Word: beaching
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Strewn Shore. Liaolo Beach, where the convoys come when they can, was pockmarked with shell holes. At one end a battered LSM, its back broken by Communist artillery, lay dead in the shallow water. With bluffs above eroded by wind and shellfire, the area looked like a valley of the moon. You feel appallingly naked as you drive along this lonely shore-watched by the tense eyes of Nationalist soldiers dug into their caves and by Communist eyes, natural and radar, on the mainland only a few miles away. There is no cover here...
Midnight Ride. As we drove in the moonlight down Green Valley, which is one of Quemoy's main targets, three air bursts from Red artillery exploded 200 yards to our left. Communist artillery was going over us to the beach, and behind us into Green Valley. The driver tramped on the gas, and soon our weapons carrier was careening down the blacked-out road at 55 m.p.h. Luckily, there was no one coming the other...
...through the night, artillery pounded the beach, the road crossings and the Nationalists' artillery positions. At 4 a.m. Columnist Joe Alsop and I headed down to the beach to catch a plane back to Formosa. Two rounds struck within a quarter of a mile, one jolted us from only 150 yards away. At dawn, as our plane taxied in, the Red batteries came alive, and 20 rounds smacked in. Geysers spouted from the sea, and two holes were blasted in the airstrip. On signal, we scrambled out of our ditch and aboard the plane. Minutes later we were over...
Kills & Convoy. In the midst of all this preparation for a big war, the nasty little war went on unabated. Thanks to new convoy tactics, things were looking up on the cratered beaches of besieged Quemoy. Every day but one last week at least one Nationalist LST lumbered out from southern Formosa to the waters off Quemoy, there disgorged a flock of amphibious LVTs (Landing Vehicles, Tracked), which churned into the beach and quickly unloaded their cargoes. Small and elusive, the LVTs moved through the inevitable Communist artillery barrage with relative impunity...
...onetime Philadelphia lawyer seemed strangely out of place among the fierce-eyed, quick-fingered, nerve-torn bridge experts competing for the Life Masters Pair Gold Cup at Miami Beach's Americana Hotel. In a game whose fascinating frustrations can bring out the worst of man's nature, he remained bland and smiling. In a game where a peek can be worth two finesses, he carelessly held his hand within easy view of roving eyes. He actually treated kibitzers as humans ("I might as well love them. I'm married to them"), and he went...