Miracle on Hill 52

Michael Tank

As requested by Charlie Wilson ...

The Miracle On Hill 52

There are dozens of clichés about war

You see them in all the war movies, read them in every book

They are so common that people, who don’t know, will scoff at and dismiss them

But there is one little problem with these combat clichés

They just happen to be true

This story I am about to tell is simply full of these truisms

No need to point them all out, you’ll see them for yourself

However there is one item I need to address, what Veterans call ‘snapshots’

Vets don’t usually remember details, just an image of this or that

Our minds worked like throwaway cameras taking these quick snapshots

So bear with me, please, as I try linking together, in this worn out, tired, old mind

These single images of that time, and of a miracle I once witnessed

As I try to show how survival in war is just chance, although some may call it fate

Of how you can love some men as brothers

And not want to know other men at all

It was early in 1971, January or February, I really don’t remember which

My sniper teammate and I caught a ride on a chopper

Out to the middle of nowhere, to a pile of dirt designated as Hill 52

We had been assigned to a Marine Grunt unit

Who were providing security for an ARVN artillery battery on the hill

I was the ‘shooter’ on the team, that is, I carried a Remington 700 sniper rifle

My teammate, Barney was my spotter, or ‘back up man’, he carried an M-16

We had been told that this place was ‘hot’

Charlie was thick in the area, kicking up his heels, having his fun

We were also warned that it was not going to be a nice place to be

As the chopper circled, banked and started to descend

I could see the river valley where we were landing

A few hills scattered about, the landscape running off flat to the north

A small ribbon of water to the south with our hill on one side, rock cliffs on the other

Everywhere were varying shades of green, except for two important places

The first was Hill 52 itself, it was brown,

Mud brown, every inch of the knoll and for yards around

Not a single strand of vegetation was on that hill

Just one big lump of sickening, irritating, grimy dirt

Like God had thrown a handful of mud at his good green Earth, and here it had stuck

The darkish flow traveled down all sides and out a hundred yards or more

Everything around the hill had been cleared for ‘killing zones’

Around the hill’s perimeter were fighting holes encircled with rows of razor wire

Scattered about the hill were numerous black boxes, the bunkers

Roofs of steel covered with black, plastic sand bags, now baking in the hot sun

Across the river was the second unsightly scar

A high cliff jutted up from the valley floor

With the side facing the hill gouged away, ragged and defaced

The rubble sliding downward and collecting in a jagged pile at its base

Here the earth was scorched and chewed up, blackened by fire, I wondered why

This was to be our home for at least the next month

As we landed the chopper had taken fire from across the river

Nothing intense, a couple of burst from a AK-47, just enough to scare the hell out of us

To get the adrenaline going and remind us that our time in the rear was over

That it was time to go back to work and just the first sign of an ominous stay

There are some who say snipers had it easy

Three, four weeks in the bush, then back to the rear for a few days

A place of hot food and showers, a rack to sleep on with a roof over our heads

A little nightly guard duty, but it was usually quiet

And for that reason I would have to say that it was better than being a Grunt

Grunts with their Corpsmen were stuck out in no man’s land, at some God forsaken spot

And left there until HQ ordered them to some other hell hole

C-Rats for meals, with no showers for weeks on end

Sleeping on the ground or in some rat and bug infected bunker

Snipers only shared this life while we were with them

But there were also disadvantages caused by our comings and goings

The biggest was that we were always the FNGs

NG stands for ‘New Guy’, you can figure out for yourselves what the F stands for

Snipers usually don’t know anybody in the outfit they have been assigned to

And since you are only there for a short time, nobody really wants to get to know you

We humans are social creatures, so the first few times out you try to make friends

After all you are all in the same terrible fix, and you are all Marines

Now, it is not like we treat each other badly, we don’t

But over time you learn that sometimes it is better not to get to know someone

At least until you know they are going to be around for a while

In Vietnam it always seemed that once you made a friend

They didn’t hang around for long

If they were not wounded or became a KIA, then they rotated home

It is painful to lose a friend in such a manner, sometimes even devastating

So it was not personal, in war you just learn to pick your friends with care and sparingly

But the friends you do make are special and are for life, even if you never see them again

With them you share memories of home, your plans for the future, that last cigarette

You tell each other your secrets and fears,

There is an unspoken oath between friends, “You watch my back, and I’ll watch yours.”

