Word: mortaring
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...dead city, a battlefield where vultures circle overhead and the smell of panic is stronger than the stench of the unswept, palm-fringed boulevards. The shops are barred, the restaurants deserted. Hour after hour, day and night, the tomblike hush is broken only by the distant crump of exploding mortar shells, the whoom of bazookas, the crack of anti-aircraft cannon, and the short, chattering bursts of machine guns...
...doctors at Prince Leopold Hospital complained about the aim of some of the U.N.'s gun crews. For ten hours one night, mortar shells blasted the hospital walls and roof; patients crawled screaming into the corridors; one African woman in the process of giving birth rose in terror and fled before her delivery, was not seen again. A U.N. spokesman admitted the firing, said the rounds were aimed at a Katangese army camp 800 yds. beyond the hospital. But some of the shells even hit a Roman Catholic cathedral in an African residential section, and others exploded near...
...Robot Commando will fire rockets by voice command. War toys, too, are more realistic than ever. There are aircraft carriers that catapult planes from their decks, tanks that advance relentlessly until a well-aimed stone hits a vulnerable spot. One Civil War set comes with a firing mortar, exploding bunker and battle sound-effects record...
...heard the gun-carriages turn, saw them vomit and drool; the firmament sagged and all the stars turned black. Black ocean bleeding and the brooding stars breeding chunks of fresh-swelled flesh while overhead the birds wheeled and out of the hallucinated sky fell the balance with mortar and pestle and the bandaged eyes of justice. All that is here related moves with imaginary feet along the parallels of dead orbs; all that is seen with the empty sockets bursts like flowering grass. Out of the nothingness arises the sign of infinity; beneath the ever-rising spiral slowly sinks...
...Nidever and his men stumbled toward the scene of the ambush, tracers from automatic rifles laced the darkness, and the finger snap of small-arms fire was punctuated by the sledging blow of mortar explosions. Even under the wavering light of flare shells it was impossible to tell friend from foe. There was a movement, a silhouette running along the road. Was it a Viet Cong guerrilla or a Vietnamese Ranger? Even as the man passed it was impossible to tell...