Contributed by Col. Vanairsdale
The first time I saw Hillgrube....The First Squad command bunker was something else. Entering it one entered the private domain of Corporal Samuel A. Hillgrube USMC--and don’t you forget it! The bunker itself was quite ordinary. It was basically built from the ground up with “sandbag” walls , a few timbers across the top and a couple layers of sand bags. It would probably hold just fine until the first thaw. A tarp covered entrance faced away from the enemy and was somewhat protected by a sandbag baffle wall.
The occupants of the bunker had been on that mountain several weeks. One must remember that all water had to be either backpacked up that mountain or made by melting snow, a process that required fuel which likewise had to be backpacked up that mountain. It can be safely assumed that most water was reserved for consumption. Daily shaving was a requirement and that activity just about accounted for the remainder. Washing clothing was out of the question. It is a known fact that three or four men can shave, bathe and wash their socks in a single helmet of water, which incidentally takes three hours to create from snow. As one might imagine the aroma emanating from that bunker just about stopped the new lieutenant in his tracks, and that was before going through the entrance.
Inside the sight was equally stunning. The word “uniform” totally lost its meaning. Each of the Marines wore individualized self styled attire. It all appeared to be of some remote military origin but never was intended to be worn in such combinations. First introduction was to Corporal Hillgrube. ”Welcome aboard, sir”. We all have had snapshots of life frozen in our memory , snapshots of amazing clarity and detail. This was such a time. The Corporal stood perhaps five feet six or seven. He absolutely commanded the respect and confidence of his troops. He wore an olive drab tubular scarf , one end slipped over his head like a stocking cap and the remainder wrapped several times around his neck to keep out the wind driven cold. That scarf framed a face that was simultaneously angelic and fierce. An infectious smile betrayed a prominent gap between two teeth. Had that tooth been forfeited in some past conflict on the streets of Philadelphia? He had the hardened eyes (brown) of a young man grown too soon old. He was somewhat slender, hardened and tough. He had the instincts of a fighter and a survivor. Perhaps these too were a legacy of his childhood on the streets of the City of Brotherly Love. No Afghan freedom fighter ever looked more menacing and fierce.
Hanging from the ceiling....of the bunker was a Chinese burp gun, complete with drum magazine. That weapon later caused the first platoon casualty of the month. The platoon runner, Creeper, visited the squad a couple nights later on what must have been official business. Beer? Creeper was tall and the ceiling was low. As he stood to leave he dislodged the burp gun. Burp guns have fixed firing pins and are designed to fire as soon as the bolt goes forward and is seated. It seems that the burp gun hit the ground butt first. Inertia took the bolt to the rear. The spring pushed it forward, stripping a round from the magazine and--as it was designed to do--firing the instant the round entered the chamber and the bolt was seated. Creeper was unfortunately in the way. He was tall and lanky, really skinny. The round entered his upper arm, passed between the skin and shoulder bone, and made two of the cleanest little round wounds you have ever seen. Of course the shirt had matching holes. The odyssey of the bullet did not end there. It proceeded upward passing between Creeper’s head and his hat and out through the top of the hat, lodging in a ceiling timber--not a scratch on his head! Of two things one can be certain: Creeper took home a nifty souvenir dug out of that timber and Hillgrube hung no more loaded weapons from the ceiling of his bunker.
The last time I saw Hillgrube in Korea....was May 17, 1952. The night raid against Chinese positions on Hill 67 was executed with precision and extraordinary success. In minutes two platoons of Chinese infantry ceased to exist and no Marines were lost. Two, however, did suffer severe wounds and several others minor wounds. As Corporal Hillgrube led his squad in a deadly sweep through the middle of the objective a Chinese grenade exploded nearly in his face and a rifle round tore through his shoulder. Amazingly, his face was untouched and his flak jacket absorbed the brunt of the explosive force. Blood oozed from gaping jagged holes in his thighs and upper arms. A small fragment had cut open the tip of one of his fingers. His carbine had been blown to pieces. Of all this Hillgrube had but one comment, “Damn, that finger hurts!” Though he could not walk unassisted Corporal Hillgrube continued to direct the actions of his squad. Under his gutsy leadership they performed magnificently.
The sun had just started to intrude into the eastern skyline as the platoon assembled to begin its return to friendlier terrain. The Chinese were already massing forces to retake the hill. The platoon (unsuccessfully challenged by a small group of Chinese) retraced their steps through mine fields under mortar and machine gun fire. Their movement, however, was well covered by supporting machine guns, mortars and artillery. They were met by stretcher bearers and corpsmen, and that most reliable of Marines, the “Top”, the company First Sergeant, MSGT GEORGE FOSTER. The Top just happened to have a pint of appropriate “medication” and offered it to Hillgrube who readily accepted the friendly gesture.
My last impression of Hillgrube.... was just as clear and detailed and frozen in my mind as was the first--another snapshot. The Corporal lay on a stretcher with blood soaked battle dressings, plasma entering his veins and whiskey his mouth; both liquids are life savers in fending off the deadly effects of shock. As he was being carried to the awaiting evacuation helicopter Hillgrube gave final instructions to his men, waved farewell and whistled the Marine Corps Hymn!! God, what a Marine!
EPILOGUE: For his heroic actions that night Corporal Samuel August Hillgrube, United States Marine Corps, earned and was awarded the Silver Star Medal, our nations third highest combat decoration for valor and gallantry in action.
Contributed by Col. Vanairsdale
http://www.legacy.com/Philly/DeathNotices.asp?Page=LifeStory&PersonID=88874637