And you both know that your backs are covered

The friends you do make are in many ways closer than family, they are your Brothers

They are the men you have suffered with and faced death with

You have eaten the same rotten food, drank the same putrid water

Slept on the same muddy ground in three inches of water, or

Sat quietly with all night on ambush, hot, frightened, fighting off sleep and mosquitoes

Even with the Grunts you do not know there is a certain bond of a kinship

But with the ones you get to know, like your Sniper teammates

In those few you allow to get close to you, and they let you get close to them

There forms a friendship like no other between two men

Only in combat can you experience this kind of love for your fellow man

Barney was such a friend, maybe the last I made while I was there

For I was getting short, that is my rotation date was not far off

Most of the men who were in Snipers when I arrived had already gone home

One way or another, I had already lost a number of good friends

And the pain of their departures had made me leery of making too many more

Another disadvantage of being a sniper assigned to a Grunt unit

At least during my time in this long Vietnam conflict

Was that the Grunt company commanders hardly used us as Snipers

Grunt companies were always short handed

So when ‘New Meat’ arrived they simply saw us more as replacements

I spent most of my time in Vietnam performing the duties of a Grunt

Going out on patrols, search and destroy missions, ambushes

And for some reason the company commanders loved to put us out on LPs

LP stands for ‘Listening Post’, they are usually run at night out in front of the base perimeters

Maybe they thought that as Snipers, we had better hearing

Not that I am complaining, we were Marines and I saw it as just part of the job

In truth there were never many targets of opportunity anyway

And the more men to do what had to be done, the more rest everybody got

On Hill 52 we spent most of our time standing guard

Barney and I were assigned a fighting hole on the far side away from the river

During the day we would bake in the hot sun, taking turns watching the valley floor

At night, again we would take our turns scanning the area, peering into a dark void

I do not recall ever going outside the perimeter while I was on the hill

Others were running nightly ambushes, daylight patrols

But as far as I remember Barney and I stayed put inside our perimeter

As I have said I had been in country for some time by now

And I did not mingle with many of the others

So I stayed close to my position most of the time

It was Barney, with his engaging personality who would make his rounds everyday

Coming back excited and out of breath with all the new scuttlebutt

And there was plenty to tell

The patrols and ambushes were making contact, getting results,

Raising the enemy death counts which was what this war had become all about

But we were also taking casualties

With our patrols getting ambushed themselves on the way out or back in

It was Barney who first told me that this was the ‘hottest’ place in Vietnam right then

Seems some report in Newsweek or some paper had made its way out to us on the hill

It surely was the busiest place I had ever seen

We were taking incoming almost every night

And the casualties were mounting

But the days were mostly quiet, men sleeping or getting ready for the night’s activities

There was the one day when a re-supply chopper received some small arms fire

Hovering over the re-supply point with the long, loaded cargo net swaying under its belly

While still thirty to forty feet above the ground when the rounds hit that chopper

Unbelievably they let go of that net, allowing it to come crashing to the ground

I sat on the edge of my hole watching this misadventure taking place at the top of the hill

The chopper swiftly banking away and upward, soon to be out of sight

The net loaded with crates, now loose and falling like a ton of bricks

Men who had been waiting on the ground for the net, now scattering in every direction

And the company CO sprinting like an Olympian to the company radio

Grunts on the riverside of the hill opened up on where they thought the fire had come from

Men who had moments before fled before the falling net slowly made their way back

And the Company CO stood by his radioman screaming into the ‘mike’

As the dust settled you could hear him even above the automatic rifle fire

Demanding action against that chopper crew

First he wanted them grounded, his face glowing bright red even at my distant view

Then he wanted them court marshaled,

Finally he wanted the “sons a bitches” shot!

