Posted on 09/23/2007 7:46:56 AM PDT by paulat
Unexploded Rocket-Propelled Grenade Impales Army Private in Afghanistan By RUTH REISS
[snip]
One RPG skidded past Lt. Mariani's vehicle. All of the vehicles had to quickly get out of the "kill zone." But before they could get to safety, two rockets hit Pvt. Moss' Humvee.
Staff Sgt. Eric Wynn, 33, the soldier in the front passenger seat, felt one slice through his face. Moss remembers the truck practically lift up. He was thrown up against the Humvee and then moved to return fire.
"I smelled something smoking and I looked down ... and I was smoking," he said.
Wynn turned to tell Moss where to fire and saw the tail fins of the RPG sticking out of Moss' side.
Roughly the length of a baseball bat, an RPG travels at the speed of a bullet. At the front end is the warhead -- a large grenade. The detonator and fuel are contained in the shaft. On the back are its fins, pieces of metal that stick out like legs on a camera tripod. The RPG is the weapon of choice for many of the world's guerillas.
Luckily for Moss, the company medic Spc. Jared Angell, 23, who the soldiers call "Doc," was in his Humvee
[snip]
A Human Bomb The RPG that had plowed into Moss' lower abdomen stretched from one hip to the other. If the RPG went off, it would kill everyone within 30 feet of him. Yet Angell stayed close, bandaging his wounds and stabilizing the weapon so that movement wouldn't cause it to explode.
Moss was still fully conscious, so Angell ordered him to not look down at the injury. He didn't want Moss to panic.
[snip]
(Excerpt) Read more at abcnews.go.com ...
Good Morning!
Hiya! Are you breathing better?
*koff-koff*
Afternoon!
I just found out about the game the little boys were playing the other day, “The Bath From the North, Too!” It’s “The Battle for Middle Earth II.”
St. Crispin’s Day Speech
William Shakespeare, 1599
Enter the KING
WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!
KING. What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call’d the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian.’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.’
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.
Cool! Thanks!
Good Morning!
Thick Fog this morning....HURRAY! Supposed to get up into the mid 80s this afternoon, but low 60s now with the fog. Now the firefighters will have a good chance to make some real progress on containing the blazes.
That’s really good news, rottie!
Of course, I now have to shut my door because of the smoke we’re getting. And the sun is trying hard to burn through it.
ohwell...
Can they hose down boxer and Feinstein too?
Wouldn’t THAT be something?...
GOD BLESS OUR HEROS bump
Only if they were using napalm...
Yah! COOL!
(Now where did I put my gas can and matches...?)
The young woman, great with child, stepped out from between where the two parked cars bracketed the crosswalk, and was immediately assailed by the horrific squealing of brakes, and the wolven howl of skidding tires.
The desperate driver managed somehow to wrestle his massive garbage truck to a stop mere inches in front of her now-pallid face.
As she turned, on jellied legs, to stagger the rest of the way across the street, he craned his neck out the window and growled, “You can get knocked DOWN, too, ya know!!”
LOL! I especially like the wolven howl.
Yes. Seasonally appropriate, and if you’ve ever heard a rig that size lock ‘em up, you simply can’t describe the sound as well in any other words.
And LOOK! ~ 1616 ~ !
(That was funny!)
Arright! I gots two pair, aces high!
Yahbut...you dealt, too!
Scene out of my office window this morning. (Enough haze you can't see Mt. Baker.) I was surprised at the cold air coming off the window (& aluminum frame) until I checked the wall thermostat and saw it as 36F outside at the time. Fall colors are almost over.
They're also predicting fog tonight and temps in the 20s tomorrow morning. The roads are going to be dangerous!
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