Word: stretcher
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Scribner's Characters. The ridge became quiet. Medical corpsmen, leading stretcher-bearing teams of brave and unflinching South Koreans, began to cross the valley to pick up the wounded. They carried the wounded through the valley at the foot of the ridge and up a narrow trail to an aid station just beyond the bean fields where General Craig sat sweeping the height with his field glasses. I sat there beside him, wondering if the stream of litter bearers would ever stop coming up out of that damned valley...
They spoke of the dead with a quiet casualness that seemed callous. "Too bad about the sergeant," two boys said to me as they watched stretcher bearers carry the blanketed form of their platoon sergeant downhill towards an ambulance. The sergeant had been killed by a mortar shell a few minutes before. "Hey, Al, your buddy got it," shouted a jeep driver at a G.I. eating by the roadside, "down on the hill this afternoon." The G.I. looked at the driver and nodded; then he went back to eating. Many men had died; it was not an unusual thing...
...from Telenews Productions, Inc. of New York City. The Joneses sat up expectantly when they heard the announcer say: "Two wounded men from Oklahoma." They moved closer to the TV set and watched the camera pan to a close-up shot of a wounded U.S. soldier sitting on a stretcher. Mr. & Mrs. Jones stared incredulously. The soldier on the stretcher was their son, Sergeant 1st class Lowell Jones, 29, a World War II veteran who went to Japan last January...
...probably the first time that war had moved so close into the U.S. living room.. Mr. & Mrs. Jones said they saw their son's face, noted that he was wearing his square ring set with a black stone. They watched as he was raised on the stretcher to take a piece of food or chocolate somebody offered him. He was wearing a T-shirt, they reported, and was not wounded above the waist, as far as they could tell, but he was covered from the waist down by a blanket...
Then, in the middle of the long trial, big Tom suffered a heart attack. He listened to closing arguments from a stretcher, picking his nose moodily and getting an occasional shot of morphine from a hovering nurse. Last week an ambulance rushed Tom, resplendent in yellow silk pajamas, from an Oakland hospital to the courtroom to hear the jury's verdict. It found him guilty of stealing $14,750 from his followers (maximum penalty: 50 years). Said Tom Patten, flat on his back but still cocky: "There'll be a battle royal before they get me behind bars...