The PBI was not exaggerating. The shelling continued well after the boys’ shift ended. Poor Feathers was so agitated by the constant noise, Charlie couldn’t coax him to eat when they returned to the dugout. The boys made quick work of the cold stew Bats spooned into bowls for them. Exhausted from their first shift, they collapsed onto their bunks with pained groans. Thomas wondered if he’d be able to lift his arms by their next shift, much less lift full sandbags.

Max pawed at Bagger’s leg, trotted over to the dugout doorway, glanced back at Bagger, and whined.

“Not now, boy,” the clay kicker said, pressing his hands into the small of his back and stretching. “I’m too sore to take you for a walk.”

Max whined again, but when Bagger made no move to get up from his chair, the dog trotted over to where Thomas lay, jumped onto his bunk, and curled up next to him.

As the men sat at the table playing cards, Thomas stroked the short fur on the dog’s back, his weary eyes following the lines and angles of the metal mesh of George’s bunk above him, fighting to stay open. He had to return to the trenches, but first he had to wait until the rest of his crew fell asleep.

Charlie had climbed up onto his bunk as soon as he finished eating. Resting on his stomach, his face inches from Feathers’s cage, he sketched the men playing cards. He whispered to the canary as he drew, but the voices of the men buried whatever secrets he shared.

Frederick also retreated to his bunk, where he turned his back to the room and wrote in his notebook. Thomas couldn’t see what he was writing, and even if he could, he wouldn’t know what it said, but it was obvious by how fast Frederick scribbled and how hard he pressed down his fountain pen that whatever words Frederick was writing were angry, and, Thomas suspected, about George.

George didn’t notice. His full attention seemed focused on the card game. He perched on the edge of his bunk with his long legs dangling above Thomas, hoping the men would invite him to play.

But they extended no invitation, and after three hands of cards, they dimmed the lamps and retired to their bunks, a clear signal that the boys were expected to sleep now too.

Max leaped from Thomas’s bunk and curled up on top of Bagger’s rounded belly. Thomas missed the dog the second he left, taking his warm body and calming presence with him.

After several minutes of bodies shifting in search of comfortable positions, the dugout quieted, and the snoring began. It started with Frederick. Exhausted from his first stint of manual labor, the Eton student fell asleep almost as soon as the room darkened. His mouth hanging open and drool dribbling down his chin, he snored, assuring Thomas that Frederick would not be monitoring his movements today. The men and George soon joined Frederick, slumber rattling through their throats. Even Max’s sleep rumbled with soft snores. Only Charlie remained quiet. Either he was still up, or he was as quiet asleep as he was awake. To be safe, Thomas waited a bit longer before attempting to leave.