THIRTY-SEVEN

IN THE RESERVE trenches, George and Frederick managed to scrounge up two tins of Maconochie beef stew and a small package of bread. As they made their way back to the support trenches, Max trotted behind them, his attention focused on the food in their hands.

“This is not the three meals a day I was promised.” George tore open the K-Brot package and handed Frederick a piece of the tasteless bread. “When this war is over, the first thing I’m going to do is eat real stew and dumplings until I get sick.”

“And a whole roast,” Frederick said.

“And meat pudding.” George sighed.

They continued listing off foods as they rounded the corner to find Charlie sitting alone in their designated meeting place.

George tossed him a tin of beef stew. “Here you go, Mouse.”

Max sat before Charlie and licked his chops as Charlie opened the tin. “Where’s Thomas?” he asked.

“He’s not with you?” Frederick asked.

“No. I thought he was with you two getting food.”

George sat on the bench beside Charlie. “Last we saw him was with you and Mole in the dugout. When was the last time you saw him?”

“Over an hour ago,” Charlie said.

“Where?” Frederick asked.

“He was headed back to the dugout.”

George set down his open tin, and Max jumped onto the bench to lap up the cold stew. “Why?”

“He said he forgot something and he’d meet me here. When he didn’t show up after a few minutes, I assumed he’d found you two in the reserve trenches and was getting food.”

“We never saw him,” Frederick said. “Do you think he’s with Mole and Boomer checking the leads again?”

George stood. “Only one way to find out.” He grabbed his gas mask and hurried down the support trench to the tunnel entrance. Charlie, Frederick, and Max followed him past their empty crew dugout to the shaft that connected the upper galleries to the lower galleries.

Boomer and Mole sat near the lip of the shaft. They were focused on checking the wiring of the leads to a pair of raised metal screws on the lid of a wooden box situated between them and didn’t hear the boys approaching. Black capital letters spelling out EXPLODER were stenciled on the side of the box, and a long wooden dowel capped with a wooden handle extended from the top.

“It passed the resistance test,” Boomer reassured Mole. “Even if the aerial bombardment collapses part of the gallery, the leads should remain intact, and the mines should fire.”

“Good.” Mole checked the time and smiled. “Barring any unforeseen problems, Maedelstede Farm is ready to fire.”

He looked up from his watch as George skidded to a halt before them. “Shillings? What are you doing in here?”

Charlie and Frederick joined George beside the men. Max paced back and forth in front of the shaft and whined.

“What are all of you doing in here?” Mole asked. “I told you boys to watch from the support trenches.”