Frederick, who was positioned closest to the exit, turned and ran. Charlie, still holding Poppy’s cage, and Mole had just moved to follow when an explosion tore through the clay wall where Bats and Bagger stood. The blast threw the crew to the ground as clots of clay and splintered wood rained down on them.

A high-pitched ringing filled Charlie’s ears, and smoke filled the gallery. Charlie fumbled around blindly for Poppy’s cage, which he’d dropped in the explosion. His fingers found the metal cage, and he pulled it into his lap. He coughed and wheezed, fighting for a clean breath, but Poppy’s muted chirps and fluttering assured him that despite everything polluting the tunnel’s air, at least carbon monoxide wasn’t present—for now. He pulled on his gas mask, just in case.

A trickle of warmth crept down the side of his face. He touched his head, and when he pulled back his fingers, they were wet and sticky. Holding Poppy’s cage close to his chest, he peered in the direction where Mole, Bats, and Bagger had stood seconds before, but smoke and dust obscured his view.

Screams echoed in the darkness. “Geh! Geh! Geh!”

Charlie did not recognize the voices or words. Pulling off his mask to see better, he pressed to his feet and stared at the gaping hole in the clay wall. A stocky man holding a shovel peered through the opening. Charlie’s panicked gaze swept the area, searching for anything he could use as a weapon, but all he had was Poppy’s birdcage, which the canary still occupied.

The man with the shovel noticed the cage and smiled at Charlie. The smile held no warmth or mercy. Charlie had witnessed many such cruel smiles throughout his short life. They lived in the night and reeked of barley and hops. They slurred their words and proclaimed harsh punishments for crimes Charlie never committed. They tasted of blood and tears.

The man stepped through the opening, and Charlie set down the cage. He would not cower before this man or his taunting smile. He was a soldier. He would never cower before any man again. He brought his trembling hands out in front of him, like Bagger had taught him in their short boxing lesson. He was preparing to throw a punch when Mole charged out of the rubble and crashed into the German miner. As the two men grappled atop broken timbers and chunks of clay, fighting for control of the shovel, a second enemy stepped through the blast opening.

He was smaller than the first. His German uniform draped loosely over his narrow shoulders, and his freckles and rounded cheeks reminded Charlie of Henry. Charlie lowered his fists, a move he reversed the second the boy pulled a knife from his belt and lunged at him.

With little space to move in the narrow tunnel, Charlie pivoted, pressing his back against the wall and sucking in his stomach. The knife sliced across the front of his uniform, tearing fabric and severing a button. Both boys froze and stared at the front of Charlie’s shirt. A faint line of crimson appeared across the fabric, but Charlie felt no pain, only adrenaline and anger. He grabbed his attacker’s wrist and twisted his arm until the boy cried out and dropped the knife.