Frederick’s eyes narrowed. “Take that back.”

“Bagger and the crew know it,” George continued.

“That’s enough, George,” Thomas said.

George motioned to Charlie and Thomas. “They know it, and I’ve known it since Charing Cross.”

Frederick’s hands began to shake. “I said take it back!” He shoved them into his pockets, where his fingers brushed up against the white feather he kept hidden there.

“What’s wrong, Eton?” George pressed. “No one in your pampered little life had the nerve to tell you how spineless you are before?”

Frederick turned to storm out of the dugout—just as Bagger stepped through the door.

“Are you two at it again?”

“I was just making sure Thomas was all right—”

George plopped down on a chair at the table and lit a cigarette off a candle. “You wouldn’t have to make sure Thomas was all right if you’d done your job in the first place.”

“If you hadn’t hit me with that beam—” Frederick had started to retort when Bagger grabbed him by the ear.

“That’s it!” the clay kicker roared. Still gripping Frederick’s ear, he strode over to the table and grabbed hold of one of George’s ears.

“Hey!” George yelled, dropping his cigarette as Bagger yanked him to his feet. “What are you doing?”

“Ending this,” Bagger announced. Stubbing out George’s cigarette with his boot, he dragged both boys out the doorway, toward the trenches. Thomas and Charlie scrambled off their bunks to follow.

“Let go!” Frederick yelled, trying to pull his ear free from Bagger’s hold. “Where are you taking us?”

“Where you can settle this without getting the rest of us killed.” Tightening his grip, Bagger led them through the communication trench toward the reserve trenches. Soldiers, playing cards and resting in their dugouts, pointed and laughed at the spectacle. A few abandoned their games to follow.

Frederick’s face burned with humiliation at being disciplined like a schoolboy. “Let go!” he demanded again.

Bagger didn’t answer. He didn’t speak again until he’d dragged both the quarrelsome boys out of the trenches and behind the Allied lines, to a field outside the town of Ypres, where sniper bullets and artillery shells couldn’t reach. Only then did he release their ears. “Now, you two will settle this feud like gentlemen.”

George rubbed his sore ear and motioned down the field to a group of soldiers kicking a ball toward a makeshift goal. “You want us to play football?”

“No.” Bagger bent down and plucked two pairs of dusty brown leather gloves from the ground. He tossed a pair to George. “Put these on.” He tossed Frederick the other pair.

“You want us to box?” George asked with a chuckle.

“That’s how we end arguments on the Western Front,” Bagger said. “Settle them in a fair match off the battlefield, so you don’t get someone killed on or under it.” His hard gaze settled on Frederick.

“Sounds good,” George said.

“This is ridiculous,” Frederick scoffed. “I am not going to box with him.”