KHE SANH: READY TO FIGHT-

TIME Correspondent Don Sider spent several days at Khe Sanh last week ducking incoming shells and observing the unique quality of life in the besieged Marine base. His report:

A chill, grey mist hangs over the jungled hills around Khe Sanh and drifts down onto the base's metal run way. The morning mist often lasts into the afternoon, the bright sun of recent weeks is lost in monsoonal overcast, and the air is raw and wet with winter. The camp seems to have settled into a dull, lethargic pace to match the dull, damp weather that envelops it. In a mood of resignation, Marines go about their life-or-death work, digging into the red clay, filling sandbags, bolstering the bunkers they know are their one protection against the real rain: the whining rockets and the mortars that come with no warning--just the awful cracking sound as they explode.

The dash for cover is part of every man's routine. "It's a modus vivendi," says Protestant Chaplain Ray Stubbe, 29. "The men run for shelter, but they don't cringe when they get there." Except for an occasional case of what the corpsmen call "acute environmental reaction" (shell shock), the Marines at Khe Sanh are taking their ordeal with considerable composure. Only their unwelcome bunkermates--the rats--be come frantic under fire. When the "in coming" starts, the rats race for the bunkers and wildly run up to the ceilings made of runway matting and logs. One sergeant has killed 34 rats, establishing a base record.

Khe Sanh grows steadily shabbier. More and more "hardbacks" (metal-roofed shacks) are tumbled by the incoming; day by day the protective sandbags and runway matting rise higher on bunkers. Even so, the bunkers cannot withstand direct hits. A rocket or mortar round will collapse a bunker and likely kill its occupants. The Seabees are finishing strong underground bunkers for the control-tower crew of Khe Sanh's airstrip and the evacuation hospital, rushing to complete the work before the threatened battle erupts. Meanwhile, the doctors must make do in cramped quarters: the operating room is an empty metal box used to ship mili tary goods and measuring only 8 ft. by 6 ft. by 6 ft.

The top Marine at Khe Sanh is Colonel David E. Lownds, 47, the mustachioed commander of the 26th Marine Regiment, who oversees the defense of the base from an underground bunker left over by its original French occupants. Sitting in a faded lawn chair, he seldom rests, night or day. He keeps constant watch over the nerve center, a labyrinth of whitewashed rooms lit by bare bulbs and bustling with staff officers and enlisted aides. Is he worried about the huge enemy concentration surrounding him? "Hell, no," says Lownds. "I've got Marines. My confidence isn't shaken a bit." He fully recognizes his stand-and-fight mission: "My job is to stay here. My job is to hold. I don't plan on reinforcements."

Several large U.S. combat units are ready at nearby bases for just such a necessity, but the fact is that there is neither space nor cover for them at Khe Sanh. Its buildup completed, Khe Sanh is waiting to fight. Last week, to cover their attack on nearby Lang Vei, the North Vietnamese hit Khe Sanh with a massive barrage of up to 1,500 rounds of 60-mm. and 82-mm. mortars and 122-mm. rockets--50% more than Con Thien ever received in a single day at the peak of its shelling last year. Fortunately, the Reds' aim was bad: they scored no direct hits and caused no serious wounds or deaths.

Not all the metal was incoming. Even under that pounding, Khe Sanh's artillerymen fired back 3,000 rounds. Fighter-bombers rake the surrounding hills on a seemingly nonstop basis, while B-52 strikes lay a carpet of bombs on suspected enemy positions four to six times a day. This outpouring of U.S. air-power may have delayed the Communist attack on Khe Sanh, though some officers wonder about the effectiveness of bombing against dug-in artillery and troops and trucks moving under triple-canopy jungle.

Nonetheless, airpower is what keeps the entire effort at Khe Sanh afloat. Be cause there is no really passable road in the area and the North Vietnamese control the ground, the mammoth supply needs must be flown in by helicopters and C-123 and C-130 transport planes. Because of the danger of incoming fire, supply planes now unload in as little as three minutes. Car goes are shoved down their rear loading ramps while the transports taxi slowly toward takeoff. Airdrop systems are planned in case heavy fighting or poor weather prevents any landings at all.

Most Marines at Khe Sanh feel more than ready for the battle they know they are there for, but they are becoming impatient. The waiting is wearying and frustrating, as day by day they undergo incoming, see friends wounded and killed (total casualties equal 10% of the base's men), and remain unable to fight back. "I wish they'd come and get it over with," said Pfc. Larry Jenkins, 18. Despite their perilous position, Jenkins and his comrades at Khe Sanh are spoiling for a fight.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.