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NO FOXHOLE ATHEISTS

Incoming! To men in combat, this warning means just seconds to find any obtainable shelter before enemy shells land. And for the Marines manning the desolate outpost at Con Thien, those seconds meant the difference between life and death.

There is nothing more terrifying than to experience the feeling of sheer helplessness during an artillery barrage. There is something impersonal about the deadly whine of the metal fragments as they search out victims to maim. These thunderous projectiles would hurl white-hot shrapnel everywhere, both large and small, ripping, tearing and slicing human flesh. Prolonged shelling of this nature can also be psychologically detrimental.

“I can’t stand that artillery,” one shaken Marine confessed. “there’s no warning, no rhyme or reason to who gets hit and who doesn’t.”

While traveling between companies to hold religious services, Navy Lieutenant Leo Stanis, chaplain for the 3rd Battalion, 4th Marines, had a rule. He never said Mass for more than 25 individuals at a time. He would state from the outset: “Men, before we start, look around you. In case we receive incoming, we don’t all want to jump into the same hole. Let us pray…”

It is during these terrifying moments in combat that the old adage applies: “There are no atheists in a foxhole.” And also when the comforting words of men like Leo Stanis are most needed. “Incoming at Con Thien many times makes us feel that the earth is removed and that the mountains are carried into the ocean,” the chaplain said.

Marines there found solace in Stanis’ words. Anywhere he opened his Bible on “the hill of angels,” that spot became his altar. And anytime a Marine feared for his life, he was there to alleviate his dismay. He was truly a man of compassion.

Excerpt from :Con Thien "The Hill Of The Angels" Quang Tri Province 1967

I also remember being bounced around in my hole by the shock waves from B-52 Bombers dumping their loads of 1,000 lb. bombs. It was truly a sight to behold watching the B-52s at work. During one bombing run, I remember large pieces of shrapnel flying around. One piece in particular was the size of a VW bug. When we first spotted it coming towards us, it seemed like it took forever to reach us. It was a giant, twisted piece of hot metal. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. It kept coming and coming and coming, making a whistling, whirring sound, sort of like an Australian Aborigine's noisemaker. As it approached, we all ducked lower and lower and lower into our holes. The last time I remember seeing it, it passed over our heads and continued on in a northerly direction. I also got to witness something not many people have had the opportunity to observe. A Huey helicopter was being chased by an NVA SAM (Surface to Air Missile). About 100 yards off to our left, we spotted a chopper that looked like it was crashing because it was coming down so fast. That helicopter landed very fast in a zigzag, downward motion. Then this big, slow SAM appeared with a flame coming out of the tail fin section. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, appeared a Phantom Jet doing a Victory roll right over the top of our heads; and the SAM slowly turned in pursuit. In very slow pursuit! The jet was literally flying circles around it. The jet lead the missile out and away from our perimeter, and the missile exploded. I believe without a doubt that, had we not had supporting arms at Con Thien, we would have been overrun many times over! The thing about September 25th that really sticks in my mind is a picture of a Marine sitting in a puddle of blood and battle dressings, on a poncho, with his legs blown off from the waist down! He was numb from morphine and in shock from loss of blood. He was smoking a cigarette very calmly, as if nothing had even happened! He was waiting for a Medevac! He probably died in the chopper ride back! Our platoon arrived at Con Thien with 45 men; when we left, we only had 12! Now you know why we called it, "The Meatgrinder!"