A War Within (Epic WWI Love Story)

by Katherine Hastings

“Capitaine Leroux. You are under arrest for conspiracy against France!” Sergeant Dupont shouted across the clearing at him.

  “You have to listen to me!” Auguste pleaded while they started surrounding him. “I was not here to divulge information! I was here to assassinate the spy Private Blanch! Look, I even brought my knife,” he said as he began to reach under his coat to pull out his knife.

  “Don’t move!” Sergeant Dupont shouted. He froze and put his hands up. “We know what you are! We captured a German spy several weeks ago and tortured him to find out his objective. He finally divulged that he was to come here and find a Capitaine Leroux and ask him the code phrase. Upon a return of the correct code phrase you were to begin leaking our strategy information to the Germans. We didn’t want to believe it, so we sent in a fake replacement to test you. You failed.”

  Even though Sergeant Dupont spoke, Auguste couldn’t rip his eyes away from Jean-Luc’s. The way his one true friend looked at him, his eyes a devastating mixture of hatred and sorrow, tore through his soul. He wished more than anything he could see the love and friendship that usually resided there. When Jean-Luc’s eyes narrowed even more, Auguste felt his heart tighten in agony as his brother looked at him with such disgust. There was nothing he could say to make him understand, to believe his words. But he had to try.

  “I can explain. You have to let me explain,” Auguste begged, focusing on Jean-Luc. “I was sent here as a spy. Yes. I admit it. However, I have changed sides! I fight for you now! I will protect you from the Germans. I was planning on killing the other spy and any others they sent to activate me. You have to believe me, Jean-Luc. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to betray you. You are like a brother to me, and I would die before I let anyone hurt you.”

  There were many times Auguste wished Jean-Luc would stop his incessant talking, but now the silence settling between them had him desperate to hear his friend’s voice again. No words formed, but he could see the tremble in Jean-Luc’s lip before he stiffened it and deepened his glare. In Jean-Luc’s eyes he was a liar, and he had broken the bonds of friendship and brotherhood they had built together over the years.

  “Come with us now, traitor,” Sergeant Dupont demanded.

  Auguste knew they would hang him for treason. If he let himself be captured, he’d seal his own fate. Though he didn’t want to hurt them, he wouldn’t go willingly to be hanged. He needed time to figure this out... to find a way to make this impossible situation right.

  Besides Jean-Luc, Dupont, Bertolette, and Martin, there were two other soldiers coming out of the woods. Sizing them up he prepared for their approach, knowing he needed to escape as well as leave them all alive. Lowering his head, he waited for the soldiers encircling him. He closed his eyes and listened to their boots crunching in the dry grass around him.

  The first soldier approached him from behind. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he flew back and smashed the soldier in the face with the back of his head. The disoriented soldier fell backward as Auguste spun around and kicked him in the sternum, sending him somersaulting into the grass. The second soldier jumped toward him, but Auguste stepped left and grabbed him by the neck as he flew past. With lightning speed he spun the soldier toward him and in seconds kneed him in the stomach, the face and tossed him aside.

  The unmistakable sound of guns cocking from the remaining men drew his attention, and he jumped back behind the lone tree. Loud pops from gunshots filled the air as splinters of wood from the tree flew past his face when the bullets collided with it. Counting the shots, he only got to three. Unless he was mistaken, Jean-Luc had been unable to fire.

  Silence settled over the space between them and he took a long, steadying breath of the cool early fall air. He had one chance to make it to the river below. It was a long fall but if he jumped just right he should make it. He waited, listening to his heartbeat pounding in his ears until the sound of guns being reloaded drowned it out. This was his chance. Auguste bolted out from behind the tree in a full sprint toward the edge of the cliff overlooking the river. He heard the distinctive click as they lodged the ammo into place. He had another fifty feet to go before he was safely over the edge.

