It erupted with a hollow thump , rising on its piston of death. Eli threw himself flat, face into the dirt, as the steel rain sang overhead. He felt a tug at his shoulder—a shard cutting through his tunic, missing flesh by a finger’s width. His left ear rang with a high, silver note.
“Captain.”
One by one, shadows moved. Sourer, sobbing. The twins, holding each other. Pod, checking Mite for wounds. Finch, staring at Eli with something new in his eyes. Not fear. Respect. boy brigade rank
Eli froze. He’d seen this before. A German “S-mine.” The Bouncing Betty. Step on it, and it jumps to waist height before shredding everything in a circle of steel. It erupted with a hollow thump , rising
He looked down at his own buckle. Tarnished. Scratched. He’d found it on a corpse two winters ago. Tied to it with a frayed bootlace was a single, dented whistle. The whistle of a Brigade Captain. Eli had never blown it. To blow it was to claim command, and command meant making choices that got other boys killed. His left ear rang with a high, silver note