The Weight of War

At the bottom of my rucksack, I kept letters from a girl named Debby in a plastic bag. They weren’t love letters, but I wished they were.

After our long march, I’d dig my fighting hole, wash up, and read those letters. They made me imagine romantic strolls along Pebble Beach or through the Redwoods.

Sometimes, I’d go as far as licking the envelope flap, imagining her taste, knowing she had licked them, too. Those letters weighed only four ounces.

As dusk fell, I’d neatly fold the letters and tuck them back into the bottom of my rucksack. Then, I’d patrol among my fellow Marines, ensuring the perimeter was secure before settling back into my fighting hole once darkness blanketed the area. Lying there, I’d drift into thoughts of her, pondering what my family and everyone else back home were doing.

Sleep came in brief spurts, constantly interrupted by my duties, requiring attention every few hours. Before I realized it, the morning sun would ascend over the horizon.

What we brought along varied depending on our mission and necessities. Among the essentials I carried were my K-BAR, a P-38 can opener, a pocket knife, heat tabs, a wristwatch, dog tags, bug repellent, salt tablets, a lighter, matches, a sewing kit, C rations, three canteens of water along with water purification tablets, as well as several pairs of socks, boot laces, and Dr. Scholl’s foot powder.

Altogether, these items added about 10 to 12 pounds to my rucksack. Other Marines carried field hygiene items like toothbrushes, dental floss, and small bars of soap. Some had letter-writing supplies or extra C rations stashed away. We all wore our steel helmets, jokingly called “piss-pots,” fitted with a liner and camouflage cover and topped with a large pressure bandage and DEET bug repellent. Most of us also had an extra set of utilities, but not many bothered with extra underwear.

The liner of my helmet held a picture of Debbie. One hopeless night, after a day filled with fighting and death, I burned her photo along with all the letters she had sent me, knowing she would never love me the way I wanted.

In my rucksack, I carried 10 to 15 4.6-ounce tins of Vienna Sausages because I often traded my C ration cigarettes for those small cans filled with nine tasty chopped meat wonders. Another coveted item, always in short supply, was the two-inch wide toilet paper roll that came with our evening meal.

Then there were the peculiar items some guys carried, like one with an illustrated Holy Bible and another who kept condoms just in case. One Marine had comic books in his gear, while others brought batteries for their elbow lights with red lenses for nighttime use.

In addition to the helmet, every Marine received a ten-pound flak jacket, a rubberized poncho for rain or as a ground cover, and a quilted blanket called a wobie. That poncho could also serve as a makeshift stretcher or be used to wrap the body if body bags weren’t available.

With its quilted liner, the poncho weighed two pounds. It was invaluable on cold nights and rainy days.

We spent our time legging it from one spot to another, “humping” in the jargon of the Corps. Almost everyone carried photographs with them. Some even brought Kodak Instamatic cameras into the field, capturing daytime events and often using up most of their BX-purchased film in just a day or two.

Some items we carried were issued based on our rank and Military Occupational Specialty (MOS). It included the M1911 pistol, maps, map cases, code books, binoculars, strobe lights and mortars, mortar tube, and plate.

The Radio Telephone Operator (RTO) lugged around a PRC-25 and its hefty 26-pound battery. And then there was the real monster, the PRC-77, weighing a hefty 30 pounds, which nearly everyone had to take turns carrying.

We also had the M-60, which weighed 23 pounds empty but with about 10 to 15 pounds of ammo typically slung around the weapon’s operator’s shoulders. Nearly everyone carried an M-16, which weighed 7.5 pounds when empty and 8.2 pounds when loaded, and up to 20 magazines, adding another 14 pounds to our gear.

Some grunts carried the M-79 grenade launcher, which weighed 5.9 pounds when empty. But when you added the weight of the rounds, which were about 10 ounces each, they had to carry at least 25 rounds minimum, making for quite a hefty load.

Every other man carried a claymore antipersonnel mine, weighing 3.4 pounds with its triggering device. We all had fragmentation grenades, each weighing 14 ounces, along with the M-18 colored smoke grenade, which was a hardy 24 ounces.

Every other man carried a claymore antipersonnel mine, weighing 3.4 pounds with its triggering device. We all had fragmentation grenades, each weighing 14 ounces, along with the M-18 colored smoke grenade, which was a hefty 24 ounces.

Additional equipment that found its way into the field included 28-pound mine detectors and the 6.3-pound starlight scope with its aluminum carrying case. All of this added to a Marine’s hump weight, typically ranging between 70 and 80 pounds.

The heaviest burden carried by Marines is the one that resides in the heart, an intangible weight that cannot be measured. The burden transcends the physical and delves deep into the soul, shaping experiences and influencing perspectives long after their time in service has ended.

It is a weight carried throughout life, a constant reminder of the sacrifices made and the profound bonds formed in the weight of war.