“They could have blown away the entire Goddamn hill!”

Seems we were being re-supplied with arty shells at the time

And of course there were the nights

In Vietnam, at least when I was there, most of action occurred at night

The Marines ran their ambushes; and it was when we most expected to be hit by Charlie

The ARVN batteries ran most of their fire missions at night

But after a while you didn’t even wake up to the noise of their guns

It was the incoming that woke you up

And the bad part was that you didn’t know it was incoming until that first round hit

I do not remember if it was every night, I have been told by others that it was

I do remember that it was often and that it took its toll, physically and emotionally

And when it came it was always three rounds from those scarred cliffs across the river

Of course we never knew what time of night it would happen, but it was always after dark

The first round either hit the front of the hill closest to the river

Or they would lob the first round to the backside of the hill, close to Barney and me

The second round always hit somewhere in the middle or crest of the hill

Three rounds raking across the hill either front to back or back to front

It was always three rounds, because that was all the time the little bastards had

By the time the second round had hit, the company CO had called in the air strikes

And our 105s were already answering, slamming shells into the cliffs across the river

The gooks were well dug in on those cliffs and after firing that third round

Their gun was pulled back into its cave even before that third round had hit its target

Men shouting and running about, our Corpsmen running to tend the wounded, as always

Our flares would be shot up into the dark night sky

Bathing the hill, the river and the cliffs with that eerie yellow light drifting beneath the chutes

Casting moving shadows across the perimeter with its swaying motions

Tracers raced out at the unseen on the cliffs and at the phantom shadows in our kill zones

Then just as suddenly all fire from our hill would stop as that first jet fighter came in for its strike

Streaking by so low you would swear that you could reach up and run your fingers across its belly

Navy, Air Force, Marine, whoever was closest on any given night, they all showed up

Making pass after pass on that ragged cliff face to unmercifully punish it some more

America’s might focused on that one gook gun hidden in a small dark cave

And boy did they blast away at that cliff, bombs, rockets, napalm, and machineguns

The best fireworks I have ever seen, like a deadly Fourth Of July every night

Jets screaming in almost on top of one another, chipping away those cliffs foot by foot

We would sit there and watch and wonder how anyone or anything could survive such a punishment

And the very next night, out would come Charlie and hit us with three more shells, simply amazing

That’s the way it went, night after night, Charlie’s three rounds, followed by our air strikes

And then everything was quiet for the rest of the night, until the next sunset

As it grew dark the strain and tension would begin to grow anew waiting for those rounds

Knowing they were coming but not knowing when, then finally that dreaded ‘whoosh’ of incoming

Followed by the three explosions, funny how the tension was lifted after those rounds had hit

Not so funny, more a mystery, was how few times those round found human flesh

The hill was not that big and was covered with Marines and ARVNs

Yet so few of us were hit, not that there were not some casualties, there were

But not as many as one might imagine for the number of times they fired

I guess we were just lucky

But what those nightly rounds were doing was keeping us on edge,

Even on those odd nights when they didn’t fire them

We all knew that our luck was running out, and I began to believe that my time had come

Sooner or later we were going to able to quiet that gun with the air strikes

But then sooner or later I knew that Charlie was going to find his mark

And so it went on, I don’t recall how long Barney and I were there before that one fateful night

It must have been at least two or three weeks

And after this one night I hardly remember anything about the hill or my time there

Near our position, about six feet to its rear, was a bunker Barney used to sleep in

I did not like bunkers and only used them when I was forced in by the rain or incoming

Next to the bunker I had sent up an old canvas, foldout cot to sleep on

Where it came from and how I got hold of it I do not recall

But it was on this cot that I slept every night while Barney preferred his bunker

