“You hear me, Corporal?” Thorne spat. The man was a deserter from the real war, assigned to “train” the boys. He trained them the way a fox trains rabbits—by demonstrating terror. “The satchel. The far trench. Through the gas. Your squad of… what are they? Five? Six? Doesn’t matter. You bring it back, I’ll put a real stripe on your arm. You don’t… well, the Brigade rank will have an opening.”
He could shout “Down!” but they’d only be half-prone. He could run, but that would leave the others. He could— boy brigade rank
Left was into a collapsed wall of mud and timber. Not safe. But not here . The twins scrambled first, then Pod, dragging Mite. Finch hesitated, eyes locked on Eli’s. Then he ran. “You hear me, Corporal