This was my grandfather's favorite story. He was terrible with children, so that may explain why this was his favorite story, as wildly inappropriate as it was for children. It was a story that I had to be an adult to understand in all its glory.
My grandfather was in the Army in World War I. When he was a member of the US Army, it was called the Great War. The differing names can pinpoint when a story about the war was written - before or after World War II.
Grandpa was, apparently, in the cavalry. I say this because I have his horse's gas mask - a truly terrible thing to contemplate. As a kid, I just figured he was in the army. And that's good enough as a placement for a story, since his story begins as an injured soldier. A doughboy? No idea.
Anyway, he was injured, and he was in a British front-line hospital. While Grandpa lay on his cot, a British officer came through the hospital, visiting and comforting the wounded soldiers.
The officer reached Grandpa's cot, glanced at his chart, and said, "I see you're eligible for the DSO."
Grandpa said, "No, that's a British medal. I'm an American."
The officer said, "I don't mean a Distinguished Service Order. I mean, Dick Shot Off."
It was funny because my grandpa recovered to marry and to father five children, and from a safe distance he sure did love that story.