Word: shrapnel
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...Herter tried to join the Army in 1917, but was turned down for being too tall and too skinny, instead took the Foreign Service exams. On the day he was notified that he had passed, he learned that his brother Everit, one year older, had been killed by German shrapnel. In his grief, Christian Herter (who is convinced that his brother would have been a great painter if he had lived) resolved somehow to spend his life working toward the cause of world peace...
...Tatan and Erhtan-must now depend on irregular deliveries by carrier frogmen. On Quemoy proper, delivery boys peddle the paper by jeep and bicycle and on foot, generally get the job done by midmorning despite the every-other-day bombardment. Casualties to date: one carrier boy slightly injured by shrapnel, one decommissioned jeep...
...thunderously in from the mainland, the people of Kukang stay holed in their shelters-grandmothers, babies, ducks and chickens squeezed tightly into dank caves, protected from the cold November winds only by tattered curtains of sacking. Their schools long since closed, children play in the caves with chunks of shrapnel. Night closes in early. By 6 p.m. the people have cleaned their bowls of rice, bean curd and cabbage and settled down on straw mats to await the dawn...
...harvest season is at hand, but there are no farmers in the fields. Two hours before we arrived, a hunk of shrapnel had blown the head off 40-year-old Li Wen-pi as he tried to lead his horse to safety. Even in the late afternoon, when no shells were falling, Kuning-tou's deep, dank underground shelter was crowded. The Communists are calculating their artillery fire to harass Quemoy's nerves-there is always fire at mealtimes and just after bedtime. Any crossroads is an unhealthy place to pause...
...escorts and minesweeper broke off and began firing back at the Communist PTs and gunboats that had ambushed us. Blood-red tracers zipped, skipped and finally floated out like spent skyrocket bursts as they sought targets. Brilliant, diamond-bright air bursts from Communist shore batteries to the east rained shrapnel down. Over the roar of small boats' motors rose the baritone whump of Nationalist three-inchers and the chatter of both sides' machine guns...