A few more soldiers tossed coins to the infantryman, all placing their bets on Johnny and Dan for the win. Thomas inched closer to see what game the men were playing and to catch a glimpse of Bagger’s partner, Max, the crew member who Bagger had said was running messages two hours earlier.

Bagger stood with his back to the others, yelling to his partner hidden beyond the corner at the far end of the trench. “Come on, Max! We got this! Just one more!”

“Shut up, Bagger,” an older infantryman crouched on the floor of the trench warned. “You’re gonna scare ’em off.”

“What’s wrong, Johnny?” Boomer called out. “You afraid of losing?”

Johnny motioned to a soldier at his side. “Give me another piece, Dan.” His partner, a husky infantryman, not much older than George, handed him a hunk of bread. Johnny speared the bread on his rifle’s bayonet, laid the weapon flat on the ground, and slowly backed up. “You tunnel rats haven’t beat us yet.”

“First time for everything,” Bagger said, turning his attention back to his partner working around the corner.

Thomas was so engrossed in the strange competition between the tunnelers and the infantrymen, he didn’t notice the creak of footfalls on the duckboards behind him. Then a hand grabbed his shoulder, and a slow, measured voice asked, “Just what do you think you’re doing out here, Dover?”

NINE

THOMAS’S STOMACH DROPPED. He’d let himself get distracted and hadn’t asked one soldier about James. At best, he’d be reprimanded and sent back to the dugout until their shift started. At worst, he’d be sent to dig trenches in France. Either way, he’d failed his brother and his parents.

Several lame excuses stumbled through his brain as he turned to face his punishment, but when he raised his eyes to meet what he expected to be the stern glare of the crew’s listener, he was instead met with the amused smirk of the London street urchin who’d followed him to the Western Front.

“Good God, Tommy.” George chuckled. “You should see your face. You’d think a Fritz had snuck up on you.” He dropped his voice to mimic Bats. “You didn’t wet yourself, did you, lad?” His gaze dropped to the front of Thomas’s trousers.

Thomas bristled at George’s continued use of James’s nickname for him. “Stop calling me Tommy.”

George rubbed the patchy stubble on his chin and cheeks and cleared his throat to imitate Bagger. “Out here, you’ll answer to whatever I call you. Understand?”

Thomas shoved him away from the cluster of soldiers and back toward the path to the tunnel entrance. “No. And you didn’t scare me. You surprised me. What are you doing out here anyway?”

“I saw you sneaking out. Thought you were hitting the latrine, but when you didn’t come back, I figured I should come looking for you and make sure you hadn’t decided to catch the next train back to London. Brought Mouse along to help drag you back if you had.”