  Bullets flew past him as he made his final sprint to freedom. One shot, two shots, three shots... Auguste reached the edge of the cliff and jumped like a spooked gazelle running from a lion. He flew through the air as he heard a fourth shot and felt the heat of a bullet cutting through his calf. It wasn’t the pain in his leg that seared through him... it was the pain in his heart. Jean-Luc had pulled the trigger. He felt the ground disappear from under him as his body left the cliff. The churning water down below grew closer by the second and he could only hope he had jumped far enough to clear the rocky ledge jutting from the side of the cliff. With a splash, Auguste plunged into the water. The turbulent stream pulled him under and he felt the rocks on the bottom tearing at him while it dragged him down the rushing river.

  When his lungs burned with desperation for air, the water finally released him from its grasp. He surfaced with a gasp and looked up to see the faint silhouette of his friend, standing alone on the cliff, fading into the distance. It took every ounce of his strength not to swim back to talk to Jean-Luc and try to make him understand. Auguste knew, however, that he was a dead man if he set foot back into the French camp. He felt his dreams of having friends and a family being swept away as he was washed down the river.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LIGHT SET AN HOUR AGO and he had stayed in the river as long as he could stand the cold. The river moved at such a speed he knew it would take him away from the French camp faster than he could run on foot, especially with an injured leg. When he had gained enough distance, Auguste swam to the edge and pulled himself out of the water. He crawled, gasping for breath, into the bushes nearby.

  Feeling the throbbing in his leg, he knew it needed immediate attention. While floating, he managed to slip off his belt and make a temporary tourniquet. The turbulent water made examining it impossible, so he pulled up his pant leg to examine the damage for the first time. When he saw the bullet and gone clean through, he exhaled a long sigh of relief. This wouldn’t require him to dig it out, an experience he’d been through before and didn’t relish repeating. With a few stitches, a little pain, and time his leg would be all right. Just another scar to add to the others the war had carved onto his body these past four years.

  Knowing the soldiers would be hunting him, he needed to get more space between them without wasting any time. Stitching up his leg to stop the bleeding would take a few extra moments but stopping the bleeding would be beneficial in the long-run. Blood loss equals weakness and weakness equals death. His training rushed back to him.

  Prepared for just this situation, he pulled out the small medical pouch that lived next to his knife and drew out the needle and thread. Biting his knife, he pushed the needle through the tender skin. Pain radiated all the way up his leg, but he pushed through it, knowing that sealing this wound would stop the bleeding and keep him alive. Gritting his teeth with the last puncture, he finished by tying the neat surgical knots the colonel had taught him himself. Turning his attention to the exit hole on the other side of his leg, he repeated the process before cleaning off his needle and putting everything back into the pouch

  With no time to recover from the pain, Auguste got up and started making his way through the dark woods. Needing to get his bearings, he gazed up at the stars for direction. It appeared he was heading southwest, which was taking him right into German territory. He would be a sitting duck if he didn’t get himself out of these woods by sunrise.

  Pushing his way through the branches into the woods, a familiar smell crept into his nostrils and set his senses on fire. Gunpowder residue. It was a smell he could recognize anywhere. He dropped to his stomach and slid his trench knife from his boot, careful not to make a sound. After listening for a short while for any noises, he started a quiet crawl through the leaves until he came across a dead body in a near
by clearing. With the lingering gunpowder smell, he had to assume a fresh kill by somebody who could still be nearby.

  After lying in wait for enough time he felt confident the threat was gone, he got up and approached the body. It was a German soldier. A boy of maybe seventeen. Looking at the youthful face forever frozen in time, sadness worked its way into his stomach and twisted it into a knot. This was a child far too young to die. Even though Auguste had killed hundreds more like him in the heat of battle, it never quelled the ache that each one left behind. This was someone’s son. Someone’s brother. Someone’s lover. But time for grief was a luxury Auguste didn’t have, so he shook his head and tried to force away the faces and screams seared into his mind. Knowing he was in German territory he realized he would have a far greater chance of survival if he was wearing a German uniform.

