PHYSICALLY EXHAUSTED AND emotionally drained, Thomas could feel his body begging for sleep, but his mind refused to rest. Hours after George, Charlie, and he had snuck back into the crew’s dugout, Thomas lay awake on his bunk, listening to the discordant rumblings of his crew’s sleep and replaying the numerous mistakes he’d made since the day James had told him of his plans to join the army. With every secret he’d kept, every lie that he’d told, he’d dug himself deeper, yet as he stared up at the bottom of George’s bunk, it wasn’t the many lies he’d told that he feared would bury him, but the one truth he’d shared.
Sleep was a skittish visitor, sneaking in for short stays, only to scurry away when frightful memories of no-man’s-land and anxious imaginings of when and how George would tell Bagger about Thomas breaking his rules returned. Thomas tried to convince himself that George wasn’t selfish enough to want Thomas transferred just to win some bets using Bagger’s ratter, but by the time the rest of the crew woke, George sat at the table feeding Max pieces of dried meat and smiling at Thomas.
When George asked Bagger if he could have a word with him, anxiousness roiled through Thomas’s stomach in nauseating waves, and when they exited the dugout to talk in private, Thomas began to pack his bag. They returned minutes later, and Thomas stood, prepared to face the consequences of his mistakes.
“I hear you’ve been keeping a secret, Dover,” Bagger said.
Thomas swallowed hard and shifted in his stance.
“Might as well fess up, lad. Shillings already let the cat out of the bag.”
Thomas glanced at George, who had the nerve to smile. He’d expected George to snitch on him, but was surprised, and a little hurt, that George found such amusement in the betrayal. He looked to Charlie, seated on his bunk next to Feathers’s cage. Charlie had a brother—he had to understand. Charlie kept his eyes locked on his sketch pad.
Bagger reached down, and Max jumped into his arms. “Or should I say he let the dog out of the bag?”
Unable to meet the old clay kicker’s disappointed gaze, Thomas stared at his boots and silently scolded himself for letting down his guard around George. He never should have trusted the London street urchin, but the damage was done. All that was left was to face his punishment.
He tightened his grip on his bag. “Are you sending me to France to dig trenches?”
Bagger’s bushy eyebrows knit in confusion. “For what? Sneaking out to take Max for a walk?” He pressed a hand to his lower back and stretched. “You’ve saved me the hassle of taking him topside.”
Thomas’s head snapped up. He glanced at George, whose smile widened. Before he could respond, Bagger took Thomas’s bag, tossed it back on his bunk, and handed him the small dog.
“Just tell me before you go, so I know the little guy is with you,” the grizzled clay kicker said. “Understand?”
Thomas nodded.
“Good.” Bagger turned to face the rest of the crew. “Let’s head to the trenches and see if we can scare up something better to eat.”
Thomas watched in stunned silence as Bagger, Frederick, and the men filed out of the dugout. When only Charlie, Max, and Thomas remained, George clapped his hands.
“So what are we waiting around for, Dover? Let’s go find your brother and return his Saint Joe medal.”
“We?” Thomas asked.
“Why not? Like I said, I like playing the odds. Big risk, big reward. Besides, Mouse and I have nothing better to do. Right, Mouse?”
Charlie lowered himself from his bunk and handed Thomas three sheets of paper. “I drew some sketches of your brother, so we each have a picture of him to show when we look.”
Thomas stared in disbelief at the drawings. “Thank you.”
Charlie gave him a meek smile.
“See, Tommy. We’re all in.” George leaned closer and whispered as though he were divulging sensitive military plans. “It’ll be our secret mission.”
“You really want to help me find James?” Thomas asked.
“Sure. It’s not like I’m going to be participating in any rat hunts.” George shot a disappointed glare at Bagger’s dog. “Even if I had more scraps, it doesn’t look like I’d be able to lure Max away from you.” He took one of the drawings of James. “So, let’s get started.”
“Now?” Thomas asked.
“No time like the present. Besides, thanks to me, we no longer have to wait until the crew’s asleep to sneak out. They’ll just think we’re taking ol’ Max here for a walk.” He patted the dog’s head. “Won’t they, Max?”
Thomas stared up at the boy who, just minutes before, he’d been certain had betrayed him. “Thank you, George.”
“No problem,” George said, heading for the doorway. “Now let’s go find Jim.”
“James,” Thomas corrected.
“That’s what I said, and don’t worry, Mouse and I promise we won’t say a word about your secret trips to the front lines. I may be a lyin’ thief, Tommy,” he said with a teasing smile, “but I’m a lyin’ thief who keeps his promises.”
George kept his word. He and Charlie accompanied Thomas into the trenches after each shift. With Max trotting ahead of them, the boys showed Charlie’s sketches to soldiers in the front-line and support trenches and asked if they’d seen James. Some ignored them. Others chased them off with language so colorful it tinted Charlie’s ears. Those who did answer, did so with an apologetic shake of the head.
Unaware of what Johnny, Richard, and Dan had shared with Thomas about the true fate of missing soldiers, George’s optimism about their secret mission never dimmed. He walked the trenches whistling and greeting every soldier they passed, but as days stretched into weeks, Thomas’s hope faded. He started to look forward to their shifts in the tunnels, away from the trenches and the constant stream of disappointment awaiting him there.