No Time for Pity

Medics in the aid station near Bastogne silently pitied the young paratrooper. A replacement, he had been grievously wounded in his first action--a shell fragment had sheared off his left arm just below the shoulder. But the kid wanted no sympathy. He wanted something more specific: "One of you guys go back and find my arm. There's a wrist watch on it I want to keep."

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