“Don’t worry, Mouse,” George said. “I’ve got a matching set on my back from my short employment in a factory. After the supervisor beat me unconscious for fainting from the chemical fumes, I ran, but the scars never leave, do they?”

Charlie stretched one of his peeling fingers into the birdcage and stroked the canary’s soft feathers.

“You boys ever see someone die?” George pressed.

Thomas’s head bowed with the memory of the night Grandad Sullivan’s persistent, phlegmy cough quieted forever. Neither Charlie nor he answered George. Their silence was affirmation enough.

“How about you, Eton?” George said, snuffing out his cigarette under his boot.

Frederick’s response was barely audible. “That’s none of your business.”

“What’s that?” George asked, leaning closer.

Frederick lifted his chin and stared George in the eye. “That’s none of your business.”

“Finally, something we agree on.” George dusted off the shoulders of Frederick’s uniform. “You can save your lectures on survival. We’ve already been well schooled on the subject.” He snatched the biscuit from Frederick’s hand, righted his chair, and sat back down at the table as Bagger appeared in the doorway.

“Let’s go, ladies!”

The boys scrambled to their feet.

“You remember what I told you yesterday. No talking in the lower galleries. We communicate through hand signals.” He reached out, and Max jumped into his arms. “Our shift ends at five, before sunrise. You have until then to move as many bags of clay out of these galleries as possible. You boys are to haul the bags our crew fills and the bags the other two crews filled in the shifts before ours.”

“Why do we have to haul their bags too?” George asked. “Don’t their crews have trammers?”

“Yes, but we don’t move spoil out of the tunnels during daylight.”

“Why not?” Frederick asked.

“The less movement seen coming in and out of these tunnels, the better, so sandbags are hauled out of the tunnels at night, which is during our shift. PBIs will meet you at the tunnel entrance.”

“What are PBIs?” Frederick asked. “I’ve never heard of that rank before.”

“Poor bloody infantry,” Bagger answered. “When they’re not dodging bullets in the trenches, they’re helping us haul spoil. Give them the bags. They’ll use some of the bags to fortify the forward and back walls of the trenches, but most of them will be put in the storage dugout near the tunnel entrance or taken far beyond the trench lines. We don’t want many visible changes to the trenches. The Germans are always watching. We need to keep our mission a secret.”

“What is our mission?” Frederick asked.

“Eton, your mission is to haul spoil and watch Feathers.”

Before Frederick could ask another question, Bagger motioned for the boys to follow. “The gallery we’re working is deep. We don’t want the Germans seeing us moving bags of clay, especially blue clay, or they’ll know we’re not digging new trenches or dugouts and they’ll shell the hell out of us. That’s why we need to remove as much clay from these tunnels as possible at night. Get the full bags to the PBIs and then get back to the crew with timber beams to support the newly dug portion of the gallery and empty bags to fill. Any other questions? Ask ’em now or save ’em until after the shift.” His heavy-lidded eyes scrutinized each boy’s face, searching for uncertainty or confusion.