After the flooding scare, every time the crew descended beneath no-man’s-land, Thomas remembered when he and James used to compete to see who could hold their breath the longest underwater. Time slowed when you were a breath away from death. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes like hours. The crew’s eight-hour-shift felt like an eternity. By the hunch of George’s shoulders, Thomas knew he wasn’t alone in his dread.

To avoid another flooding, the crew was forced to dig lower to get beneath the wet-sand layer while carving out a new gallery and chamber. With their deadline looming, they doubled their efforts, muscling through the constant pain burning and twisting in their backs and shoulders.

Explosions trembled through the tunnel’s walls and ceiling. Clods of dirt and clay shook loose between the timbers and pelted their helmets. Thomas tried not to think about the shells hitting above their gallery or about how his decision to come to the Western Front might cause his parents to lose both their sons. Instead, he focused on his work.

Push, pull, bag, drag, raise.

The crew fell into the rhythm of their choreographed dance.

Push, pull, bag, drag, raise.

Push.

Push.

Mole’s large boots pressed against the spade, but it wouldn’t slide all the way into the clay. “Must have hit a rock,” Mole whispered, retracting the spade and placing it lower on the tunnel face. “I’ll try to get beneath it.” He motioned for Thomas to help.

Thomas moved into position.

Push.

The spade slid into the clay with ease. Mole pressed down with his heels to work the rock free. “It’s a big one,” he whispered, wiggling the spade up and down as he slowly extracted it from the wall.

Thomas grabbed a short slab of clay from the spade and handed it to Bagger, who placed it in a sandbag. Thomas then reached into the narrow hole with both hands. His fingers jammed against something hard.

“Do you feel it?” Bagger mouthed.

Thomas nodded.

“Can you work your fingers around it?” Mole whispered.

Thomas nodded again. The clay encasing the rock squished beneath Thomas’s fingers, so he dug them in deeper to strengthen his hold. He tried pulling the rock out, but it wouldn’t budge, so Mole carefully carved around Thomas’s arms and hands, widening the hole, while Bagger removed the clumps of clay holding the rock in place.

The men stepped back, and Thomas wedged his feet against the wall and pulled back on the rock. After several unsuccessful tugs, he looked at Bagger and shook his head. Bagger signaled for Charlie to bring him a light. Charlie scrambled over, lantern in hand. Thomas pulled his arms from the opening, and Bagger held the lantern up to the hole.

Thomas ducked beneath the lantern and peered into the opening. It took several impatient seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness after the glare of the lantern. As his vision continued to adjust, the darkness separated into varied shades of gray, and outlines took shape.