Barney would take first watch as I slept under the star lit skies on my cot until my watch

When it was my turn he would awaken me and disappear into the bunker as I sank into the hole

On this night I was only at my position for a few minutes when I heard the first of Charlie’s rounds

And not knowing if it was going to hit the front of the hill or on the back by us

I dove to the bottom of the hole covering my head with my arms

The first round hit the front of the hill, yet still violently shaking the ground under me

And I waited for that second round that I knew was coming, that I knew would be even closer to me

It has been thirty-two years since I was lying in that hole, waiting for that second round to hit

Yet I still remember with clarity what went through my terrified mind

I am still amazed at the speed in which my mind raced in those few agonizing minutes

The images that my closed eyes revealed to my sight, allowing my mind to escape the terror

The utter helplessness and horror of the thought of the third round repeating the pattern of front to back

“This is it, my time is up! That last round is going to hit right in this hole! I better get into the bunker.

Dear God! I don’t want to die here! Not now, not here! Please Lord get me through this…..”

The second round exploded loud and close, closer than I thought it would

Making the prophecy of my impending death seem even more certain

Shaking the ground more violently than the first, knocking dirt down onto my back

I was now in a fetal position, squeezing my eyes so tightly closed that they hurt

As if by doing so, and not being able to see, I could make this all go away

My arms still stretched up over my head, fingers interlocked, every muscles straining

Pulling my body into a tight ball as if I could get small enough to just disappear

And at the same time it seemed every muscle was trying to push my body farther into the earth

I was trembling, sweating, almost crying waiting for that third and I knew fatal shell,

I knew I was going to die, tonight, “Funny you aren’t gonna make it to twenty-one after all.

I have to get out of here, if I don’t buy it tonight then I will tomorrow.

Lord, dear Lord please help me get out of here. Maybe if I get wounded I will get out of here.

Maybe just a wound in the arm, the leg, but Lord please don’t let me die here, not like this.”

“I can’t die like this! Back home my family is watching TV, what am I doing here?”

And then I saw an image of my home, as crystal clear as if I was sitting there watching my family

There was my Father in his old brown recliner, in a white T-shirt and his gray work trousers

Feet up with white socks, a newspaper across his lap, arms resting on the arms of the chair

My Mother on the sofa, working at something in her lap, tiny Sherri leaning against Mom’s side

My brothers, Ralph and little Scottie lying on the carpet floor, in front of Dad’s chair,

Legs bent up and dangling in the air, their heads resting in their cupped hands, watching TV

And my sister Pat, sweet loving Pat, sitting next to my Father’s chair, all younger than they were now

But where was Linda? I searched this imaginary room for her, feeling distress at her absence

“Ah, Linda is married now, she isn’t home………”

The third shell hit! Almost instantly I felt a blast of hot air move over me

It hit so violently that it tossed the human ball I had become from one side of the hole to the other

It hit so hard that it rattled my teeth twice, first when the shell hit and when I hit the other wall

I sat there limp and stunned unable to move, coughing from the acrid smoke

Dirt from the hole’s sides was falling in on me and for a second I thought I would be buried alive

Slowly my mind began to clear, the dirt had stopped falling but the smoke still hung heavy in the air

When I looked up I could see that the flares were already at work casting that strange yellow pall

Slowly I stood up and looked towards the bunker, the smoke was pouring out of its doorway and roof

The last shell of the night had missed my hole but hit my friend’s bunker

I pulled myself out of the hole and walked unsteadily towards the bunker’s smoking entrance

Although knowing that Barney must be dead inside I started yelling his name,

“Barney! Barney! Oh God no!” my voice sounding strange, muffled and faraway

“Corpsman Up! Corpsman Up!” I yelled with all the strength I could muster

Starting into the bunker door, horrified at what I would find of my teammate, my friend

And then when I was almost in tears over the certainty of his loss, I witnessed a miracle.

