AFTER THEIR LATEST argument in the dugout, George and Frederick ignored each other’s existence, except to pass filled sandbags and timber beams back and forth. When Thomas, George, and Charlie snuck out to search for James, Frederick watched them leave and was always awake when they returned hours later from another fruitless search, but he kept his lectures to himself.
With each shift, they extended the gallery toward the location for the Maedelstede Farm chamber, bracing the newly dug sections with timber. Nine inches at a time. While pulling the heavy bags of spoil to the tunnel entrance and dragging the unwieldy beams back to the tunnel face, Thomas often thought of his pony from the coal mine and wished he had Morty’s help in the tunnels. Thomas would distract himself from the burning pain in his back and arms by remembering his time with James and his dad while he worked. The memories helped pass the time until artillery fire rumbled through the gallery walls, like a giant clearing his throat, and Thomas’s thoughts snapped back to where he was and why he was there.
James.
Even with the additional help of Charlie and George, Thomas had found no information about his brother. The closest they’d come was a soldier who said James looked familiar, but then he admitted that after several months in the trenches, all soldiers had started to look familiar.
After weeks of digging, the boys hoped with every bag of spoil they hauled that the gallery was almost complete, but Bagger kept pushing the crew to dig farther and faster.
“How much longer are we going to make this tunnel?” George whispered to Bats during a shift, but the listener held a finger to his lips and set back to work at the wall.
When they retired to the dugout five hours later, hungry and worn to the bone, George asked again. Bagger did not look up from his food. “Until I tell you to stop.”
“And when will that be?” George pressed.
Bagger arched his back. It cracked with every twist and stretch. “When we’ve completed our mission.”
“What mission?” George asked. “The one you haven’t told us about?”
“Watch your tone, Shillings,” Bagger warned. “I haven’t had my tea yet.”
George poured a cup and sat down across from the crew leader. Bagger reached for the tea, but George pulled it away.
The rest of the crew stopped what they were doing and watched to see how Bagger would respond. Even Frederick paused in his writing and looked up from his notebook.
Bagger set down his ration.
“We’ve earned an answer,” George said. “Thomas almost died on our mission, doing our job. The least you can do is tell us why.”
“The boy’s got a point,” Mole said.
Bagger stared at George for a hard minute, then pushed away his plate. “Fine, but what I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this dugout, understand?”
George nodded, and the other boys gathered around the small table.
“That goes for all of you,” Bagger added. “No one outside the tunneling crews can know. Not even the infantrymen hauling our spoil beyond the trenches. The success of our mission depends on its secrecy.”
“We’re digging behind enemy lines, aren’t we?” Frederick asked. “So we can ambush them from behind?”
“Wrong again, Eton,” Bagger said.
“Then what’s our mission?” George asked.
Bagger waved the boys closer. “To earthquake the ridge.”
“What’s that mean?” Frederick asked.
“I know.” Thomas looked at their crew leader. “We’re not just digging galleries. We’re digging mine chambers.”
Bagger nodded.
Frederick adjusted his glasses. “I don’t understand. I thought you said we’re not mining for coal.”
The mention of coal brought Thomas’s thoughts back to Dover. He remembered watching Dad and James work, carefully pouring black powder into cartridges and inserting the cartridges into drill holes to blast the mine walls. “We’re not,” he answered. “We’re digging mines to charge with explosives”—he locked eyes with Boomer—“beneath enemy lines.”
Stunned by Thomas’s statement, the boys looked to Bagger and the others for confirmation.
“The Germans hold Messines Ridge,” Bagger explained. “They are completely entrenched on the higher ground. Our men don’t stand a chance against such a fortified position. The army is depending on us to end this stalemate. It’s gone on far too long and claimed far too many lives.”
“Their trenches stretch on for miles,” George said. “One mine of explosives isn’t going to break their line.”
“No,” Mole said. “But twenty-four will.”
“We’re digging twenty-four mines?” Frederick asked.
“Us and twenty thousand other tunnelers,” Bagger said. “We’ve got miners and sappers from all over Britain, as well as Canadian and Australian miners helping with the mission.”
“I don’t know about you chaps,” George said, “but I’m not too comfortable putting my life in the hands of a bunch of saps.”
Frederick shook his head. “Sappers are combat engineers,” he said, correcting George before Mole could reply. “They specialize in fortification and demolition, and the British army has the best. We are fortunate to have them overseeing our work.”
“You’re right, Eton,” George said. “We’re so lucky to be digging their tunnels beneath an active battlefield.”
“How close are we?” Thomas asked Mole before Frederick and George could get in yet another squabble.
“The mines have to be dug and packed to blow by early June.”
Thomas paused in his petting of Max, who looked up at him from the comfort of Thomas’s lap. “That’s less than eight weeks away.” Less than eight weeks to finish the mines, which meant less than two months to find James. “Are we using black powder or dynamite?” he asked Boomer, not happy about the prospect of working underground with either of the two unstable explosives, especially in galleries and mines that were periodically shelled with artillery fire.
“Neither. We’re using ammonal. It’s cheaper and more stable.”
“How much?” Thomas asked.
“Close to one million.”
“Pounds?” Thomas asked, unable to hide his shock.
Mole smiled and leaned back in his chair, resting his large feet on the edge of Frederick’s bunk. “The Germans won’t know what hit them.”
“One million pounds?” Frederick asked. “That’s almost five hundred tons of explosives! That’s unheard of!”
“Yes, it is,” Bagger said, “and we want to keep it that way until we blow those mines. If the Germans suspect what we’re up to, they’ll rain hellfire on our heads before we finish digging.”
“One million pounds,” Frederick repeated, sitting down next to Charlie.
“Now do you understand why we keep our mouths shut about our mission?” Bagger asked. “If we succeed, we could change the course of the war.”
Boomer laughed. “Who’d have thought the Great War would be in the filthy hands of a bunch of clay kickers and miners?”
“Certainly not any of your school chums, eh, Eton?” Mole tossed a biscuit at Frederick’s chest. It bounced off and landed on the dugout floor. Max scurried off Thomas’s lap and snatched it up before Frederick could retrieve it. “All these weeks you’ve been moping about, wishing you were on the front line, fighting like a real soldier. And all this time, you were a real soldier.”
“I’m not a real soldier,” Frederick said.
“Sure you are,” Mole said. “We all are. We just can’t tell anyone.”
“We’re secret soldiers,” George said with a smile.
“And if we fail?” Charlie asked, speaking for the first time since they’d entered the dugout.
Bagger finished the last of his tea and placed his cup back on the table with a loud thud. “Failure is not our mission.”