The Hero in Every Man

A sniper's bullet fractures a Marine's leg, yet he continues carrying a wounded squad mate on a stretcher for a mile to the evacuation area. Hot shrapnel severs the leg muscles of another Marine so badly that doctors later say that he should have been unable to walk, yet he runs more than 200 yards to a medical-aid station. A man with a smashed knee crawls 40 yards to a mortar position, props himself on his elbows, and helps load shells for five hours before reporting his wound.

These incidents are not taken from the script of the next John Wayne movie or from the citations of Medal of Honor winners. They are simply the everyday stuff of battle in Viet Nam, where, according to a new study, unsung and unrecognized physical heroism is routine. In combat, the American serviceman turns out to be just as remarkable as he appears on film.

The confirmation of this patriotic cliche emerged from a military study intended to evaluate flak vests, helmets and first-aid procedures. Using helicopters, 62 Army and Marine interviewers were able to reach 7,600 wounded men while their memories of the fighting were still fresh -- often within 30 minutes after they were hit.

Group Stimulus. One of their discoveries was the prevalence in combat of a state of tension and excitement strong enough to block sensations of pain and keep the adrenaline surging. The study also confirmed the common-sensical suspicion that fighting in a group, in direct contact with the enemy, is an important stimulus to heroics. Men wounded away from battle --by mines or long-distance rockets --usually sense pain and stop what they are doing.

The military interviewers concluded that soldiers are able to follow the Spartan requirements of combat almost exactly, putting buddies and mission ahead of self. Though the sensible course would be to stop or retreat, wounded men under fire are most likely to respond to the needs of the fellow next to them. Their first reaction when they regain consciousness is most often to ask about their unit: "How many Charlie did we kill? Did we take the hill?"

Dauntless Hangover. Initially, at least, heroism leaves a hangover of dauntlessness. Most of the wounded men insisted--some for as long as two days --that they could return to their units immediately. When a doctor told one man with a missing toe that his leg would not have to be amputated, the soldier smiled. "Great," he said. "I can go right back to my squad." Almost all of the victims were able to toss off nonchalant quips about their plight. In a Danang hospital, an interviewer asked an amputee what had happened to him. "Some bastard stepped on a mine," the soldier glowered. From the next bed another amputee brightly chimed in: "Yeah. I'm the bastard."

Military analysts are just beginning to examine the raw data collected in the study, but the realization that a bit of the hero lurks in every man still amazes the Viet Nam interviewers. Says one veteran Marine sergeant who talked to 200 wounded men: "We had seen this kind of behavior in the movies, and we were trained to do it. I had always thought it was the exception. It is, however, the rule."

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