Word: platoons
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Halfback Bobby Leo and tackle Steve Diamond were the only Crimsons on the offensive unit. Tackle Dave Davis, middle guard Stan Greenidge, and safety John Tyson joined linebacker Chiofaro on the defensive platoon...
...Platoon, only two men, one of them critically wounded, survived the murdering crossfire from the Communists. After overrunning the outgunned Americans, the North Vietnamese moved methodically across the platoon's battleground, shooting in the head any American still left alive. The other platoon was better positioned and fought on, calling napalm air strikes down to within 15 ft. of themselves on the charging enemy. The Communists caused heavy casualties before withdrawing, but they left 145 of their own dead on the battlefield. Still, it was one of the worst ambushes of Americans...
...action scenes the Gaullist heroes-ludicrously misdirected by Rene Clement, who made his reputation with a film about children (Forbidden Games)-look so much like a platoon of preschool toddlers playing bang-I-gotcha! that instead of glory they get mostly guffaws. After an hour or so of this, most previewers were badly rattled. Some tried plugging their ears, but then the action looked completely incomprehensible. Some tried closing their eyes, but then they could still hear the lines-e.g., "Fifty kilometers to Paris? Hm. That's about 30 miles." Finally, a few coony old film critics discovered...
...boarding a helicopter of medics and troop reinforcements flying to the relief of the Big Red One's 1st Battalion, under attack in War Zone C northwest of Saigon (see THE WORLD). Landing at the battle site, Father Quealy hurriedly gave last rites to dying soldiers from a platoon of B Company. Just then, a Viet Cong soldier stepped out from the brush, fired at the chaplain with a machine gun. Within moments, Quealy was dead. From his pocket fell his diary; the last entry was a passage copied out from the Gospel according to Matthew: "So will...
Wifely laughter or no, his first performances electrified Paris. Writing all his own songs with the aid of a platoon of lyricists, he found himself swamped in acclaim. "The public took to me, and whoosh," he says. "I sang at this little cafe, Chez Tonton, and at the same time I made records. My price went up, and I still couldn't accept all the offers. This was all too fast for the classical guy I was-two, three, four five songs I had to write all at once, and yet I still needed new material...