Word: helmeted
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...East Las Olas Street-Lauderdale Beach's main intersection-and created a monumental traffic jam. The harried, police, beefed up with reinforcements from nearby towns and the Florida Highway Patrol, treated them gently at first, until someone smashed a beer bottle over a police lieutenant's helmet. Then the cops got rough. They cleared the intersection in one violent rush, and appeared to be in control until George T. Dalluge, a 22-year-old senior from Minnesota's Mankato State Teachers College, climbed up an arched traffic light and rallied the crowd. He chinned himself, hung...
...glare, swung his twin-engined P-38 sharply over a German-held airfield in Tunis, put an Me 109 in his gunsight and blasted away. Just as the 109 coughed black smoke, a sudden clatter of shells peppered Widen's armor plate from behind, clipped his helmet and set his own plane afire. Quickly, Widen pulled back on his throttles and bailed out. As he drifted toward the ground, Widen saw his assailant: another Me 109 was circling him menacingly. Mindful of stories that Nazis had been known to finish off parachuting pilots, Widen muttered to himself...
...foul, rotting jungles of Indo-China, a Crimson news board candidate stands boiling lunch in his pith helmet. Cool, alert, with nerves of steel, one senses immediately that he is a man to be trusted. And small wonder, for he is. But he was not always so. Once there was a time when he was harried and driven by a domineering tutor and an iron system which kept him from becoming the man he potentially was. Now look at him. Pit him against the jungle. Match him with University Hall...
...passes are good, he'll outreach you and pull them in. And if you just tackle him around the shoetops, he'll fall down, all right. But that's not good enough. You've got to tackle him so he thinks your helmet is going to tear right through him. Next time he comes down, he won't want to stretch so far. He'll be thinking about you and wondering where you are. That'll take his mind off the ball he's supposed to catch. We call that 'making...
...Vsego khoroshego," a voice whispered briefly. "Good luck." A hatch banged shut, and the weirdly garbed figure was alone in the tiny cabin, strapped tightly to a padded, sculptured couch. A low roar filtered through his bulbous plastic helmet; he tensed involuntarily as the couch began to vibrate violently. Seconds later, he was moving-at first sluggishly, then with breathtaking speed. For three taut hours, as sweating scientists clustered around tracking screens and feverishly processed telemetry data, Radio Moscow disinterestedly played ballet music. Then a sudden silence and the curt, dramatic announcement: "The Soviet Union has successfully placed a satellite...