Secret Soldiers by Keely Hutton

Author:Keely Hutton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

NINETEEN

TENSION IN THE crew’s dugout worsened after Bagger’s failed boxing lesson. Charlie refused to talk to anyone but the crew’s new canary, and everyone’s mood soured when heavy rains kept them trapped in the tunnels for the next two days. George couldn’t sit still. When he wasn’t pacing the length of the small dugout, his fingers drummed on the table like they were sending out frantic messages in Morse code.

“Can’t we just box in here?” he asked Bagger on day three of their weather-imposed confinement.

“There’s not enough room,” Bagger answered without looking up from his breakfast.

“If we move the table into the tunnel, there would be.”

With an exasperated sigh, Frederick glanced up from his notebook. “Would you please just shut up?”

George stopped pacing. “What’s wrong, Eton? You afraid to fight me?”

“No. I’m just tired of hearing your mouth run.”

“Then why don’t you try and stop it?” George tapped a finger to his chin. “Come on. I’ll even give you the first hit.”

Frederick shook his head. “I don’t have time for this.” Grabbing his coat and boots, he exited the dugout, but George’s voice chased him out of the tunnels.

“You’ve got plenty of time,” George yelled. “We all do! What you lack, Eton, is the courage!”

Frederick didn’t stop until he reached the front-line trenches. He didn’t care if Bagger caught him and transferred him from Ypres. In fact, he hoped Bagger did. Digging trenches in France would be preferable to working alongside George and the others for one more minute. At least in France he’d be above ground with real soldiers and have a chance to serve his country like a true Chamberlain. The thought quickened his pace and reinforced his resolve to get himself kicked off Bagger’s crew.

He came across a lone soldier standing sentry on a fire step in a parapet, watching the enemy lines through his rifle’s telescopic sight. The soldier’s profile looked familiar, and as Frederick drew closer, he recognized the sniper as William Gentry, an Eton graduate and the older brother of Edward Gentry, one of Frederick’s classmates.

“William?”

The soldier turned to face Frederick. He’d grown a mustache since Frederick had last seen him, but it was definitely the oldest Gentry brother. William smiled. “Frederick? What the bloody hell are you doing out here?”

“Fighting for crown and country, just like you.”

William scrutinized Frederick’s uniform. “I have to admit, you’re the last person I thought I’d ever see on the Western Front.”

The admission stung, far more than all of George’s barbs, but Frederick schooled his expression. He was an Eton student. He was a Chamberlain. And despite his age and lies, he was a British soldier.

William abandoned his rifle and held his hand out to Frederick. “Bloody good to see you, Chamberlain.”

Seeing a familiar face, a friendly familiar face, infused Frederick with a confidence George and the clay kickers had worked hard to stomp out of him. Frederick grabbed hold of William’s outstretched hand. “Good to be seen.” He squeezed tight and tugged William toward him with a quick, firm jerk.

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