The elongated top of it, which had a fluted, rudder-like adornment, made you think of Siegfried's helmet in the opera; but the bottom, which was squashed out of shape, made you think of a total loss.
When the general had finished looking at this object we all had a chance to finger it.

The young captain seemed quite proud of it and bore it off with him to the dining room.

It was what remained of a bomb, and had been loaded with slugs of lead and those iron cherries that are called shrapnel.

A French flyer had dropped it that afternoon with intent to destroy one of the German captive balloons and its operator.
The young officer was the operator of the balloon in question.

It was his daily duty to go aloft, at the end of a steel tether, and bob about for seven hours at a stretch, studying the effects of the shell fire and telephoning down directions for the proper aiming of the guns.