The moment Thomas had invited George to come home with him after the war, he’d given George hope for a future George had never dared imagine before, and with that gift of hope came the burden of fear. Fear that death would steal it all away.

Early one morning, a week after the breach in the tunnel, George went looking for Thomas to tell him he’d decided to accept his invitation to join him and his family in Dover after the war. He checked Bagger’s and Bats’s graves first, as Thomas often visited there after their shifts to say a prayer and tell them about the progress the crew had made, but he didn’t find Thomas there that morning. George had turned back to look for him in the trenches when he spotted Thomas sitting in the poppy field under Feathers’s elm tree.

His head bowed and his back to the battlefield, Thomas did not see George approaching. Max slept curled up on his lap, and as George got closer, he overheard Thomas talking.

“We finished the Maedelstede Farm mine today. Other crews sent men to help, so we’d finish on time.”

Not wanting to intrude on a private moment, George stopped and waited as Thomas continued the one-sided conversation.

“All that’s left is to charge the chamber. Boomer said they’ll blow twenty-three mines on the seventh.” His voice trailed off. “Only three more days.”

Three more days, George thought, and our mission will be over. But what would that mean? Would the remnants of their crew be sent home? Not likely. George knew how to play the odds, and the odds were that if the mission succeeded, they’d be sent to another stretch of the Western Front, where they’d be ordered to again burrow beneath a battlefield and undermine the enemy’s position. If the mission failed, they’d be handed a weapon and put in the front-line trenches. Either way, the odds of the rest of the crew surviving the war were dwindling with every day they remained on or under its battlefields.

Thomas reached up and gripped the medals hanging from his neck and said something George didn’t expect.

“I’m sorry, Grandad. I’ve tried to find James, but I’ve failed. If I don’t make it home, my friend George has promised to give Mum and Dad a letter from me, so they’ll know what happened and hopefully someday find some peace.” His voice cracked. “But they’ll never be at peace if we don’t find James, so please, if James is with you”—Thomas sniffled back tears—“send me a sign. Please, Grandad. I can’t do this alone.” Max stirred from his slumber and licked the tears sliding down Thomas’s face.

George left before Thomas spotted him. He walked to the dugout, where he found Charlie asleep on his bunk and Frederick writing in his notebook.

“Where are Mole and Boomer?” he asked.

Frederick did not look up from his writing. “In the trenches, scrounging up some food.”

George checked Charlie’s bunk to make sure he was really sleeping, then he pulled a chair close to Frederick and straddled it backward. “We need to talk,” he whispered.