Word: burping
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...colleagues in the field of speech have watched with indulgence and some amusement the earth-shaking experiments of this self-declared wizard. As one of them, I have no strenuous objections if the good professor wants to lock himself in a laboratory and determine, for example, if the burp is a plosive or a fricative or how many times per second the navel vibrates during the sounding of the intermediate "a," but I do cry out in anguish when I learn that Fairbanks is now devising ways to compress speech (TIME, March 23] and . . . endorsing the general idea of faster...
...Chinese coming towards them with their hands up, as if to surrender. Suddenly, from a closed fist, one of the Chinese flipped a hand grenade. The grenade killed the Korean. Stanley hoisted his 20-lb. rifle to his shoulder and killed both Chinese with a single burst. Then, as burp gun slugs and a hail of grenades fell around him, he began to creep back down the slope, looking for cover...
...propped his shoulder against the wooden doorframe. His combat boots sank in the soft mud of the communication trench. As Chinese heads popped around a bend in the trench, one by one, Stanley cut loose with his BAR. "All through the shells and burp guns," he recalled later, "I kept on whispering I believe in only one God, Jesus, and crying out the Lord is my shepherd...
...sergeants froze. Just ahead, almost within touching distance, a Chinese stood vaguely silhouetted against the dark sky. They tensed to tackle him; their mission was to bring back a prisoner. But in that split second, warned by smell or some faint sound, the Chinese touched the trigger of his burp gun. Main shot the prisoner-to-be instantly and regretfully with his .45, but the second sergeant rolled backward down the hill with an astounded gasp, slugs in his arm, leg and belly. After that the night was noisy with gunfire...
...Marines sprayed the summit with automatic-carbine fire. Chinese on the ridge replied with burp guns. Amid the brush of the slope, Marines tumbled the bulky, bleeding form of the wounded sergeant on to a poncho and labored off in the darkness, a man hauling at each corner of the improvised litter. Bright, raucous mortar bursts followed along behind them. The bursts were short and above the din they heard a cheering sound-two alarmed Chinese patrols back on the ridge were busily trying to kill each other. The Marines reached their own lines safely by dawn...