“What do you think, Tommy? Did he faint from exhaustion from not helping us?”

The only reply was the scrape of a match being lit and the pungent smell of sulfur.

“Leave no man behind. Isn’t that what they drilled into our skulls for the last two weeks, Tommy? Guess this one thought that only applied on the battlefield.”

Charlie kept his eyes squeezed shut, hoping the boys would find other seats, but a body plopped down in the seat to his right. Opening one eye, he peeked over at the tall, red-headed boy lounging next to him. Blood trickled down his freckled cheek in a broken line from a gash on the bridge of his crooked nose, and a wave of guilt surged through Charlie.

“Hey!” his new seatmate exclaimed. “He’s awake! Thanks for giving us a hand, mate.”

Charlie scooted away, shifting in his seat until his back was pressed up against the window.

Unfazed by his reaction, the tall soldier stretched out his long legs and rested his feet on the empty seat across from him. “So,” he said, staring at Charlie, “how long until we get to Belgium?”

Charlie didn’t answer.

The red-headed soldier glanced over at his short friend who remained in the aisle, his face pale and his hands still shaking from his brush with death. “We may have found someone who actually speaks less than you, Tommy.” He returned his attention to Charlie. “What’s your name?”

Charlie’s gaze fell to his lap.

“Blimey, you’re quieter than a mouse, aren’t you?”

Charlie flinched as the boy slapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Easy there, Mouse. I’m not going to hurt you. That’s what we’ll call you. Mouse. It’s fitting, don’t you think, Tommy?”

Tommy, who’d stepped over his friend’s legs and taken the seat across from Charlie, shrugged.

“This is going to be a boring trip if I have to talk to myself the whole time,” the tall soldier said in a voice loud enough for the whole car to hear.

The tidy soldier, five seats ahead, turned and glared at him like he was filth he wished to wipe from his shoe and discard. The red-headed boy took a long drag from his cigarette and winked at the soldier, who looked away in disgust.

“Think I’ll take a stroll and ask the conductor what time we’ll be reaching Dover to catch the ferry across the Channel.”

The little color that had returned to Tommy’s face vanished. “We’re stopping in Dover?”

“Of course. Where else are we going to cross the Channel?”

Tommy shifted in his seat.

“What’s wrong, Tommy? You afraid of water or something?”

Tommy shook his head, but his color did not return.

“All right then. I’ll be back in a bit.” The tall soldier looked over at Charlie and smiled. “Don’t go having any big, life-changing discussions without me, Mouse.”

He paused next to the tidy soldier on his way to the front of the car and blew a stream of smoke over his head. It settled like a fog around the soldier, who coughed and waved a hand before his face.