many years the war lasted all to end overnight. Almost doesn't seem right, I'll never understand the workings of politics and the rules to their games. Before the accords were even being hashed out, there was speak of revenge. I avoided the discussions - I didn't care anymore, what was the point? Besides, I had my own plans to worry about.
It was a complicated affair, getting passage on a ship full of refugees returning back to their war torn lands. I was huddled together with Dutch, French, Germans, Polls, and magnitude of other nationalities. I believe I was the only other Englishman aside from the ships officers on-board.
By the time I arrived in Paris the talks in Versailles were well underway, words were spoken of restitution and sanctions and the end of German power and the Empire. All I cared about was getting a train or auto into Germany. I had a name of a town and nothing more, I didn't even know where in Germany it was and neither did the Parisians. Make matters all the much worse, most of the railways were destroyed leaving only a very few in working order and most of those weren't even complete routes into Germany. Travel was restricted as well; I can't even tell how much I spent bribing my way through check-points but it was paying off. I finally had time to rest as I took my seat on a train bound for the German boarder.
Watching the world pass by from the window of the train was horribly reminiscent of that day in the truck heading towards the front. Blight, nothing but gray skies and salted earth around me, it was like I never even left. With every bump or foreign noise my heart would jump, anticipating the blast of a shell or mortar. Nikolaus, please be there, you have to be there.