Giselle Ch. 01

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

"A true soldier does not fight because he hates what is in front of him, but rather because he loves what is behind him. "

Gilbert K. Chesterton

Chapter One

War is hell.

Darius had heard that saying a thousand times. But he found that saying wasn't true. You have to be dead to be in hell. What is hell on earth? That's the Great War.

It was the Fall of 1916. The Allied Armies devised an offensive in Northern France against the German Army to hasten the end of the Great War. The offensive instead devolved into an epic stalemate of trench warfare. In what became known as the Battle of the Somme, over one million men were lost during that five month struggle, deemed one of the bloodiest battles in human history. Darius Betain was a French foot soldier who had enlisted in 1914, leaving the comfort of his Parisian home for the front lines. Darius was billeted to the French Sixth Army, which was tasked with capturing and holding the village of Maurepas during that offensive.

During that offensive the French were repeatedly repelled by withering German machine gun fire. Darius had just gone to retrieve another fallen comrade from a shell crater. Or at least what was left of his fallen comrade. What was five minutes ago his drinking buddy and bunkmate was now an unrecognizable mass of bloody flesh. Ignoring the bullets whistling through the air, Darius dragged his comrade through the muddy expanse of no man's land to the French fortifications fifty yards distant. Darius called for a stretcher bearer to take his comrade away, and then did the best he could to brush off the mixture of mud and blood that had crusted on his uniform.

Darius knew that the sergeant of his unit would soon blow his whistle to signal yet another fruitless charge against the German lines. The half mile or so that separated the French and German lines had already claimed the lives of three hundred thousand soldiers. What was once a glorious collection of farms and vineyards had been reduced to a treeless muddy killing field. Darius now lived his life in five minute increments. He had no expectation of living beyond the next five minutes. That mindset wears on a man's soul. Darius swore that if he somehow survived this carnage he would use his next pass to sprint to Paris to be with his beloved girlfriend Louise.

The sergeant did blow the whistle and Darius left the relative safety of his trench to advance towards the German lines. Darius's five minute clocked kicked in. It was unlikely he would live beyond the next five minutes. Almost immediately shells started bursting around him and he could hear the staccato firing of German machine guns raking the advancing unit of soldiers. Darius advanced over bits of broken barbed wire, around shell craters, and through ankle deep mud towards the flashes from the German fortified trenches. Men were falling all around him as he advanced, and he fully expected he would be the next to fall. Not more than five minutes after the charge came the call for retreat, and another five hundred of his comrades lay wounded or dead on the battlefield. Darius quickly retraced his steps, now stepping over the bodies of his dead mates, and plunged headfirst back into his waterlogged trench to await the inevitable German counterattack.

In less than an hour a pounding artillery barrage was unleashed on Darius's position. Darius was huddled with the remaining members of his unit in a reinforced wooden dugout to weather the barrage. Another five minutes of hell. Darius felt the earth rumbling as pieces of wood and bodies and clods of earth rained down on him. The barrage seemed as if it would never end; and then there was silence. Darius could hear the whistle blown at the German lines and left his dugout for his position in the trench. He shoveled away the dirt covering the sandbags at his post and positioned his gun to fire into no man's land. Though the smoke and haze Darius could make out the outline of advancing German soldiers. He knew to hold his fire until they were within range and resisted the urge to squeeze the trigger of his rifle. He could hear the sergeant barking out those same orders to his unit. Within minutes the French line erupted with machine gun and rifle fire and supporting artillery. Darius fired his Meunier rifle in the direction of the onrushing enemy but the haze in no man's land made it impossible to aim at a particular target. Round and round from his semi-automatic weapon was discharged into an undifferentiated mass of humanity. Another five minute countdown to death began.

Each time before the French Army was able to repel the German counterattack. This time however the fusillade was ineffective. The Germans continued to pour towards the French lines. Darius heard the order to retreat and knew that with the line had broken and it would only be a matter of moments before he would feel the tip of a German bayonet pierce his heart. He jumped out of his trench with nothing more than his backpack and his gun and sprinted full speed away with a herd of men from the advancing Germans. With the thick smoke and large debris field to navigate Darius didn't know exactly where he was running but he continued his headlong rush to the rear with explosions going off all around him and bits of debris pelting his exposed face and hands. As he ran he inhaled the acrid smoke from gunpowder and the burning corpses of men and horses. His lungs felt as if they were on fire, and after sprinting until he could hear no more gunfire behind him, he stumbled and collapsed in a heap on the edge of a vineyard.

As he caught his breath he took stock in where he had ended up. He was next to a large bramble bush that concealed a door in the hillside behind it. He pushed the branches of the bush aside and opened the door. He could see that there was a stairway straight down into complete darkness. He surmised it was a cellar for either wine or champagne. He closed the door behind him and felt around until he found a stub of a candle and matches on the first stair. He lit the candle stub and made the long descent into the cave.

At the bottom of the stairs Darius found himself in a champagne cellar with bottles covered in dust and stacked to the ceiling in semi-circular alcoves off the main floor of the cellar. The main floor of the cellar housed numerous riddling racks with champagne bottles sticking out at almost ninety degree angles, awaiting their daily quarter turn rotation. The walls themselves appeared to be salt, indicating the cave was once a working salt mine in the days of the Roman Empire. He snuffed out the candle, put down his rifle and pack, and slumped against a cave wall with his uniform heavy with perspiration. He carefully peeled off his boots and socks, both soaked for weeks on end in the blood and rainwater of the battlefield. The cool air of the cellar felt good and the musty yeasty smell of the cellar reminded Darius of good days gone by when he was a boy in Bordeaux helping his father cellar the family wine. It was also eerily quiet and still. It had been weeks since Darius had experienced quiet and it disturbing to him not to be subjected to continuous noise and vibration. It was also the first time in weeks that Darius did not hear his five minute stopwatch ticking.

