Word: platooner
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...rosters, it is called the 2nd Battalion of the 7th Cavalry of the 1st Cavalry (Airmobile) Division. But to Viet Nam veterans who keep up on their casualty rates, it is the "hard-luck" battalion. And the hardest-luck platoon in the hard-luck battalion is the 3rd Platoon of A Company. Last January all of its men were killed when their C-123 crashed near An Khe before Operation Masher. Last week the unlucky 3rd got it again...
...rest of Red China, it was quite an inspiration. In all units of the Chinese armed forces, shouts of "Long live Chairman Mao" rose from the ranks. One platoon leader, Liu Hsin-fa, breathlessly declared to his unit, "I saw Chairman Mao swimming. He is in excellent health!" With the typical enthusiasm of the enlisted man about such tidings, his buddies chorused, "We feel as happy as you do." Not to be outdone by the military, workers at the Harbin locomotive and rolling stock plant overfulfilled their quotas five to twelve hours ahead of schedule at the news...
Trapped at the river, the marines called in air strikes. Even so, the heavy attack continued. "The air was chopping them to pieces, but they kept coming at us," said Staff Sergeant John J. McGinty. All but ten men of McGinty's platoon had been wounded before a relief company arrived to pull them out. Ho Chi Minh's men got off even worse. Napalm, McGinty said, "cooked them" in the formerly Marine foxholes they had taken over, and at least 200 were killed...
...absolutely a ball-we laughed until we ached." There it was, another daredevil adventure by the U.S.'s most publicly athletic family. With 14 assorted youngsters in tow, Bobby and Ethel Kennedy, Astronaut John Glenn and a platoon of guides piled into World War II rubber landing craft and shot nearly 100 miles of boiling rapids in the Middle Fork of Idaho's Salmon River. It is known as "the River of No Return," and the poor guides thought that was for sure. The place is full of dangerous rocks and swirling eddies; so naturally every time...
...their midst. At one point, an eerie silence enveloped the field, punctuated only by what sounded like men kicking footballs; it was the hollow clunk of cops kicking and clubbing fallen marchers. A white woman, her blue dress streaked with mud and grass stains, stumbled over to a platoon of blue-shirted city cops. "How could you be so cruel?" she sobbed. "Don't you know I'm a human being?" "Lady," snickered one of them, "I wouldn't be so sure." In all, close to 50 marchers were injured...