Flash Back on Carrying Water

There were two routine maintenance questions from new men in the field. The first question was, “How deep do I need to dig my foxhole?” The stock answer was usually, “You will know.” Hence, they dug much deeper after the first firefight. Of course the squad leaders would insist on the minimum before a solid standard became instilled. No one needed much prodding once a foxhole became that personal life saving haven.

The second question centered around the number of water canteens needed. We counted upon a three day cycle for supplies. Typically six canteens per day proved adequate. We would walk away from resupply burdened with three days of chow and a camel’s portion of water.

Every man was expected to carry what he needed…particularly water. Only a real friend would share water on the third day…because the giver had paid a three day price carrying it. Running out of water proved as self evident slothfulness or at least demonstrated a lack of personal discipline.

One night we received confirmation of resupply the following morning. I felt confident to heat up some dehydrated food for a real evening splurge. That meal took all but my last canteen. Life was good.

Morning arrived with ugly news. We would resupply late that evening. I was down to one last canteen. We packed up for one long hot day’s march.

I noted a 11B opening a dehydrated spaghetti dinner…munching on it dry for breakfast. Most infantryman bear minimum watching. This 11B seemed to be high maintainance.

My thoughts were devious as I watched him eat that spicy dehydrated food. The spaghetti would lust for his remaining body fluids throughout this long day. How could someone not think of the dire consequences?

It was then that his squad leader interrupted his demise with a few choice cuss words, directed at his IQ level. Then the squad leader turned to give me an evil stare, to wipe the obvious grin off my face. It was time to move out.

I sipped instead of drinking. I ran out of water about two hours after the high sun had crested. All our internal thermostats were over heating.

We marched on for another four hours. It was pure discipline to put one foot in front of the other. About two hours into the final push I heard, “Take a swig of water Doc.” I took a disciplined taste. I gave a hearty, “Thank you.”

I learned that afternoon that a canteen in the hand is worth a dozen in the resupply chopper. I made a mental note to add a few canteens to my ruck. Actually, I started using water bladders, which seemed to lay closer, to balance the load, as I walked.

From that day forward, I carried a four day supply of water. I always had extra for that new man…who hadn’t figured out that resupply isn’t always clockwork.

Currahees…I still grin thinking about my spaghetti man. He made it. He paid a dear price. He should be grateful for a good squad leader.