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I was Company Commander of Mike Company 3/26 on Hill 881S, having assumed that billet on January 31, 1968 as a 2nd Lt. when Capt. John Gilece was wounded by a sniper and medevaced to the U.S. In the early days of February, we were short of everything on the Hill, with our primary concerns being ammunition and water. As the creative efforts of those trying to resupply us took hold, things gradually improved. By late February, we had adequate food, water and ammunition, but my troops were lamenting the lack of mail. Delivery of mail was sporadic at best. The mail was delivered in bright colored nylon bags (usually yellow or red) thrown into the external loads known as "gaggles" which were courageously and expertly delivered by the Marines of HMM-364. Because we did not have secure communication with the rest of the world, we never knew when a gaggle or super gaggle would arrive, or what it would contain. Our first notice was the arrival of jets flying below the top of the Hill laying a smoke screen in the valleys on either side of the Hill, accompanied by gunships which fired a large volume of suppressing fire on the adjacent ridges. As the helicopters hauling external nets of cargo spiraled down above us, we could catch a glimpse of their loads, and if those wonderful red and yellow bags were spotted, word swept instantly around the Hill. Unfortunately for the Marines of Mike Company, several such deliveries in a row included only mail for India Company, our co-occupant of Hill 881S. As the period since the last Mike Company mail call reached more than three weeks, during which India Company had received mail three times, our lack of mail became a serious morale problem. My Gunnery Sergeant informed me that he had overheard a group of our Marines plotting action if the next mail delivery was not for Mike Company. They planned to attack India Company and steal their mail! I was facing my first leadership crisis because of undelivered mail! When the next super gaggle appeared, it was quickly reported that a number of red and yellow bags were visible. Because the NVA had easy observation of the only three areas inside our perimeter which lent themselves to receiving the net drops, collecting the dropped supplies was very hazardous. The NVA had 120mm mortar concentrations plotted on each site , and the appearance of any movement towards those sites by us always drew concentrated mortar fire. Therefore, we did not retrieve our newly delivered supplies until after dark. Knowing of the excitement caused by the mail bag sighting, I called the Gunny and reiterated the order that no one would enter the drop zone until I so ordered. At dark, the anxiety grew palpable. I ordered a further delay to avoid any mortar fire based on a guess that we would be retrieving the supplies immediately after dark. Finally, at about 2230, I gave the order. Within seconds, Mike Marines were in the drop zone. Very quickly, I heard loud cursing from the drop zone. The Gunny reported by radio, "Sir, There is good news and bad news. The good news is that the mail is for Mike. The bad news is that some stupid sonuvabitch loaded containers of ice cream right next to the mail, and IT MELTED ALL OVER THE MAIL!" I spent most of the rest of that night actively patrolling our trench line, because I knew most Mike Marines would be spending at least as much time perusing the new mail as watching for signs of enemy activity. It was both pathetic and amusing to see the Marines huddled under ponchos in the bottom of the trench line reading mail by flashlight after licking the melted ice cream off the envelopes and packages. I kept thinking about the well meaning mess sergeant back in Dong Ha who had gone to great lengths to provide us the ice cream surprise. If my Marines had gotten their hands on him that night, his good deed would surely not have gone unpunished. Tom Esslinger |
1stLt. John T. Esslinger's
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