“You want to lead, Gutter-rat?” Thorne’s voice was a wet rasp, half-phlegm, half-gravel. He tapped the three faded chevrons stitched onto his own tunic. “Then earn these. Not the ones your mummy sewed on before breakfast. These. ”
He lifted his head. The gas was curling back in. The tunnel was gone—replaced by a crater of fresh, wet earth. boy brigade rank
Tonight, the Brigade was going over the top. “You want to lead, Gutter-rat