Darius started to doze off when he heard stirring near him. He lit the stub of the candle and grabbed his rifle. He could see a shadow moving in the cellar.

"Who's there? I'll shoot if you don't come out!"

"Please don't shoot!"

A woman came out of the shadows. She looked to be in her 40's, but her matted hair, grimy appearance and the weak light of the candle made it hard to tell. She was shaking, almost uncontrollably. Darius lowered his rifle and extended his arm to her. She took his hand and sat next to him. Darius sat down as well.

"Is there anyone else in here?" Darius wanted to hear her answers carefully to see whether she was telling the truth.

"No. I'm by myself," she replied anxiously.

Darius found her answer to be sincere. "How long have you been in here?"

"I don't know. Maybe two or three days? It's so dark here I've lost track of time."

"Do you have any food and water?"

"I grabbed some food before I came down here. It's almost gone. I'll share it with you. I have no water but I have plenty of champagne."

"What's happening up there?"

"The Germans overran our village a few days ago. I went into this cellar to avoid them." There was a pause before the woman went on. "You're not going to hurt me are you?"

"Of course not," Darius declared emphatically. "What's your name? My name is Darius Betain."

"Giselle Dubois. I'm married." Giselle wanted to put Darius on notice of that fact.

Darius went into his backpack and pulled out his tattered wool field blanket. He draped it over Giselle's shoulders.

"Thank you. I grabbed food but I forgot to bring blankets. I'm too scared to leave the cave. I don't want to be raped by the Germans." Giselle was now more confident she could be forthright with Darius and was grateful that he might provide her with protection.

"It was almost dark when I came into the cave. It should be dark by now. I'll look outside and see if I can get to your house to find food and blankets."

Giselle now felt panicked. "Please don't leave me down here. What happens if you don't come back?"

"I'll be back. I promise," Darius said confidently.

"That's what my husband Bernard said. I haven't heard from him for six months. He was sent to Flanders and I'm certain he's dead," said Giselle with bitterness in her voice.

"We have no choice but for me to look," Darius replied. He pulled back on his wet sock and boots and made the long march back up the stairs with his candle stub in hand.

"Don't forget to grab more candles! They're in the kitchen in the cabinet nearest the kitchen door. I'm almost out of lamp oil."

At the top of the stairs Darius slowly opened the cellar door to peer out. It was quiet outside, but for the distant boom of artillery, and there were no lights on in the farmhouse or anywhere within Darius's line of sight. The cellar door was reasonably hidden from view, being partially covered by brambles, and Darius located more brambles to cover the entrance upon his return. He went into the farmhouse to gather supplies.

Darius first went upstairs to the master bedroom and found pillow cases. He took two pillow cases and also two down quilts. He also went through Bernard's wardrobe, snatching a long sleeve shirt, sweater, pants, three pairs of socks and work boots, and through Giselle's wardrobe, grabbing undergarments, work clothes and shoes. He then went to the kitchen and scavenged vegetables that Giselle had canned. Giselle had certainly made a hasty retreat as there was still salted meat, cheese and preserves out on the counter apparently in anticipation of her next meal. Darius put all of the food in the pillow cases and located the candle and lamp oil supply. He scurried back to the wine cellar with two full pillow cases of supplies and the quilts and pulled the brambles closer to better disguise the door. It was a long trek down the stairs with two armfuls of supplies and no light. But Darius knew he had all the time in the world and felt his way carefully down the stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs Giselle was anxiously awaiting his return. In almost complete darkness Darius put down the supplies and Giselle spontaneously threw her arms around Darius and expressed gratitude that Darius had not only returned, but had done so with all the supplies they needed. Darius was startled by the show of affection and returned her hug in kind. He noticed for the first time Giselle's full breasts as she pressed them against him.

"Let's celebrate and eat and drink," said Giselle, now with a lilt in her voice. "Who knows about tomorrow?"

Giselle went back into the cave to retrieve the remaining food and a lamp. She used the oil Darius brought to refuel the lamp and lit it. In the enhanced light Giselle could now see that Darius was a tall handsome Frenchman in his mid-20's with curly brown hair and an athletic build. Darius was eager to see Giselle better, and behind the grime and the dirty hair he could see that Giselle was a classic French beauty with high cheekbones, a heart shaped face, long reddish brown hair and blue green eyes. They both went behind the many riddling racks in the cellar and changed into fresh clothes, with Darius discovering that he was one size larger than Bernard. Fortunately Bernard's work boots were well broken in and thus Darius was able to squeeze his feet into them. Darius thought he died and went to heaven with dry socks and boots. Giselle used the supplies and a remaining crust of bread to make a wonderful meal, the best Darius had in weeks, washed down with the finest vintage champagne in the cellar. Sated with the food and drink, Giselle fell asleep with Darius spooned against her under the warmth of the down quilts. Darius had his arm draped over Giselle and could feel the fullness of her breasts and the gentle heave of her chest as she fell into a deep slumber.