hit

that a stray round still might kill the admiral on his way.
Nervously, one of the volunteers cleared his throat. "Sorry, Lieutenant."
There was a time to browbeat men, and a time to do otherwise, and Driscol knew the difference.
"Never you mind, lad," he said, straightening up from his crouch again. "The chances of war—and we beat the bastards back. A piece of advice, though."
His head swiveled back and forth, giving his men a look that was stern, but not condemning. "Next time you shoot at a man on a white horse, do try to hit the man. Not the horse."
The whole platoon stared out of the windows. Even in the half darkness, the carcass of the horse was easy to spot. Although it was no longer exactly in one piece.
Driscol should have warned them, he supposed. In the darkness, that great gleaming target must have drawn their eyes like a magnet.
"Ah, well,"