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
TWENTY-EIGHT
FOLLOWING A RESTLESS six hours of sleep, riddled with nightmares of flooded galleries and nameless graves, Thomas pulled on his boots and stood to join Charlie, Max, and George for their daily search of the trenches before their next shift. They were exiting the dugout when George stopped at the doorway. “You coming, Eton?”
The men looked up from their card game. Their curious gazes traveled from George to Frederick, seated on his bunk. Charlie braced himself for the snide remark Frederick would make before returning to his writing, but Frederick closed his book and silently followed George out of the tunnels.
No more invitations were extended after the first. None were needed. Charlie drew an extra sketch of James, and Frederick joined the boys every morning on their search of the trenches. After their first outing together, he brought along his notebook and jotted down information he thought might be important.
When the boys returned to their dugout after their third outing, Frederick reviewed his notes. “From the soldiers we’ve questioned, we can rule out James being along this stretch of the front any time after their arrival in December.”
“Of the soldiers we’ve talked to,” George said, pulling up a chair next to Thomas at the table. He handed Thomas a cup of tea.
“We’ve talked to hundreds,” Thomas said. He knew George was trying to help; they all were, but Thomas didn’t want to talk about their failed search for his brother. He wanted to curl up on his bunk with Max and wallow in his despair. He wished Bagger and the men hadn’t taken the terrier into the trenches for some friendly wagers. Petting Max always calmed his nerves when panic at the thought of never finding James overwhelmed him.
“But there are thousands we haven’t talk to yet,” Frederick said. “Hundreds of thousands.” Frederick had only been helping them look for five days. Reality hadn’t loosened his grip on hope like it had Thomas’s. Miles of trenches and hundreds of discouraging answers had only served to pull James farther from Thomas’s reach.
George understood Thomas’s disappointment, but he also knew wallowing in despair helped nothing. If he’d given in every time life kicked him in the teeth, he would have died years ago. He slung a bony arm around Thomas’s shoulders. “You know what you need?”
“To find my brother,” Thomas muttered.
“Besides that.” George retrieved a small leather cup and three six-sided dice from his kit bag. “You need to relax for a couple hours.” He shook the dice in the cup and then tossed them onto the table. “We all do. Get down here, Mouse. We need your artistic skills.”
Charlie closed the door to Poppy’s cage and lowered himself from his bunk into an empty chair next to Thomas.
“You too, Eton,” George said. “And bring that fancy fountain pen of yours and one of those handkerchiefs you use to polish your boots.”
Frederick closed his notebook and joined them at the table. “What are we playing?”