Johnny bit down on the hard biscuit, but it didn’t break. “Take it,” he said, dropping it in front of Max. “Maybe if you crack some teeth, you won’t catch so many rats.”

Max snatched up the hard treat and trotted away with his prize.

“What? No thank-you?” Johnny called after him.

“You think Bagger and his crew have hot tea in those caves they’re digging?” Dan asked.

“Don’t know. Why don’t you ask ’im?” Johnny jutted his grizzled chin toward the corner of the trench, where Thomas hid. “Bagger’s sent one of his new rats to spy on us.”

TWELVE

THOMAS COULDN’T TALK his way out of this one. They’d never believe that he’d been assigned to the front line, and he was too far from the tunnels to claim he’d become lost looking for the latrine. He was considering making a run for it when Johnny called out, “We know you’re there, son. Might as well come out and introduce yourself.”

Cursing his luck and Max, Thomas stepped out from behind the wall.

Dan pushed back his steel helmet. “You one of Bagger’s crew?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dan smiled. “You hear that? He called me sir.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Richard said, lighting a cigarette. “It’s already the size of an overripe pumpkin. Get any bigger and it’ll be an easy target for snipers.” He looked Thomas up and down, his thick brows knitted in confusion over the rims of his glasses. “How old are you, son?”

“Eighteen, sir.”

Johnny laughed. “And I’m the King of England.”

“Be nice, John,” Richard said. “No need to accuse the boy of lying.”

“Eighteen,” Johnny scoffed. “I’ve got hair on my backside older than this lad.” He looked past Thomas, expecting to see Bagger or one of the other clay kickers. “You out here alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did Bagger send you down here with his mongrel to taunt us, or is he looking for a rematch?”

“Neither, sir.”

“Then what are you doing wandering the front trenches with his ratter?” Johnny asked.

“I’m looking for someone. Max tagged along.”

“You won’t find any of your tunneling buddies out here,” Richard said.

“Actually, I’m looking for an infantryman.” Thomas handed him his family photograph and pointed to his brother. “Do you recognize him?”

Richard flicked the ash from his cigarette as he studied the photograph. He looked up when he recognized a younger version of the boy standing before him in the family portrait. “Is he your brother?”

Thomas nodded.

Richard handed the photograph to Dan, who gave it a fleeting glance before passing it to Johnny.

“What battalion is he with?” Richard asked.

“I don’t know.”

Richard took a drag from his cigarette. “Do you know where they were headed?”

“The Western Front.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, son,” Johnny said, examining the photo. “The Western Front covers over four hundred miles, with over twelve thousand miles of trenches weaving along it.”

Thomas paled. He’d never be able to search twelve thousand miles of trenches. He’d barely searched one. “In his last letter, all James said was they were headed near Ypres.”