A War Within (Epic WWI Love Story)

by Katherine Hastings

  Jean-Luc nodded as Henri slipped him the lead rope. “What about you, Auguste? Where are you going?”

  “I’m riding to a city just north of Paris. I need to go get that girl I was telling you about.” Auguste smiled.

  “Well then, you’d better hurry. Women hate to be kept waiting.” Jean-Luc winked.

  Henri furrowed his brow. “I don’t know what is going on exactly, but you get my little girl and you bring her back safe to me, Auguste. Whatever it takes. I trust you. Please, save my Isabelle.” Henri looked to him with pleading eyes.

  Auguste nodded. “I won’t come back without her, Henri. I will do anything to save her. You have my word.” The men exchanged glances as Auguste led the stallion out into the dark night. They walked to Auguste’s cabin so he could change out of this uniform. He knew he had a better chance cutting across the war zone without appearing to have chosen a side.

  When they got to the cabin Raulf was reclining against the side, his charcoal smudged face pulled into a pained grin at the sight of them. “Henri. You’re alive. Thank God.”

  Henri trotted to his side and pulled him in for a hug. “I’m so glad you’re all right, Raulf. Those horse-stealing, barn-burning German bastards! I’m gonna kill every last one of them!”

  Jean-Luc shot Auguste a look and he just shook his head. “Later. I’ll tell them later,” he whispered.

  They exchanged a nod and Auguste pulled Le Vent toward the cabin. “Hold him, Henri.”

  Henri held the stallion’s lead rope while Auguste dashed inside and emerged moments later in his usual cream-colored button-down shirt and tan linen trousers, held up by suspenders.

  “All the tack burned up. I have nothing for you,” Henri said as he handed back the lead rope to Auguste, realizing they had nothing but halters and lead ropes for the two horses.

  “Raulf and Henri, when we leave take some weapons, ammo and supplies and lock yourself in the room below the library. And take Beau with you. No one is stealing my horse. More soldiers might be coming. Jean-Luc, take my tack off of Beau and put it on Chantal. I’ll have to make do with this,” he said as he lifted the lead rope. Jean-Luc wasn’t the strongest rider and Auguste felt he needed the tack more than him.

  “Auguste.” Jean-Luc placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please be careful, brother.”

  Auguste turned around to see his friend, his brother, standing there before him. He stepped forward and pulled Jean-Luc into his arms. The two stood in a quiet embrace, the fires of the barn burning behind them.

  “You be careful, too, Jean-Luc. I will see you back here with that horse after you deliver the message. And when the war is over, I bet Henri will even have a job for you, right Henri?” Auguste smiled as he looked over to Henri who just nodded and shrugged. “Stay safe. Remember 15 July at 12:10 is the attack time at Reims. Have them ready.”

  “I’ll see it done.”

  “And don’t you dare forget to bring that mare back. My girl will kill you dead herself if you lose her!”

  Jean-Luc laughed. “Deliver message. Bring mare back immediately. Got it.”

  Auguste tied the other end of the lead rope to the halter, fashioning some makeshift reins. He grabbed a handful of mane and swung his leg up, struggling to pull himself up due to the sheer size of the seventeen hand stallion. Unmistakable power surged beneath him as Le Vent danced impatiently below. The horse’s powerful rear sent his legs striking in the air and Auguste held on tight. When the stallion settled beneath him, he glanced back at the three men. Before he could encourage the stallion on, his neck whipped back as the stallion bolted forward, the sheer force almost sending him toppling off the back.

  The speed they reached in seconds sucked the breath from his lungs. It was impossible not to be in awe of the power surging beneath him. There was a reason this horse was the champion of the Grand Steeple-Chase de Paris a record three times. With no saddle separating them, he could feel every muscle in the stallion’s back moving beneath him with each ground-covering stride. Auguste couldn’t stop himself from smiling as the wind screamed past his ears. He leaned forward and grabbed another handful of mane as the horse galloped on, Le Vent following his most subtle signals and heading in the direction he was asked.

  To her.

