IN THE RESERVE trenches, George and Frederick managed to scrounge up two tins of Maconochie beef stew and a small package of bread. As they made their way back to the support trenches, Max trotted behind them, his attention focused on the food in their hands.
“This is not the three meals a day I was promised.” George tore open the K-Brot package and handed Frederick a piece of the tasteless bread. “When this war is over, the first thing I’m going to do is eat real stew and dumplings until I get sick.”
“And a whole roast,” Frederick said.
“And meat pudding.” George sighed.
They continued listing off foods as they rounded the corner to find Charlie sitting alone in their designated meeting place.
George tossed him a tin of beef stew. “Here you go, Mouse.”
Max sat before Charlie and licked his chops as Charlie opened the tin. “Where’s Thomas?” he asked.
“He’s not with you?” Frederick asked.
“No. I thought he was with you two getting food.”
George sat on the bench beside Charlie. “Last we saw him was with you and Mole in the dugout. When was the last time you saw him?”
“Over an hour ago,” Charlie said.
“Where?” Frederick asked.
“He was headed back to the dugout.”
George set down his open tin, and Max jumped onto the bench to lap up the cold stew. “Why?”
“He said he forgot something and he’d meet me here. When he didn’t show up after a few minutes, I assumed he’d found you two in the reserve trenches and was getting food.”
“We never saw him,” Frederick said. “Do you think he’s with Mole and Boomer checking the leads again?”
George stood. “Only one way to find out.” He grabbed his gas mask and hurried down the support trench to the tunnel entrance. Charlie, Frederick, and Max followed him past their empty crew dugout to the shaft that connected the upper galleries to the lower galleries.
Boomer and Mole sat near the lip of the shaft. They were focused on checking the wiring of the leads to a pair of raised metal screws on the lid of a wooden box situated between them and didn’t hear the boys approaching. Black capital letters spelling out EXPLODER were stenciled on the side of the box, and a long wooden dowel capped with a wooden handle extended from the top.
“It passed the resistance test,” Boomer reassured Mole. “Even if the aerial bombardment collapses part of the gallery, the leads should remain intact, and the mines should fire.”
“Good.” Mole checked the time and smiled. “Barring any unforeseen problems, Maedelstede Farm is ready to fire.”
He looked up from his watch as George skidded to a halt before them. “Shillings? What are you doing in here?”
Charlie and Frederick joined George beside the men. Max paced back and forth in front of the shaft and whined.
“What are all of you doing in here?” Mole asked. “I told you boys to watch from the support trenches.”
“I know,” George said, “but we can’t find Thomas. Have you seen him?”
“Not since I left you boys packing up the dugout,” Boomer said.
“What about you, Mole?” Frederick asked. “Where did Thomas say he was going after he came back to the dugout?”
“Thomas didn’t come back to the dugout.”
“Yes, he did,” Charlie said. “After he and I left you, Thomas said he forgot something in the dugout and headed back into the tunnels.”
Mole shook his head. “I’m telling you, the last time I saw Dover was when he left with you, Mouse. If he’d come back, I would have seen or…” Mole’s voice trailed off.
“What is it?” George asked.
“When I was packing up the last crate, I thought I heard a voice, but when I looked, no one was there.”
“Maybe he found what he was looking for and left,” Frederick said.
Boomer shook his head. “I was waiting for Mole at the entrance. No one but Mole came out, and one of us has been here ever since.”
“Then where is he?” Frederick asked.
George inched closer to the lip of the shaft, where Max continued to pace and whine. He peered down into the darkness.
“You don’t think he went back down into the galleries, do you?” Charlie asked.
“There’s nowhere else he could be,” George said.
“It doesn’t make any sense.” Frederick looked at the men. “Why would he go back down there this close to zero hour?”
But George did not wait for an explanation. Picking up Max with one arm, he grabbed hold of the ladder and began climbing down the shaft, ignoring Mole’s order for him to wait.
He skipped several rungs in his descent. When he reached the bottom of the shaft, he found Thomas’s kit bag and boots abandoned beneath the last rung. He put Max down and lit one of the extinguished lanterns embedded in the clay walls. It cast a weak light down the narrow corridor. “Find Thomas, Max!”
The terrier sniffed twice and then took off down the gallery toward the Maedelstede Farm mine.
The voices of the others, echoing off the shaft walls, grew closer, but George couldn’t wait for them. Heart pounding, he chased after Max and calculated how much time was left before the mines were detonated.
Two hours.
Two hours to find Thomas, climb back up the shaft, get out of the tunnels, and get back to the safety of the support trenches before the mines exploded, taking anyone on or under no-man’s-land with them.
