FORGOTTON FIELDS

Con Thien, the Hill of Angels

The Vietnam War had thousands of firebases, occupied by many units and many troops. A firebase in Vietnam – wherever it might be – would be well known to whomever habituated one. The locations may have been different, but the experience was quite the same.?

Con Thien was one of these, displaying the simplicity of the battlefield, its complications, casualties and above all else, the brotherhood that formed a family from the experience. Con Thien was special to those who were there, perhaps a decent model of all, where, when under siege, the conundrums of combat created angels.

The military identified the point on a map as YD113703. In Vietnamese, Con Thien means Hill of Angels, and so it was, but of a different form than originally envisioned. Before the arrival of Marines in February of 1967, it was just one among a meandering string of hills that separated North Vietnam from South Vietnam along the artificially imposed Demilitarized Zone. North of the dividing Ben Hai River, the North Vietnamese had dug a series of deeply caved artillery positions pointing south. The occupying angels at Con Thien would quickly learn that the devil lurked within them, and visited often.

U.S. military planners saw Con Thien as a significant piece of bare earth for establishment of the McNamara Line. This would stretch from the mouth of the Cua Viet River on the coast due west to where Laos met the two Vietnams. Con Thien could see far to the north and east,alike giving it great tactical value. The most available force to hold this land would be the U.S. Marines, having learned through history to suffer willingly – from Chateau Thierry to Tarawa, the Chosin Reservoir and now Con Thien.

Marines occupied the mass and with an assist from the NVA transformed it to a modern Verdun. Bunkers and trenches wound around the perimeter and all the modern material and support converged to make Con Thien a self-contained fortress – one that was an easy aiming point for the many artillery pieces less than five miles to the north.

Very quickly, the NVA artillery began to roll across the terrain. It ranged from 152mm to 120mm artillery to 4.2 and 82mm mortars. They rained constantly on the position. Even so, their effect was less significant than the constant monsoon rains.?

Con Thien is largely clay laterite. It holds water, prevents percolation and creates a seemingly endless series of red-rimmed pools. Its mud is like glue and sticks to boots, skin and clothing. Marine faces would glisten with fresh water from the sky, but their bodies would be coated in muddy glue.?

Sanitation was impossible. First-echelon medics learned to wipe an arm and their hand simultaneously before inserting IVs. Doctors, working in a leaking bunker probed and cut with flashlights and lanterns. It was not a pleasant place, but it was a hill of angels.

Photographer David Douglas Duncan, himself a Marine in World War II, stayed in the trenches there for a week and was struck by the sense of duty and camaraderie the men had for each other. Rank was understood, but it wasn’t a forced issue. Commands can be casual and obeyed as well. The blood of brotherhood was constantly refreshed.

The North pounded it mercilessly and attacked often. Patrols and night OPs were always engaged. The rain increased in intensity, as did the casualties. Helicopters constantly resupplied ammunition, rations and water and back-hauled the casualties, the living on litters and the dead in plastic mummy wraps stacked in whatever space was available.?

Men slept and worked in soaked, muddy clothes. Skin became waterlogged and rolled off in small, visible streaks. Rations were what was offered in the C Rations, dispensed individually with white, grease-covered spoons coveted for everything from eating to toileting, the paper ration roll usually having dissolved quickly after exposure. Flak jackets provided some warmth. Cigarettes were treasured and traded as if they were gold. A pack of cigarettes could get you off a night’s OP. Five Lucky Strikes for the can of beans and balls. I got ham and limas.?

Cigarettes glowed constantly and were carefully covered in order to light the next or your buddy’s. Matches were rendered inoperable almost upon opening the sundry pack. A box of wooden matches, sent from home, illegally, were a treasure to be protected in plastic and kept in the bunker.

The position became a deeply cratered junk yard. Things that one might treasure at home – weapons, ammo, personal effects, rations and clothing – were just battlefield junk. Occupants lived like prairie dogs, looking out from protective positions toward daylight and the evil lurking beyond the barbed wire. Nearly constant engagements were conducted through sandbag and dirt-filled ammo box slits. The rain of fire would be momentarily forgotten in the heat of changing magazines, feeding the pig or treating a buddy’s wound.

Con Thien, as all firebases, was a model of battlefield simplicity and complexity. Cigarettes, dirt, casualties, family. Everyone who lived to come off that hill was, in fact, an angel in every sense of the word.