  The speed and stamina of the giant stallion was overwhelming. He covered the terrain with ease while they moved through the woods and the fields toward Isabelle. Le Vent had been cantering for almost an hour straight and he barely struggled to maintain his speed. Auguste guided the stallion through the deep woods as the sun crept up from behind the trees. If they kept up at this pace, taking short breaks as needed, he could cross the fifty miles to the city by nightfall.

  When they reached a rushing river, Auguste sat up, pulling back on the makeshift rope reins. Le Vent tugged against them, pushing forward, until Auguste leaned back, putting his weight into the command. “Whoa, boy. Whoa.” The stallion slowed to a walk as Auguste looked around him, trying to decide the best direction to get him there faster. Letting the horse sip the water from the river, he contemplated his options.

  He knew the most direct path would be to veer southeast across the river and come in to the city from the east. From the plans he had heard last night, however, that route would also most likely contain the highest concentration of soldiers. But when he looked at the sun crossing the sky, he knew he was running out of time and couldn’t risk a longer route. The anxious stallion pawed, awaiting his directions. Pulling his rope toward the river, he spun the stallion into it, kissing to him as he urged him into the water. Le Vent leapt through the air, landing in the water with a splash, Auguste nearly falling off from the thrust.

  After he leapt through the rushing water, Le Vent continued making impressive time while Auguste guided him across the rolling French countryside. Hours ticked by while small abandoned towns flew past, some still burning from the German assault that had just pushed through. He pulled up briefly at another stream, both of them sipped water as Auguste splashed some onto Le Vent’s coat, trying to keep him cool. He never stopped for more than a moment, Le Vent trotting and cantering between the spurts of gallops Auguste pushed him into. The sun slipped lower on the horizon and worry knotted his stomach. What if he didn’t make it in time? The soldiers would come through, almost certainly at dusk. They may be desperate for supplies, but they wouldn’t be foolish enough to attack in the light. He pushed on, the last hour seemed an eternity as he and Le Vent raced the falling sun.

  Auguste pulled up at the top of the hill and watched the last sliver of the sun disappear behind the city he could now see in the distance. Still a mile out, he’d lost the battle against the darkness. He could only hope he could still make it in time to find her before someone else did. He reined Le Vent down the hill, darkness surrounding him with only the moon to light the way.

  Popping noises broke the silence and a flash of light ahead lit up the dark night. Le Vent came to a screeching halt and Auguste pressed his hands into the stallion’s withers to brace himself from falling off. More gunfire sounded from the city down below. He was too late. The soldiers had beaten him here. Desperate to reach Isabelle, he urged the nervous stallion on, but he balked, backing up from the sounds of warfare. The stallion had been trained to race but had never been trained as a war horse, taught to remain calm in the face of guns, bombs, tanks and planes. He danced beneath Auguste in rhythm with the gunfire up ahead.

  “I know you’re scared, buddy,” Auguste said, leaning forward, scratching his muscular neck, “but Isabelle needs you now. You have to trust me. You have to get me there. Do you understand?” He knew the stallion couldn’t actually understand him, but he’d always had a way with calming nervous animals. Le Vent slowly started forward, one cautious foot in front of the other until he broke into a soft, rocking canter.

  As he approached, he made out some return fire coming from the city. There must have been some soldiers stationed there already. When he’d visited this winter, he’d be
en surprised to see trenches already dug around the city and more soldiers than he would have expected patrolling the streets. After the neighboring city, Chantilly, had suffered an attack when the war first started, it appeared they’d prepared themselves in the event the Germans returned. Hoping there were enough soldiers in the city to keep her safe until he arrived, he pushed the stallion on.

  When he got close enough to assess the situation, he realized there was no easy way in. If he stood a chance, he would have to move fast and take them by surprise. The German soldiers laid low in the old trenches dug years earlier and fortified them with large wooden barriers set in the front. A handful of French soldiers several hundred yards further ahead laid behind stacks of sandbags surrounding the city. While the idea to dig trenches in preparation had been a good one, Auguste knew that the French hadn’t expected their own trenches would be used against them by their enemy.

