The smirk that had remained on Mole’s face as Bagger lectured the boys disappeared at the mention of their former crew members.

“Follow my rules, and we’ll get along fine,” Bagger said. “Break them, and I’ll have you transferred from my crew and Ypres Salient. You’ll be digging trenches in France before you can utter ‘I’m sorry.’” He leaned forward. “Have I made myself clear?”

The boys nodded.

“Now that that’s settled, what do you lads bring to our merry crew?” asked the fourth clay kicker, a short stump of a man with more hair coating his knuckles and arms and sprouting from under his shirt collar than on his head. He held a pipe firmly between his teeth. Only his lips moved when he spoke. “Any of you have mining experience?”

“I do,” Thomas said.

“What kind?” the man asked.

“Coal. In Dover.”

Smoke streamed from the man’s nostrils as he scrutinized Thomas. “I worked the coalfields in South Wales. Thirty-five years. Any work with explosives, Dover?”

Remembering Thomas’s lie to the recruiter at Trafalgar Square, George smiled. “He’s got loads of experience, right, Tommy?”

Thomas’s face flushed scarlet. “I used to watch my dad and brother set the explosives.”

The man with the pipe nodded. “Dover can work with me.”

“Leave it to Boomer to grab the only recruit with any experience underground,” Mole said, dealing out two cards to the other men. He motioned to George. “How about you, Shillings? What experience do you bring our fine crew?”

George took a seat in the only empty chair around the table. “I’ve done a bit of everything. You name it: dockworker, chimney sweep, army recruiter.” He shot a quick wink at Thomas before turning his attention back to the men at the table. “I’ve seen and done it all.”

“Not yet, you haven’t,” Bagger said, pulling him out of the chair by his ear. “But you will. Shillings is with me bagging spoil. How about you, Bats? Which one of these fine British soldiers do you want shadowing you? Eton or—” Bagger craned his neck around Thomas to find Charlie, standing as far away from the men as the cramped dugout allowed. “What’s your name, lad?”

Charlie stared at his stockinged feet. “Charlie.”

“What’d he say?” Mole asked.

“Charlie,” George answered, “but we call him Mouse.”

“Not all of us,” Frederick corrected under his breath.

“And what special skills do you bring our crew, Eton?” Bagger asked.

George reclined on one of the lower bunks. “I believe Eton’s special skill is complaining.”

“I’ll have you know,” Frederick said with a huff, “I have a great many abilities that will no doubt prove far more beneficial to this crew than anything you could offer.”

As Frederick began listing his numerous, invaluable skills, Bats took off his glasses and massaged the deep impressions on either side of his nose. “I’ll take Mouse,” he said in a slow, measured voice. “I don’t need anyone talking while I’m trying to work.”

“Bats is our ears in the tunnel,” Bagger told Charlie. “When you’re not hauling spoil with the others, you’ll be helping him listen for the enemy.”