  The boy was smaller than Auguste, but luckily his uniform was too big for the unfortunate youth. Either he had lost weight in the abysmal conditions these soldiers endured or they’d run low on uniforms and were using hand-me-downs. Being as respectful as he could, he stripped the soldier of his green uniform, boots, and helmet. The cold bit at his skin when he stripped off his blue French uniform.

  Another knot of agony twisted him up inside when he realized he could never wear this uniform again. Tales of his treachery would be wide-spread and returning to the life he’d built was a dream he knew would never be. Folding up the French uniform with care, he laid it beside the boy’s body, pressing his hand to it in a final goodbye. Knowing he had no time to grieve, Auguste put on the dead boy’s German clothes. It was an unusual feeling to be back in the uniform he had worn years ago.

  Auguste picked the body clean of all the weapons and supplies he would need. Fortunately, the boy carried several knives and a standard German five-shot rifle with extra ammo. Wearing the full uniform and weaponry would help ease suspicion when he ran into the Germans stalking through these woods. Grateful for the clear skies to guide his way, Auguste made his way through the woods all night looking for a safe place to lie low for the day. When the sun came up in a couple hours, the light would make his secret travels harder.

  While he hurried through the night, thoughts reeled in his head about how he needed to find Jean-Luc and make him listen and understand. But even though it felt like all that mattered, he kept reminding himself to ignore the impulses. Right now, he needed to get far away from the French man-hunt that nipped at his heels, and then escape German territory. When compromised, training dictated a quick return to the colonel, but he couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t. If he returned, not only would punishment for his failure likely be severe, he would be sent back out to kill his French brothers in battle before he could even get a full night’s sleep. He cringed at the thought. No. He couldn’t harm them. Finding a small town to hide out in while he sorted things out was the only logical course of action, and he pushed on through the woods, cradling his new strategy.

  A branch cracked in the woods and Auguste dropped to the ground. Slowing his breathing, he listened while trying to identify the direction of the sound. Crack. There it was again. His head whipped around as he homed in on the location of the noise. From the snapping sound of the movement it was a human. Whether it was a French or German soldier he didn’t know, but at this point he wasn’t safe from either of them.

  Auguste lay quietly and listened, but the sound had stopped. The sudden lack of movement told him this person in the woods was likely aware of his presence as well or they would have continued traveling. With just a couple hours before daybreak and soldiers on his tail, he didn’t have the time to waste waiting this person out.

  Reaching around him in the dark, his fingers slid across a cool, round stone. Perfect, he thought, as he picked it up and hurled it as far away from him and the other presence in the woods as he could. It landed a distance away with a thud and a rustle of leaves. An explosion of rustling branches and leaves followed when the other person took off in the direction of the rock. Without hesitating, Auguste seized the noisy opportunity and used it to mask his own movements while he bolted through the dark woods in the opposite direction. Knowing his own movement had likely been heard by now, he pushed himself hard, ignoring the pain in his leg while he depended on his speed to get him to safety.

  The leaves crunched, and sticks cracked while he raced through the woods. After at least a mile separated him from the encounter, he was sure he’d lost his pursuer, if they’d even bothered to give chase. Kneeling down, he panted while he caught his breath and listened for movement behind him. Hearing nothing but the soft rustle of wind through the trees, he knew he’d been successful. Confident the pursuer was no longer a threat, he stood up to continue his journey.

  Pain radiated through his head when he felt a crack against his temple, the force of the blow lifting his body from the ground. Auguste landed on his back with a thud and wasted no time in gaining his bearings. Scrambling to his feet, he saw the source of the shocking blow. A soldier wearing the familiar French uniform stood staring at him, fear causing his body to tremble. Although he’d outrun the pursuer behind him, as luck would have it, he’d ran smack into a hiding French soldier. He’d grown lax with his skills and wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  The whites of the soldier’s eyes shown in the soft glow of the early morning light. Glancing at his own body, he realized he wore the German uniform he’d just stolen, and now wished he still wore his French clothes. Auguste lifted his hands in submission, attempting to calm the soldier. He began speaking to him in his perfect French accent.

