Word: knocks
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...accents of an Old Testament patriarch. Israel, he proclaimed, was in danger. Israel's youth must gird itself, man new settlements along the threatened border, stand ready to repel the merciless Arab. Last October, at 70, he risked all on a bold and cunning "preventive war" to knock out Nasser's new, Soviet-supplied army...
...obviously on Cuba's current, running-sore revolt. Though the dictator's army is well equipped, it so far has been ineffectual against the kind of "internal conflict" that has plagued the island for nearly three months. Bomb-bursts terrorize Havana almost nightly; the explosions often knock down power poles and black out parts of the city. Sugar cane fields are put to the torch with regularity. And in southeastern Cuba's rugged Sierra Maestra mountains, a band of wily, determined rebels is getting larger...
...thunder as ominous as a landlady's knock reverberated through Britain last week, as voters prepared for the first time to register approval or disapproval of the new Macmillan government. Tory leaders were quick to make light of the threatening sound. "They're just exercising their right to grumble," said one, as erstwhile Conservative voters hurled loaded questions at the Tory candidate in London's teeming, pie-shaped North Lewisham constituency. But the candidate, a blacksmith's son who has become a prosperous manufacturer (structural steel), was kefauvering his way ("I'm Norman Farmer...
...winds whipped the dry snow into waist-high drifts around the little police station at the Austrian border town of Rechnitz. Inside, a policeman huddled close to a well-tended fire. Suddenly there was a knock, and the door slammed open to admit a wintry blast of air and a man with a baby in his arms. "Please," he muttered. "Out there. My wife. More women and children. More people." Then he fainted. The policeman cranked his old-fashioned telephone, muttered a few words. A siren wailed and within minutes the able-bodied men and women of Rechnitz were mobilized...
Like Digby-Vane-Trumpington, many writers cannot be kept from rope ladders; they love to swarm up the icy cliffs of fiction, creep up on reality in their rope-soled shoes and knock it out of commission with those knuckle-dusters. In the van of these shock troops is British Novelist Alistair MacLean, who in H.M.S. Ulysses (TIME, Jan. 23, 1956) showed his ability to zero in with a battery of heavy cliches, fieldstrip and assemble a character in the dark, and tell an exciting story. MacLean displays the same talents in his current operation, dealing with the eastern Mediterranean...