| ~Chapter 8~ Langres, France ~ August 13th, 1914 �Imas, Pierre!� yelled a bulky, stern looking man, holding a clipboard. �Sir!� Came the reply. �James, Christian!� The general boomed out again. �Sir!� Christian answered, sighing lightly once the general was out of earshot; checking down the row of men. Squinting his eyes and wiping his sweaty palms against his pants leg, he moaned at the sweltering heat. Christian had known he would be miserable at war, but never would he have thought it would put him into such a state of utter sadness. Other than missing Satine, which he did every moment, he was forced to be surrounded by bourgeois pigs that led such a shallow life, it was pathetic. Christian had also unfortunately become the butt of many jokes. The same man that harassed him on the train, whom he had unfortunately come to know as Philippe, had taken a liking to calling him �Chrissy� and making his life just about as miserable as possible. They were being issued their rifles today; the very part of training he had dreaded most. He�d always hated weapons; preferring paper and ink to a bow and arrow. As the general droned the names of soldiers, Christian let his mind drift away once again� ��Come what may.� Christian continued; his heart and soul pouring out the words he had written for his true love. �Come what may.� He didn�t see the hundreds of nameless faces staring in the theatre, only the eyes of Satine gazing at him, begging for forgiveness. �Come what may. I will love you.� Christian thought his heart would burst from his chest as he heard Satine�s voice blend perfectly with his own. �Until my dying day, come what may. Come what may.� His entire body tingled as her delicate fingers grazed the length of his chest to rest on his shoulders. He placed loving arms around her waist as they finished, mesmerized by the details of the other�s face, �I will love you, until my dying day..." Their moment was crushed as a heavily decorated Toulouse came flying from out of no where. He let out a terrified shriek, �Cwistian! He�s got a gun!� Toulouse�s unexpected entrance knocked the pistol out of Warner�s hand and Petite let out a tiny squeal as it skidded in front of her feet. The audience let out delighted cries of laughter, having no idea what was happening as Toulouse cried out, �He�s twying to kiw y-� �James! You wanna get killed?� The general barked. Christian snapped to attention. �No sir!� He shouted. Christian adjusted his uncomfortable gear and stooped down to aim his gun for target practice. Soon enough, ear rupturing bursts of sound could be heard from all directions as the men fired their guns. And instead of seeing circular targets, they envisioned rows of German men. Reims, France ~ August 13th, 1914 Melinda Jefferson had taken Satine under her wing, feeling sorry for the expectant mother who missed her husband. But Satine proved to be a very quick learner, absorbing everything she was taught. Melinda always made sure she was never too far away from Satine, in case she needed extra help where the other women had already been taught. Today they were learning how to dress wounds and Satine easily cleaned, applied medicine and properly covered the �injury� on her dummy. Melinda was delighted. Satine was even chosen with a few other women to go around and help those having trouble. Satine hated getting up with the sun for a full day of training, but she just kept in mind that everyday she had to endure it, was another day closer to when she would see her Christian again. Langres, France ~ August 13th, 1914 Sitting on an old stump by the glowing fire, Christian gazed at a picture of Satine. Her beautiful face illuminated, like the falling embers of the blaze in front of him. He missed her so, every part of him aching to hold her against him. Suddenly, Christian was startled by the sound of drunken laughter bubbling behind him. He shut his eyes tight and prayed that Philippe and his comrades would just pass him by. �What ya looking at Chrissy?� Philippe drawled out, snatching the picture from Christian�s hand. �Give that back, please,� Christian said. Even in his fearful state, it was a demand, not a request. Philippe squinted through glassy eyes and almost instantly recognized the woman in the picture. He whistled before saying, �Well now, Chrissy, a picture of a whore?� He called to his friends and pointed at Satine, �Look fellas, a picture of the Sparkling Diamond herself!� Christian was fuming inside. �I don�t know what you�re talking about, that�s a picture of my wife. Give it back�now.� A loud, obnoxious laugh filled the air and Philippe�s rancid breath nearly made Christian sick. �Chrissy�s married to a whore! You sure know how to pick them, Shakespeare.