Word: bungalows
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...enemy would not get the jump on Charlie Rock. A civilian pick-up had been spotted five hundred meters out on their right flank, another one crammed with people vanished behind a sand bungalow 1,200 meters away at their two o'clock. Here on the outskirts of Ash Shinariya, a small town on the Euphrates 200 kilometers south of Baghdad, crews spent their night watching thermal imaging detectors in Bradley fighting vehicles. They'd been picking up enemy scouts probing their sandbagged positions blocking a bridge over the Euphrates, five kilometers south west of town...
...tanks permission to fire. The lead tank, "Barbarian 2," acknowledged - that tank is headed by Sergeant Al Wallace, 28, who back in Kuwait decorated his 120 mm barrel with the moniker "Baghdad beware". At 10:29 am just as a figure appeared on the roof of the distant bungalow, Barbarian 2's barrel exploded like a bomb. A cloud of dust enveloped the tank as 60 tons of Abrams recoiled across the road. A second passed then the impact. The bungalow disappeared in dust. "Rock Six, we no longer have a sniper problem," said Mitchell. He would later recount...
...berm on the right. Rather's Barbarian 4 fired its 120 mm - this one painted, "Baghdad's Nightmare." Again the strike was good. ("I finally busted my cherry," Sgt. Rather would joke later.) Gratified again, this time in the ditches in front of the bungalow -a few seconds later another mortar exploded plum on the road, 40 meters ahead of Barbarian 2. "The Iraqi's have zeroed their distance," said Mitchell, as all three tanks in Micthell's track made a sharp reverse. "Let's show 'em what real mortar fire is all about." Mitchell made the radio call...
...Back at the blocking position Mitchell estimated at least 20 or 30 Iraqi dead, in the bungalow and the ditches around. Not a single round, not even a piece of shrapnel, has hit the Americans. "Good stuff, good stuff," said Capt. Melendez. "Now I have an idea of the capability and how they're deploying it. And I got the result I was looking for-it ain't much...
...times full of lies, the messages he pens for his characters positively hum with bon mots. Formerly a critic for The New Yorker and author of a tome called The Music of the Spheres: Music, Science and the Natural Order of the Universe, James spent 1999 living in a bungalow in Bali observing what he calls the "fairy-dust world" that is expatriate life. The offspring of that year is a fun, slightly trashy novel that's quick and pleasurable to read, not least because it gives you the voyeur's thrill of trawling through all those private e-mails...