A Soldier s Story
A Soldier's Story. By Tanya H. A knock at my door. Without waiting for an answer Box walks in, closes the door behind him, wrinkles his nose at the smell. We call him Box due to the shape of his head - beyond that he's Scottish, powerful and short. "What you doing, Toots?" He pulls out the chair from under my desk, spins at around so its back faces me and sits, straddling it, legs wide open. "Smoking kippers," I say, concentrating, trying not to get any nail polish on my...