The next shot from behind thunked into the carriage. "Here, look down, man," the woman yelled. She was halfway out of the door, reaching the musket up...toward me, her mouth black-smudged. I grabbed the gun, waited for the road to smooth out a bit, and then shot the nearest rider's horse. It stumbled and tossed the grenadier over its head as it fell.I handed the musket back down to Rebecca and reloaded my pistol with buckshot as fast as I could with the reins in my teeth. The carriage bounced and. I liked my role in the war effort. It carried no real danger and I washelping to bring our brave lads back to active duty again or get themready for a disabled life in Civvy Street. I imagined a front line postwould be nothing like this and certainly not as safe. The word "cushy"springs easily to mind.Of course, as I said earlier I was queer and I fancied like crazy someof the men whom I helped back onto their feet. At least I thought I wasbecause I also envied the nurses who wore their blue. More

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