� More laughter filled the night as Christian�s anger boiled into a frenzied rage. �Don�t you EVER talk about her like that again,� Christian fumed. Philippe snickered and threw the picture back into Christian�s lap before kneeling to his level, �Half the men in this camp have probably been with her,� he whispered into his ear with a sweep of his arm. Then, he lowered his voice to a menacingly sinister tone, �You know what? I fucked her myself, Chrissy. The little whore...she'll give anyone a good blow.� Christian slammed his fists down and threw a forceful punch and missed Philippe only by a few inches. Finding Christian�s anger amusing, he continued, loud enough for the whole camp to hear, �And you know what else, Chrissy? I didn't even pay the bitch!� Before Philippe could blink, he was on the ground, Christian having nearly punched him unconscious. �You BASTARD! I ought to rip you apart!� he screamed, continuing to beat the man who had shamed his angel. Soon, Philippe�s friends were brought out of their shocked state and came to his aid. They pulled Christian off of Philippe and pinned his arms behind his back while another man violently kneed him in the stomach repeatedly. He doubled over in pain, but refused to let tears fall. No, he wouldn�t let them see him break. Just as Christian was about to slip out of consciousness, he heard a stern voice call out and he was released. His knees gave way and he fell to the dirt; loud cursing and swearing the only things registering. After several moments, the night grew quiet again and Christian�s throbbing head rest against the ground. He felt a strong, comforting hand on his shoulder and the kind stranger helped him sit upright. �Hey Buddy,� a voice said, softly. �You all right?� �I�m fine,� Christian replied as he attempted to stand up on wobbly legs, but immediately plopped back down. The man chuckled, �I think I better get you back to your tent, you got in the middle of quite a brawl over there.� He helped him stand up, propping one of Christian�s arms around his shoulder and putting his own around Christian�s waist. He took slow steps, making sure the injured man could keep up. �What�s your name, soldier?� He asked. �Christian�, he replied, limping painfully towards his tent. �Well Christian, happy to meet you. We didn�t meet up under the greatest of circumstances, but I guess that�s the way it goes, eh?� He didn�t wait for an answer before continuing. �You can call me Hal, all my friends do. And I guess I can call you a friend after helping you hobble your way back.� Hal let out a good natured laugh and Christian couldn�t help but smile. Maybe there were a few good men at this camp. �Thanks for bringing me back,� Christian said. �Hey, don�t mention it,� Hal said, patting Christian on the back. �See you in the morning, Chris.� With that, Christian waved and entered his tent through the small flap of tarp and fell into a heavy sleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Reims, France ~ April 20th, 1917 Sara covered her eyes with her tiny hands as Satine poured water over her head to rinse away the fluffy bubbles. Her eyes fluttered back open and Satine wiped away the drops of water stuck to her daughter�s fine eyelashes. �All clean!� Sara pronounced as her mother pulled the plug for the bathtub. �Yes darling, now time to get dry,� she said with a smile as she took the white towel hanging from a nearby rack. Satine draped it over her arms and lifted Sara from the tub. Satine rubbed the towel over her soft skin and tickled Sara�s belly, making her giggle with delight. Right as Satine was drying Sara�s damp curls, she wiggled out of her mother�s grasp and went running out of the bathroom. �WEEEE!� Sara squealed, running down the hall. Satine couldn�t help but let out an exasperated laugh at her little naked daughter running all over the house. She sighed and tried her best to sound stern and called out, �Sara! Sara Marie, you get back here right now!� Soon, Satine saw two little eyes peeking at her from behind a corner. Sara was trying to read her mother�s expression to see if she was upset with her. Satine saw her hesitation and said softly, �Come here sweetie.� Sara came hobbling back and when she reached her mother, she raised her arms as a signal to be picked up. Satine grinned and held her daughter close as the two made their way back into the bathroom. Sara looked at her mother with wide eyes and asked, �Is mama mad?� �No darling. It just isn�t very lady like to run down the hall with no clothes on,� Satine answered, trying to suppress her smile. Sara nodded, as if she were thinking the situation over. �Sowwy mama,� she said. �Oh, baby girl. It�s all right. We all have to be silly sometimes,� Satine replied, nuzzling Sara�s button nose. There was silence before Sara asked, �Daddy ever silly, Mama?� Satine swallowed and blinked back the tears she could feel pressing against her eyes. �Yes, sweetheart, Daddy used to be silly all the time.� |