Contents ( 45)
- DULCE ET DECORUM EST
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- CONTENTS
When they found George, he was no longer fighting to get free. The chamber had flooded, and his body floated motionless beneath Thomas’s hands. Thomas feared they were too late. Pushing the thought aside, Thomas dove down and clawed at the clay trapping George’s foot, tearing away chunks and pushing aside heavy slabs while Frederick pulled at George’s leg, moving it back and forth to help dislodge it. Thomas’s chest burned. Frederick and he would need air soon, but to get any, they’d have to swim back to the ladder, and any chance of saving George would be lost.
Thomas dug faster and harder, ignoring the cramping in his muscles. Though he couldn’t see Frederick, he could feel his frantic tugs on George’s leg. Just as Thomas began to fear all three of them would drown under no-man’s-land, he felt the clay around George’s leg give way. So did Frederick, who yanked the leg free. Wasting no time, the boys grabbed George’s limp arms and kicked with their waning strength for the ladder.
When the two boys reached the rungs, pulling George along with them, large hands grabbed hold of their arms and hauled all three of them up the ladder. Mole laid George’s unconscious body on the floorboards of the upper gallery. George’s head hit the board with a dull thud. Clutching Poppy, Charlie winced at the sound, but George did not move.
George’s last word echoed in Frederick’s memory. George was right. He was a coward. A real soldier would have fought harder to free George’s foot before the water filled the mine. A real soldier would have stayed with his comrade until help arrived. A real soldier would have stayed even if help had never arrived. But Frederick was no real soldier.
He backed away from the group while the others huddled around Mole. The clay kicker took George by the shoulders and shook him. “Come on, Shillings! Wake up!”
George’s head lolled to the side. His eyes remained closed, and his lips fell open.
“Is he breathing?” Bagger asked.
Mole placed a large hand on George’s chest and shook his head.
Holding Poppy, Charlie began to pace while Thomas stood behind Mole, clutching his medals and whispering the Our Father.
“Come on, George,” Bats whispered. “Breathe.”
Mole and Bagger each grabbed one of George’s arms and legs. Holding his limp body between them, they lifted his legs toward the ceiling, so his head hung just above the floor. Securing their grip, they shook George up and down three or four times. “You’re a scrapper, Shillings!” Mole said. “You’re not going to let a little water claim you, are you? Bloody breathe!” He pounded a fist on George’s chest.
The jostling shook water and sand free from George’s mouth and nose. He suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, and his eyes sprang open. He coughed violently, choking on the sand and water swamping his lungs. Mole and Bagger quickly eased him onto the floor, and Thomas sank against the wall.