  “Easy now. No need to panic. I’m one of you... a French soldier. I just stole this German uniform so that I wouldn’t be detected as I passed through here. I am Lieutenant Auguste Leroux and I...”

  “Shut up!” the terrified soldier shouted. “Shut up! You’re lying! I can’t trust you!” He raised his gun, pointing it at Auguste, the sharp bayonet only inches from his heart.

  “Easy, easy,” Auguste soothed. He knew the look in the soldier’s eyes. This war stripped good men of their senses, driving them to madness from the constant shelling, the death, and the unyielding feeling that any moment would be their last. “You’re scared. I can see that. There is no need for us to fight. I’ll go my way and you go your way. I’m on your side. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Likely separated from his group, Auguste knew the fear coursing through him made him more dangerous than he looked. The bayonet trembled in tempo with the boy’s shaking hands. With soft brown curls poking out from beneath his helmet and an innocent face, he looked out of place in these woods and in this war. He wasn’t the first soldier Auguste had seen like him, and he didn’t want to see another innocent young man added to the long list of needless casualties accrued by the atrocities of this war.

  Trying his best to avoid a fight, Auguste took a deep, soothing breath. “I’m going to start backing up now and you’re going to take the gun off me and walk the other way. Then we can both walk away from this alive. Okay?” Auguste started to take a step back.

  “Don’t move!” the soldier shouted. “One more step and I’ll kill you! If I let you go, you’ll turn around and shoot me! I don’t want to die!”

  With that, the soldier launched forward with the bayonet. Auguste stepped to the left, the bayonet just barely grazing the side of his ribs. He reached behind and grabbed the barrel of the gun, yanking it from the boy’s hands. Spinning around to find his hands empty, the soldier pulled out his knife, darting forward with a careless stab. Auguste leaned back to dodge the knife but a kick to the sternum sent him flying onto his back. As he slid to a stop on the ground, he realized this scared soldier was a better fighter than he’d anticipated.

  The soldier leapt on top of Auguste, his knife glinting in the dawn light peeking through the trees. He plunged it at Auguste who caught it between his hands. Pushing down with the full weight of his body, the boy grunted as he tried to impale Auguste with the weapon. With an expert turn of his
wrist, Auguste twisted the knife so it pointed away from him.

  “Stop!” Auguste shouted. “We’re on the same side!” But he could see from the fear in the soldier’s eyes that he was too far gone. He only reacted out of a base need for survival now. It was a look he’d seen many times in the face of battle. There was no reasoning it away.

  The two men fought over the knife, first pointed at Auguste, and now back at the soldier who knelt on top of him. The soldier pushed with everything he had, trying to turn the knife back around on Auguste. With the knife pointed away from them, Auguste made one last attempt to save this poor boy’s life without being forced to kill. He leaned forward, and head-butted the soldier, trying to knock him out. Pain radiated through his own head when he made contact.

  The impact threw the soldier off kilter and he jerked the knife with his movement, turning it back toward his own chest. Before Auguste could turn it away, the soldier fell forward, and he watched in horror as the knife plunged deep into the boy’s chest. An airy inhale sucked through the boy’s lips while he looked into Auguste’s eyes. He fell to the left, clutching the knife now deeply embedded in his lung. Auguste sat up and stared down at the mortally wounded soldier. Sorrow overwhelmed him at the unnecessary loss of another life. Pulling the boy’s head into his lap, he took his hand, holding it tight.

  “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” Auguste comforted him as he watched him gasp for air. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want this. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Letter. Pocket.” The raspy words slipped out of the dying boy’s mouth.

  Nodding, Auguste leaned forward, and his bloodied hand found its way to the boys left pocket. As he reached inside, he felt the sharp edges of paper. He pulled the envelope out and showed it to the soldier.

  “Get. Letter. To. Her,” he said and the words became almost impossible to make out. “Please. Promise.”