“Get George,” Thomas ordered Frederick, realizing the Eton student’s size would help in rescuing George. “I’ll help Charlie.”

With no time and little air left to argue, Frederick swam in the direction of George’s voice, careful to keep his arms stretched out in front of him, so he wouldn’t run face-first into George or a fallen beam. When his hands found George, Frederick lifted his face to the ceiling for air. “This way. Follow my voice.” He started back in the direction of the shaft, but George didn’t move.

“Come on!” Frederick yelled.

George answered from the darkness. “I can’t swim, and even if I could, half the tunnel face is on my right foot.”

“You’re stuck?”

The frustrated sigh that followed felt heavier in the darkness.

“Right,” Frederick said. “I’ll swim down and see if I can free it.”

George struggled to keep his face in the shrinking pocket of air. “Hurry. I can’t stretch any higher, and this water is rising fast.”

Frederick ducked beneath the water. His hands followed the line of George’s leg until they reached the mound of clay and sand pinning George’s foot to the floor. He dug around his leg but couldn’t remove enough to free George. Unable to hold his breath any longer, he resurfaced. “I need to get help.”

“There’s no time. You are the help.” Water lapped over George’s lips, and he began to choke. “Try again,” he said between coughs.

“The water’s coming too fast.” Frederick looked back in the direction of the shaft. In school, he’d been taught that junior officers were the first over the top and the last to retreat, but Frederick had no choice: George needed more help than he could offer, and if he stayed, they’d both drown. “Keep trying to work your foot free. I have to get help.”

“No!” George lunged in the direction of Frederick’s voice. “Please don’t leave me here!” His fingers grasped at Frederick’s shirt, but Frederick splashed out of reach. “Eton!”

“I’m sorry. I can’t do it by myself. I’ll be back with help. I promise.”

As Frederick swam back to the shaft, he heard George scream one word.

“Coward!”

And then he heard nothing at all.

At the other end of the tunnel, Thomas had freed Poppy from her submerged birdcage and swum for the shaft, where Charlie stood on the third rung of the ladder. “Take her,” Thomas said, handing Charlie the canary.

Clinging to the ladder with one hand, Charlie stroked Poppy’s wet feathers, and the little bird released a string of loud chirps. As Thomas turned back toward the tunnel face, Frederick lunged from the water with a desperate gasp and grabbed hold of the ladder.

Hunched over and pulling in fast, greedy breaths, he pointed back down the tunnel. “George’s foot is trapped. Hurry.”

Before Thomas or Charlie could respond, Frederick dove back under.

“Go up and get Bagger and the others,” Thomas told Charlie. “Tell them George is in trouble.” Taking a deep breath, he followed Frederick.