With smoke pouring out of a four-foot round, jagged hole smack dab in the middle of the bunker’s roof

And the cot on which I had been sleeping on next to the bunker ripped to shreds by the flying shrapnel

Barney walked out of the doorway through the smoke and stood there staring at me in a daze

And there wasn’t a scratch on him, I reached out and grabbed his shoulders with both hands

And yelled his name again, “Barney, are you okay?”

Dazed and bewildered he looked at me blankly and shook his head.

I yelled again, over the noise of our 105s and automatic rifle fire that was strafing the cliffs

“Are you okay?” just as two Corpsmen arrived.

Barney raised both hands up and pressed his ears and yelled, “I can’t hear anything!”

And that was the last words we have ever spoken to each other.

The Corpsmen each grabbed one of Barney’s arms, turned him around and started up the hill

I watched by the sick yellow glow of the flares as the Corpsmen lead him away

As the only friend I had in this world, the only man on this hill that I knew by name,

The man I depended on to back me up in our team, to watch my back, as I watched his,

Disappeared over the top of Hill 52

All the time knowing that a Med-a-Vac chopper would be coming to take him back and leave without me

Thankful that God had spared my life tonight, had answered my prayers

And that He had performed a miracle in saving Barney’s life

Yet I have never before or have ever since felt that immense physical ache

Of the total emptiness and helplessness at being so utterly alone in the world

Morning came and my watch was over

I was exhausted and sore, every muscle and bone in my body ached from the pounding I had received

Barney was gone; I had seen the chopper come in to take him away after the usual air strikes

I was told that they would be sending another man out as my back-up

He came two days later, a young man I had never met before, new in country, named Martin

That night was the last time that I saw Barney

He was gone from Snipers when I returned at the end of the month

Martin and I did one more month together as a Sniper Team

I rotated home before I was to go out again, Martin and I never got close

And that was my decision, my fault; I pray that Martin made it home

I went into that bunker that next morning

Wondering just were Barney could have been when it was hit

Looking for some place where he could have been hiding

Which might explain why he had not been killed or wounded

As far as I could see it did not matter

The interior of the bunker was just as shredded as my useless cot

I will never understand how Lance Corporal Byron ‘Barney’ Eguchi lived through that night

But then miracles are not to be understood, they are only to be witnessed, accepted and given thanks for

I thank God for not only sparing my life, when I was so sure that it was soon to be over,

But of working his wonders with Barney, and allowing me to witness His miracle on Hill 52

Epilogue:

There is one more snapshot that I would like to share with you;

When Barney and I were waiting for the chopper to take us to Hill 52

The chopper that was ferrying people back and forth to the Hill came into our LZ

And when it landed off stepped a childhood friend from Illinois

George Porter was a Marine with H&S Company returning from Hill 52

George and I had known each other from kindergarten through high school

We had seen each other a couple of times in Nam

As George stepped off the chopper and I was ready to get on

We had just enough time to shake hands and say hello

He was headed back to his base on Hill 37 and I was off to Hill 52

Thirty years later my brother, Ralph and I went to visit George while I was home in Illinois

I had not seen George in all that time

Standing on George’s front lawn in Hampton, the little town where I had once lived,

On a muggy August afternoon, watching the Mississippi River slowly flow by

George reminded me of that day in Vietnam on that hot, dusty LZ

Ralph stood by silently and watched as two old Marines fought back the tears

As George told us of how badly he felt that day so many years ago

At watching me, his friend, his brother step onto a chopper

That was taking me into the hell that he had just left

Of how helpless he felt in the knowledge that he could not help me

And of the guilt he felt as he thought that he was abandoning me

I stood there with my two brothers, all of us now with tears in our eyes

What a sight we must have been, standing on that green lawn in the afternoon sun

My brother from my family, my brother from my Corps and I

How much more lucky can a guy like me get, than to have such men as my brothers?

Michael Tank

USMC

Scout/Snipers

1969-1972

07/14/03