71st Evac Hosp-Pleiku, Vietnam - Stories

These stories are true, but the names may be
changed to protect the innocent. Besides, my memory
isn't very good any more. I haven't researched any of these for historical detail, but have lived them. Steven Streeper - Copyright, 2007

Thanksgiving day '69 dawned as typical November days in the Central Highlands. The blue sky was dotted with fluffy clouds, a common occurrence with the monsoon season starting to relent. It was slightly cool in the shade, but felt good in the open sunshine, or leaned up against the sunny side of a building. Everyone, except for some "protesters" at the 71st Evac, was looking forward to Thanksgiving Dinner. Turkey with all the trimmings would be a welcome relief from the usual GI fare.

The five-man EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) team had a full mornings' work ahead of them. They took their load to the disposal pit near Pleiku AFB. There were literally tons of old, unstable munitions that they needed to destroy. In the tropical heat and moisture, gunpowder and other explosives tended to degrade into unstable compounds. Just as old dynamite will "sweat" nitroglycerine, making it extremely dangerous, so, too, the more modern explosives had their degradation curve. Todays' load would be like many that they'd destroyed in the past. It was nothing special.

As part of the military protocol for EOD activity, there was an ambulance sitting nearby, with a couple of bored medics lazing in the sun, not very interested in what was going on, but required to be there for safety.

The work was progressing pretty well and there was quite a pile of bombs, shells, ammunition, flares, C4 exposive, grenades, rockets and other dangerous items growing in the center of the pit. Each team member would pick up as much as he could carry, then stagger over the lip of the pit and work his way down into the bottom, where he would deposit his load, carefully stacking it in place.

They had been working steadily for a couple of hours, when it happened. No one really knows that happened. Perhaps someone stumbled and dropped a seriously unstable grenade or maybe a bomb started rolling down the stack, striking another, setting off the initial blast. Whatever the cause, that single explosion triggered another, then another, and another until, like a chain reaction, the entire pile was triggering. Instantly the pit had become a hell of fire, noise, hot metal, shredded flesh and destruction.

Three of the team were killed instantly, their torn bodies flung from the maelstrom like rag dolls, landing on the flat ground around the pit. The other two were struck by many fragments, both large and small, and knocked back out of the pit. One had one arm and a leg torn away, but was still alive. The remaining team member was badly injured, with grave damage to his face, both arms, one leg and his chest.

The stunned medics, knocked from the hood of their ambulance, where they'd been napping, staggered into awareness and sprang into action. Their training kicked in and they grabbed their medic bags and ran to the two screaming soldiers. One of them, seeing the magnitude of the situation, ran back to the truck and radioed for help, asking the dispatcher to alert the 71st for incoming wounded. Then he ran to help his partner.

Their first task was to assess the damage and stabilize the patients for transport. Once the two living patients were stable, the medics quickly checked the others for any sign of life. Finding none, they loaded the living and were headed to the 71st as the backup team arrived on the scene. The backup team would load the bodies and bring them to the 71st Emergency Room after assessing the accident scene.

As the ambulance sped toward the hospital, siren and lights screaming, one of the medics worked in the back to keep the two GIs alive. In just a few minutes, they careened into the front gate of the 71st, screeching to a stop at the ER front door.

Having been alerted and informed every step of the way in, the ER/OR crew were "cocked and loaded", X-Ray was fired up and ready to get any needed images. As soon as the wheels stopped moving, we jerked open the doors and grabbed the two stretchers, dragging them out of the truck and rushing them into the ER. One was in very bad condition and arrested almost as soon as we put him onto an ER table. The physician, looking at the enormity of his injuries, made the decision that he probably wouldn't make it, regardless of what we could do, set him aside and moved to the other boy. He felt that there was a better chance of survival for this patient, so we rushed him into surgery immediately, bypassing X-Ray. We felt that we'd be in his belly and chest anyway, so any frags in the extremities could be dealt with later, if there was to be a "later" for him.

I was assigned as blood man of the surgery team and called for 40 units of blood NOW! On extreme cases, one person would be responsible for managing blood requirements, from starting the 12GA (HUGE NEEDLE!) IV needles to keeping blood going in fast enough to maintain blood pressure against the inevitable bloodbath AND making sure there was enough blood to do the job. It was a very challenging position, because you were responsible to keep someone alive while the patient was busy trying to bleed to death and the surgeons were busily cutting them up. With combat injuries, a patient can bleed more blood that you could ever possibly imagine. In this case, I started IVs in both external jugulars in the neck, plus one in each arm and one in each thigh. These were all good veins and could handle some volume and pressure.