  Wasting no time weighing his options, he considered trying to sneak in from either side, but the high stone walls surrounding the city would make that impossible. There was one way in if he didn’t want to waste time circling the city, straight over the top of the Germans in the trenches. While he tried to come up with a plan, flashes of gunfire came from inside the city and smoke began billowing out of a townhouse. Some Germans had made it in past the French. She was in danger. He had no time to find another way in and would need to cross over the Germans and make it across the field alive. Auguste leaned down and pressed his face to Le Vent’s neck.

  “I’m relying on you, buddy. I need you to get me through that, okay? It’s all up to you now.” Le Vent snorted as he anxiously pawed the ground. Auguste slipped his hand through his black mane and grabbed on tight as he leaned forward and kicked his sides with a thud.

  Le Vent surged forward, his ears flat against his head as he galloped down the hill. The horse came directly up behind the unsuspecting German soldiers who were utilizing the French trenches. Auguste watched as the sharp, wooden cross fence drew closer. The pair flew across the field, Auguste holding tighter as he felt Le Vent lock on to the fence and push forward. The stallion rocked back, coiling back on his hind legs as he made his final approach to the fence. The Germans lay under it, unaware of the charging stallion until he pushed into takeoff. Auguste looked down while he sailed over them, the eyes of the soldier below widening as he looked up to see the great horse leaping over him, effortlessly clearing both the trench full of men and the four-foot tall pointed wooden trench fence. Auguste held tight, his muscular thighs gripping hard as he tried to stay on this time. They landed with a thud and Auguste leaned down, pressing low into the neck of the horse as they raced across the opening.

  The bewildered Germans shouted behind him as Le Vent galloped away. The stallion’s strides surged as his hooves barely touched the ground. Auguste could hear the gunfire start up behind him and felt the bullets whizzing past as he approached the French barricade up ahead. He saw the baffled faces of several French soldiers who poked their heads up above the sandbags to investigate the commotion across the field. One fumbled to reload his rifle, desperately slipping the bullets in as Auguste and Le Vent closed the gap.

  “I’m French! Don’t shoot! I’m French!” Auguste shouted in his French accent while he barreled toward the Frenchman. As he approached the final barricade into the city, he grasped the mane tighter as Le Vent charged at the enormous wall of sand. He felt the stallion compact himself as he coiled once more for takeoff. Holding on tight, Auguste stayed balanced while Le Vent tucked up his legs and launched into the air, his hooves raking the head of the befuddled French soldier who then dropped his gun and took cover. They cleared the barricade with ease and Le Vent dug down deeper while they raced into the city.

  By the looks of the doors kicked open and some dead bodies in the street, he knew some Germans were already in the city. They must have slipped in before the battle in an effort to silently take out any internal opposition. It’s what he would have done had he planned it. Riding hard, he tried to remember his exact location when he’d sat on that white bench, the one Isabelle had said she’d seen him sitting on that fated day. She’d said she’d looked down on him from the second-story window of her aunt’s house directly across the street. If he could find that bench, he could find Isabelle. Fear tugged at every cell in his body.

  What if he didn’t make it in time?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ISABELLE AWOKE WITH a start. Through hazy eyes she looked around, trying to identify what had startled her awake. Aunt Brigitte had left this morning for her shopping trip in Paris and the housekeeper, Eloise, had left to take care of her sister who’d gone into labor that afternoon. There shouldn’t be anyone in the house to awaken her. Knowing the strange sound must have come from outside, she walked to the window and was surprised that the light she had gone to bed with had been replaced with a dark sky. How long had she been asleep? Not hearing the noise again, she walked over to flip on the light when a loud pop whipped her head back around to the window.

  Listening intently, she tried to identify the sound. Silence. Nothing but silence. Perhaps she had imagined the pop? After listening a moment longer, and quite convinced it was her imagination, she turned back around. BOOM. Her breath caught in her throat. There it was again, this time louder, and she was sure she hadn’t imagined it. Rushing to the window, she slid it open and leaned her head outside. The faint smell of smoke wafted up into her nostrils and she scanned the empty streets for any sign of the sounds origin. Pop. She saw the flashes in the distance.

