Listening for That Whistle

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For U.S. Marines, days of routine laced with danger

Around the runways of Beirut's international airport, the low, sandbagged bunkers form ragged lines, cluttering a 2½-sq.-mi. stretch of barren, unprotected ground. On two sides the old airport fence topped with barbed wire divides the encampment from the predominantly Shi'ite shantytown of Hay es Sullum, where bombed-out buildings sometimes shelter Muslim fighters armed with mortars and rocket-propelled grenades. In the surrounding hills that rise 3,000 ft. from the plain, Druze and Christian militias clash, igniting the night skies with tracer rounds and exploding shells.

For the estimated 175 U.S. Marines of Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 8th Marines, 24th Marine Amphibious Unit, the dusty field is home. One of several Marine contingents totaling 1,200 men ashore, Alpha Company landed in Lebanon more than three months ago amid hopes that its visit would be fairly placid. In three weeks of renewed violence, including 15 consecutive days when rockets and shells fell within the perimeter of the Marine encampment, the men have learned otherwise: all four American members of the multinational force killed in the recent attacks were from Alpha Company. Says Lance Corporal John Sexton, 18: "I don't care if they say this isn't combat. I'm a combat veteran now."

For the most part, the Marines are living under wartime conditions. Sunday barbecues are now rare, while the showings of videotaped major league baseball and the vigorous interplatoon softball, volleyball and basketball competitions of the past are gone. Also suspended are the daily four-or five-mile runs that the Marines took along the road circling their encampment, as well as the routine 15-to 20-man patrols of the streets of Hay es Sullum. Now the soldiers seldom venture far from their bunkers. Under what they call the shade tree, the men relax on bright orange lawn chairs donated by the U.S. embassy in Beirut. Long hours are spent cleaning weapons, and standard attire for a visit to the showers is now gym shorts, flak jacket and steel helmet. Says Lance Corporal James Stewart, 23, referring to the sound of incoming rounds: "We've always got one ear listening for that whistle, which means: 'Here comes one, gents.'"

The tension is tempered with long stretches of hard work. Two to six soldiers camp in each bunker. Each day they crawl into the morning air and head for tin cups of coffee and a rudimentary breakfast. A few of the men find time for a shower, and sometimes there is hot water. Then the serious work begins: filling sandbags. By continuously building new bunkers, each requiring hundreds of sandbags, the Marines can spread themselves more thinly, reducing casualties from a direct hit. Trees cut from the banks of a foul-smelling nearby creek provide supporting timbers. Says Staff Sergeant David Stout, 28, of Charlie Company, whose platoon calls itself the Ebony and Ivory Construction Co. for its racial mix: "The order of the day is sandbags and more sandbags and more sandbags, and then you'll sleep tight."