Behind George, waiting at the corner of the trench, Charlie gave Thomas a timid wave, then returned to gnawing on whatever was left of his nails.

George leaned in closer. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you, Tommy? ’Cause I hear they shoot deserters.”

Thomas started to explain that he just needed some air, when a soldier called out. “Two minutes!”

“What’s going on here?” George asked, peering past Thomas to the gathering of men clogging up the trench.

“Some kind of competition.”

George pushed forward to get a better look. “This I need to see.”

Johnny and Dan had climbed onto a wooden plank lining the trench wall, careful to keep their heads below the sandbags. Everyone’s attention was fixed on the piece of bread on Johnny’s bayonet. Suddenly, a long brown rat scurried along the trench floor.

“There’s one!” a soldier yelled.

The rat stopped, and Johnny shot the soldier a threatening glare, silencing him.

“I sure hope that’s not dinner,” Thomas groaned.

“Wouldn’t be the first rat I’ve eaten,” George whispered. “Bet you’ve had a few too, eh, Mouse?”

Charlie, whose curiosity had lured him closer, didn’t answer.

“Don’t worry,” George said, when he noticed the embarrassed blush tinting Charlie’s face and ears. “Norton-Griffith’s recruiter promised real food for our work.”

The rat’s head swept side to side, nose twitching. Its beady black eyes locked on the hunk of bread. Perched on the bench, Johnny nodded to Dan, who tossed a clot of soil at the trench wall behind the rat. It exploded in a spray of dirt, and the rat bolted forward, picking up speed as it neared the bread. The clay kickers and soldiers leaned in, blocking Thomas’s view. He ducked down to peer between their legs just as the rat, its mouth wide open to snag the bread in its retreat, impaled itself on the bayonet. Johnny jumped down and jammed the blade deeper, and the infantrymen cheered.

Boomer kicked at the ground, and Bats groaned as Johnny lifted his weapon for everyone to see. Blood dripped from the speared rat’s mouth and its legs twitched twice before falling limp.

“What’s the count now?” Johnny asked.

Two soldiers lifted the ends of a wooden beam. A line of dead rats hung below the board, like prisoners dangling beneath a tiny gallows.

“That one makes nine!” Dan yelled. “We’re up by two.”

“Pay up, boys!” Johnny shook his weapon, sending the dead rat’s legs into a drunken jig. “Our undefeated status lives on!”

The infantrymen cheered louder.

George reached into his pocket and pulled out two shillings. “I’ve got to get in on some of this action.”

“You can’t,” Charlie whispered, his voice tight with panic.

“Sure I can. Coin is coin. These chaps won’t care who places a bet as long as he can pay, which I can.” He jingled the shillings in his hand. “And if I play the odds right, which I always do, between my wages and winnings, after the war, I’ll be strolling back into London with enough coin to pay off my debts and buy myself off the streets.”