  Her hand flew to her mouth when she saw the fires just outside of town ignite shortly after the sound. More pops and flashes in the distance made her heart race as she stepped back from the window, slamming it shut. Germans! The Germans are coming! Overwhelmed with terror, she struggled to keep her calm and decide what to do. Should she run for help? Where? Maybe she should stay here and hide. Perhaps they wouldn’t find her. Suddenly she felt so alone and regretted saying she’d be fine here by herself. Then she realized even if Eloise and Aunt Brigitte were here she couldn’t imagine they would be much help. With her mind reeling from options, she remained frozen in her room. She had no horse to escape on and the chances she would run right into the Germans was too high. Her mind raced as she tried to think of the best hiding place in the house. It was the safest option.

  Pop, pop, pop! The gunfire grew closer. Now it sounded only a block away. Racing back to the window she knelt down and peered out onto the streets below. A dark shadowy figure, rifle in hand, moved down the streets. She looked left. More of them. With trembling hands she covered her mouth and crawled back from the window. They were already here. Booms and shots rang louder and more frequently now as Isabelle heard the shattering of wood and screams from the neighbors next door, followed by an abrupt and deafening silence. They were coming. She had to hide. To disappear.

  She started down the stairs, her legs quaking with fear making each step more difficult than the last. When she reached the bottom, she heard banging on the front door. She froze, her eyes darting toward it. Suddenly, wood shards flew as someone kicked down her door. There was no time. She raced back up the stairs and into her room, quietly closing the door behind her. There were no lights on in the house as she had fallen asleep and she prayed that they would assume no one was home. She crawled down underneath the desk, slowly pulling the chair back into place.

  Footsteps. He’s coming.

  Covering her mouth with her hand to keep from screaming, she pushed deeper underneath the old wooden desk. A long, slow creak of her bedroom door opening sent her heart racing, and she worried the pounding would give her away. The brown boots of the soldier came into sight. His footsteps were slow and deliberate as he made his way across her room to the window. She watched his feet as they stopped, the worn boots pausing while she clasped her mouth tighter, trying to force herself not to breathe. The soldier stood for a moment longer and then spun on his heel, heading out of the room. She st
ruggled with holding her breath as she watched his feet disappear through the door. The sound of the footsteps halted, and she choked out the breath she could no longer hold. The dark boots reappeared in the doorway and headed toward her hiding spot below the desk.

  Trembling with fright she pushed back to the wall as the boots stopped just short of the desk. Even with both hands clasped over her mouth now, the sob escaped her lips. The chair from the desk whipped out and landed on its side across the room and the soldier’s dark, dirty face flashed in front of her. Isabelle screamed as she tried to press back into the desk as far as she could. With horror-filled eyes she saw him reach for her, and she kicked and fought but he got a hold of her leg and pulled her out from under the desk. Grasping her by the hair, he yanked her to her feet, pushing her backward onto the desk. He pressed into her, his face just inches away. Breath smelling of rot and decay enveloped her mouth while his lips hovered above her own.

  As Isabelle struggled to free herself, he pulled her hair tighter and said something in German

  The dark and menacing smile curling his lips reminded her of the soldier she’d encountered in the field and she cringed, turning her head away. When he pushed her back harder, she reached behind her to brace against the desk. A sharp stab poked her hand, and she winced against it, but then remembered what it was. Her letter opener. She had cut her hand on the sharp letter opener. When his lips descended toward hers, she fumbled around until she felt the ivory handle slip into her palm. Gripping it tight, she wielded it with fury and she felt it puncture his skin, driving deep into his neck.

  His body tensed and blood erupted from lips parted in surprise. As Isabelle pushed him backward, he offered no resistance and stumbled, the blood spurting from his neck and pouring out of his mouth. Clutching the letter opener embedded in his neck, he collapsed to his knees, his shocked eyes never leaving hers. With one last gurgle, he fell onto his face and went limp on the floor. Trembling uncontrollably, she wiped her mouth and started toward the door, determined to find somewhere safe to hide.