With six good lines in, I started hanging the bags, putting each bag into a pressure cuff (similar to those used in blood pressure cuffs). These bags would then be pumped up and the blood would rush out into the tubing, through the hot water, where it would be at least warmed up a little, then into the patient. Since the patient had almost no pressure, I immediately pushed in six units, then started the dance of life...pull the empty bag out of the pressure cuff... grab a full one...spike it...stuff it into the pressure cuff...pump up the cuff...move to the next empty one and repeat the cycle. As the surgical team worked, so did I. Feverishly, I worked as fast as I could trying to keep up with the blood loss...and I was losing the battle. There was terrible damage, he was bleeding everywhere and anesthesia was doing all he could to keep pressure up, as was I. After about 45 minutes of frantic team activity, the surgeon stepped back from the table. He'd been doing open-heart massage for almost ten minutes on the young GI and hadn't gotten the heart to restart. He called the case.

When the surgeon calls the case, it's over, you've lost the battle. It's a surrender of mere mortals battling against powers we barely understand. There were some tears, some curses and a lot of sadness. We'd done our best to save a life and it wasn't good enough. That's a sad time for everyone.

After the case was called, we gathered the instruments for cleaning and sterilization, tossed all the blood sponges in a garbage bag, pulled all the IV lines out and slowly everyone, except another tech and I, drifted out of the room. Looking at the sea of blood in which we were standing, I looked at the corner of the small room, where I'd been throwing all of the empty blood bags. There was a large pile there. During the blur of activity everyone had lost count of the units we'd pumped. Counting the bags now, so we'd know how much blood had been used, I found 96. The human body normally contains about 16 units of blood, so we'd completely replaced his entire blood supply SIX times.

Looking around the room, there was blood on the walls, the ceiling and standing about two inches deep on most of the floor. It was a horrendous and awe-inspiring sight. It looked like a slaughterhouse.

After about an hours' work, we had the OR ready for action again. We'd sutured the abdominal incision closed, cleaned up the body as best we could, and tied on a toe tag for Graves Registration, bound his ankles together, his wrists together and bound his jaw shut. He was ready to be sent home to his grieving family.

The GI who we'd bypassed (triaged) had died almost immediately after we wheeled our case into OR. The entire EOD team had been wiped out. As we went into the ER, after completing our cleanup and delivery of the body to the morgue, we could see the bodies of the others who'd died at the scene were lying on stretchers. Although I was curious to see how they looked, I almost felt it would be wrong to look. What I did see, though, were fully- clothed bodies, covered in dust, with large holes punched in their bodies. Some linbs appeared to have been torn off, there were holes punched in chests, heads, legs, arms. It was bizarre, though, because there was no blood. Despite the horrible injuries, the shock wave must have coagulated the blood instantly because there was no bleeding. I've never forgotten how strange that seemed.

After going through all that, we were asked to step outside and have our pictures taken by some photographer who was there to document the Great Pleiku Turkey Day Fast (the official name) , a very low-key, non-threatening gesture of protesting the deplorable manner in which American lives were being thrown away through political stupidity by refusing to eat Thanksgiving Day Dinner. Somehow this "huge" event was deemed a military uprising and had become front-page news back in the world. It was amazing to me that some of our commanders were completely aroused over it.

At the peak of the frenzy, our hospital commander, Colonel X, threatened to court-martial anyone who didn't eat Thanksgiving Dinner. I don't know if any attempt was made to enforce that order, but am not aware that anyone was court-martialled..

Three of us who supported the "protest" were selected to be photographed. Lt Sharon "Sam" Stanley, Capt Don VanNimwegen (??) and SP5 Steven Streeper were the lucky ones who had our picture printed in Time, Newsweek, The Stars and Stripes and the front pages of papers all over the US (maybe the world). There's probably a copy of that picture in the FBI's files, too, I suppose, given the climate of the time. I find it ironic that we three, two of whom had just been through hell in trying to save the life of a young GI, would be labeled by some as "anti-war activists".

From the perspective of the years, now it seems we weren't alone in our opposition to being placed in a war with arbitrary rules established by politicians who knew nothing about ANYTHING. It was a common belief in 'Nam that only politicians should be drafted...they're too cowardly to fight and would find a way to avoid any war. Come to think of it, that's still a pretty good idea! I can only pray that our country learned a lesson in VietNam. I won't presume to say what that lesson might be.

One thing I can say, though, every Thanksgiving Day since, I relive that case and mourn for the loss of those good men, though I knew none of them. Maybe some fine day I'll get to meet them....then they can tell me what really happened.

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Thanks for visiting ...SP5 Steven Streeper

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