Page 17 of The Unknown Birds

“Sorry,” she laughed. “In the moment, I was afraid I’d get confused.”

He laughed too and collapsed onto the grass, dragging her down beside him.

The last event of the day was tug-of-war, the teams lined up on either side of a large muddy pit. Ash had no interest in participating and no delusions of being strong enough to make a difference. But the other boys’ excitement was contagious as they ran for places along the big, heavy rope, and so she dug in her heels behind TomTom.

This time, Rook watched from a safer distance and when they yelled for him to join them, he held up his hands and shook his head, entirely resolute.

After being bested by the young runners all day long, the Kents were out for blood and the Surreys never really stood a chance.

Splashing their way out of the mud, Tom said halfheartedly, “Race you to the river?” which elicited a groan of exhaustion from every other man.

“If we wash all this off in the river, it’ll run black for a year,” Ash moaned.

“Don’t be rude now, Ash,” Cooper said, rubbing his arm. “It don’t wash off.”

Ashley’s jaw dropped open but no words would come, she was so horrified that Cooper thought she was referring to his skin color rather than the muck covering them all from head to foot.

Then Cooper cracked a brilliant smile and Blake guffawed.

“Only joking, mate,” he said, shoving Ashley in the direction of the Somme.

Chapter 7

Normandy, June 1916

Owing to their success in the Brigade Sports, Ash and TomTom were quickly embraced by their new unit, who would ride the bragging rights of having won the most points for a good long while.

The collie also took an immediate liking to Ashley—not above her master, but definitely above the other boys—always coming to Ash first for a chin scratch or belly rub, and Ash couldn’t help wondering if it was because somehow Maxine could smell the truth and was happy to have another girl around.

At least the collie would keep her secret.

The runners all shared one small tent, too close for comfort even before Stewart and Max arrived. The first night Ash squeezed to the edges of the group, grateful for the buffer when the dog crept in between her and the lads, but after that Stew made an excuse to bunk down with the dogs at the kennel.

“Sleeping anywhere else but here I can understand,” TomTom told him a few nights later. “What I can’t get past is you giving that mutt half your rations.”

“She’s hungry,” Stewart replied, as though he didn’t understand the question.

They had spent the morning writing letters home about their exploits in the races before cleaning their boots and weapons. After lunch they’d played cards and double-checked their gear, and after dinner they’d gathered around to watch 20,000 League Under the Sea, which was projected onto the side of the big barn where Captain Davies quartered.

Now, having retired to their tent, TomTom eyed a hard, flavorless biscuit scornfully. It was the only ration that seemed to be in abundance between meals, and he placed it in his cup of water to soak so he wouldn’t break a tooth. “I’m hungrier than the dog,” he told Stewart. “How’s about you give me half your rations instead.”

“Then what’ll Maxie eat?”

“She can have these biscuits,” Tom suggested, taking a timid bite. “She wouldn’t mind they taste like paste.”

“Eaten your fair share of paste, have you, boyo?” Blake teased.

“Taste like paste smells, then,” Tom retorted.

Stewart held out his hand for the biscuit, and Tom reluctantly passed it over.

“Saltier than paste,” Stew said after taking a thoughtful nibble. “Hint of straw. And yes, I have tasted straw and paste,” he said, cutting off Blake’s question before he could ask it.

“S’pose that’s to be expected from a Scot,” Blake sniped.

Stewart threw the biscuit at him and suddenly the whole tent collapsed.

“What did you do, mate?” Cooper demanded as the five of them sprawled together in the darkness, the candle lanterns thankfully blown out rather than sending the canvas up in a deathly canopy of flames.