Everyone stopped their work and watched as Frederick clutched his stomach and sank to the ground, unable to draw a full breath. Thomas, still removing the drill from the hole for Boomer, giggled. Frederick glared at him, and Thomas covered his mouth to stifle the laughter.

Sorry, Eton, George mouthed, putting the beam back on the trolley and extending a hand to help Frederick up.

Frederick slapped his hand away. “Don’t call me that,” he whispered, “and pay attention to what you’re doing before you get someone killed.”

“No need to get all poked up about it,” George whispered, an amused smile tickling at the corners of his mouth. “It was an accident.”

“Accident,” Frederick spat, drawing Bagger’s attention, once again, from helping Mole at the tunnel face.

Now it was Frederick who got whacked in the side of the head.

Back to work. Now, Bagger mouthed.

With a roll of his eyes, George returned to the trolley, but Frederick followed him.

“You and your friends,” he whispered, stabbing a finger in the direction of Thomas, who was now clutching his stomach in a fit of stifled giggles, “have mocked and insulted me every chance you get.”

George shoved Frederick, knocking the glasses from his face. “That’s because you’ve looked down your nose at us like we’re gutter rats since the second you saw us on the train.”

Boomer shot the boys a warning look.

Frederick plucked his glasses from the floor and cleaned the smudged lenses with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. Putting the glasses back on, he leaned in close, so only George could hear. “That’s because you are gutter rats.”

George grabbed the front of Frederick’s shirt and cocked back his fist. “Well, this gutter rat is gonna bash in that uppity nose of yours until you’re breathing through your eyes.”

Boomer grabbed Frederick while Mole restrained George before a punch was thrown.

“Knock it off,” Bagger said through clenched teeth. “Both of you.”

Frederick struggled to break free from the miner’s grip. “He started it.”

“And I’m gonna finish it,” George sneered, spitting in Frederick’s face.

“Get them out of here,” Bagger ordered in a harsh whisper, “before they give away our—”

“Shut up!”

Everyone stopped and looked at Charlie.

“What is it, Mouse?” Bats whispered.

“Do you hear it?” Charlie asked.

Bats held up his hand, signaling for quiet. Frederick and George stopped struggling, and Boomer and Mole released their holds on the boys. Frederick closed his eyes and held his breath, trying to pick up the noise Charlie heard. Fear trickled like ice water down his spine at the possibilities. Was it digging? Had his fight with George given away their position? Were the Germans packing their own torpedo into the wall separating them? Panic took hold, and he was turning to run when Bats said, “I don’t hear anything.”

“Neither do I,” whispered Charlie. “That’s the problem.”

Before he could explain further, Thomas bent over and vomited. After the second heave, his eyes rolled back, and he fainted.