Plenty of time, he thought, but he still kicked up his pace.
As Frederick and Charlie chased the shrinking light of George’s lantern, Charlie tried not to jostle Poppy too much in her cage or think about the last words Boomer had shouted to them as they’d descended the shaft ladder in pursuit of their friend.
The mines are firing at 3:10 whether you’re out of there or not.
A string of mumbled vulgarities and the heavy footfalls of Mole trailed them through the gallery.
“I’m gonna kill Shillings when I get my hands on him,” the kicker wheezed as he lumbered behind the boys.
As George neared the tamped portion of the gallery, he came upon an overturned lantern and Max whining and pawing at broken beams on the floor. Beneath them, George spotted a stockinged foot.
“Tommy!” He lifted the beams off his friend’s motionless body.
Thomas didn’t answer. Blood from a gash on his forehead ran down his face and stained his blond hair a dark red.
“Tommy,” George whispered, wiping Thomas’s face with his sleeve, “please wake up.”
A pained groan grumbled in Thomas’s throat as he struggled to open his eyes. “Ouch.”
Max placed his front paws on Thomas’s chest and licked his chin and cheeks.
“It’s all right, boy,” Thomas said, patting the dog’s head. “I’m all right.”
The remaining beams above them creaked, and clots of clay broke free under another barrage of shelling.
“You will be as soon as we get you out of here.” George took Thomas’s hand and started to help him up, but Thomas cried out.
“What’s wrong?” George asked, lowering him back to the ground.
“My leg. I think it’s broken.”
“Then I’ll have to carry you.” George looked around Thomas. “Where’s your gas mask?”
“I couldn’t see with it on to find my necklace. I threw it to the ground just before the beams fell.”
George searched under the broken beams and pulled Thomas’s mask from the rubble. The material was torn, and the lens shattered. “It’ll have to do.” He pulled the mask over Thomas’s head.
Thomas winced when the coarse material dragged across his cut.
“Sorry,” George said, adjusting the mask, so Thomas could see through the cracked lens.
“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I just wanted to find my necklace. I didn’t mean to get us in this mess.”
“Did you find it?” George asked.
Thomas pulled the broken chain and saints medals from his pocket.
“Good.”
The earth around them shook as another explosion echoed on no-man’s-land. George covered his and Thomas’s heads as more chunks of clay fell from the ceiling.
“I’m really sorry, George.”
“Let’s save the apologies for when we’re aboveground.” Trying not to jostle Thomas’s injured leg, George started to pick him up when he spotted Frederick, Charlie, and Mole running toward them.
“Don’t come any closer!” he hissed. “This section’s not stable!”
Mole and the boys stopped and watched George carefully lift Thomas into his arms. He took a step forward, but Max paced circles around his feet and pawed at his legs, trying to get to Thomas. Afraid he was going to trip over the dog, George ordered the terrier to go to Mole. Ears and tail low, Max reluctantly obeyed. As soon as the dog was within reach, Frederick scooped him into his arms before he could scoot back to George and Thomas.
Another distant explosion rumbled, shaking more clots from the exposed clay ceiling. No one moved until the ground around them settled again.
“Have they started blowing the mines?” Thomas whispered to George.
“They’re not supposed to for another couple hours. That must have been an artillery shell or a bomb from one of our planes.”
George secured his grip on Thomas and started to walk again. At the other end of the gallery, Charlie gnawed on his fingers while Frederick held a squirming Max in his arms and Mole motioned for George to hurry.
Another tremor shook the ground surrounding them as explosions rocked the battlefield. “Come on, Shillings!” Mole ordered.
Keeping an eye on the creaking beams straining to hold back the tons of earth, sand, water, and clay above their heads, George walked faster. “Just another one of our wild adventures, eh, Timothy Bennett?” He chuckled, but his smile was strained, and Thomas could tell from how fast his friend kept talking that the London street urchin who’d scaled the chimneys of lit fireplaces and bet his hands in games with dockworkers was scared. “I’ll be honest with you, Tommy. I was hoping for a front-row seat to the fireworks tonight, but this is a bit too close for my liking. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed our time working the tunnels together, but I have no desire to spend eternity with you down here.”
Thomas managed a weak smile. “The feeling’s mutual.”
George stopped as another series of explosions fell on no-man’s-land. He and Thomas looked up as the beams lining the stretch of ceiling between them and the others started to snap.
“Watch out!” Mole yelled.
“It’s gonna fall!” Frederick screamed.
Losing his grip on Thomas, George stumbled backward as the ceiling above them collapsed in an avalanche of wood and clay.