The enemy increased their fire as the battalion neared their trenches. The young soldier’s ears rang with the deafening blasts. Through the eyepieces of his mask, he squinted against the blinding flash of artillery shells exploding and spotted the front-line trenches and helmeted heads of the enemy. The soldier aimed his rifle at a machine gunner and pulled the trigger. He didn’t wait for the man to fall before running forward and aiming his rifle at another German soldier.

As he pulled the trigger, an explosion ripped into the ground before him. The blast tore his rifle from his hands and heaved him into the air. He slammed back to the battlefield with teeth-shattering force. His lungs seized, and his vision blurred. The world around him faded. The gunfire and screams evaporated, and the ringing in his ears quieted, until all that remained was the frantic, uneven beat of his own heart.

It was the last sound he heard.

EIGHT

BAGGER LED THE boys back to their dugout, where the three men they’d left sleeping now sat around their makeshift table, drinking tea, smoking, and playing cards.

“’Bout time you got back, Bagger,” said a large man. He had long auburn sideburns, a scattering of teeth, and no neck. His voice grated through his throat like a spade against gravel. “Where’s Max?”

“He’s running messages,” Bagger replied.

“Command better not wear him out. We need him well rested for later.”

“Don’t you worry about Max. He’ll be ready.”

“He better be.” The large man motioned to the empty chair beside him. “We’re getting ready to play pontoon. You in?”

“No chance, Mole. You chaps took all my earnings last time we played. I’ve got nothin’ to wager.”

George stepped forward. “I do.” He reached in his pocket and threw a couple of shillings into the small pile on the table, eager for a bit of card-playing to relax—and to relieve these fellows of their money.

“Who are these lads?” asked a slip of a man with watery eyes magnified by lenses twice the width of George’s thumb.

Bagger motioned to the boys. “Say hello to our new attached infantry, Bats. Hellfire Jack thinks we need a few more beasts of burden.” He glanced back at Frederick. “Though I don’t think Eton here’s seen much burden in his life.”

Frederick’s nostrils flared with indignation, but he kept quiet.

“These boys will be hauling clay and timber and shadowing us while they learn the ropes,” Bagger continued.

Mole pushed back from the table. “Beasts of burden? More like babes of burden.” He circled the boys in slow, disapproving steps before stopping in front of Thomas. “How old are you, lad?”

“Eighteen.”

Mole leaned down so he was eye to eye with Thomas. When Thomas didn’t step back or look away, he smiled with the same crooked grin, sparse teeth, and glint in his eyes as the jack-o’-lanterns Thomas and James used to carve from turnips and potatoes to scare their little sisters. “Eighteen what? Months?”