Hot, Hot, Hot!
Some like it hot. And in the trenches of Vietnam, they couldn’t get it hot enough. C rations, it seems, are more palatable when they are enhanced with a bit of hot pepper sauce.

In Vietnam, one item was almost as important to the soldiers as ammunition. It came in a small bottle that nearly every one of us carried in the breast pocket of our jungle fatigues. I’m sure the many readers out there who have had the pleasure of dining on C rations know what I am talking about — that indispensable condiment known as Tabasco sauce.

When opening a can of corned beef hash, a soldier would be greeted by a mixture of meat and potatoes that had a texture and odor that defied description. However, a healthy sprinkling of Tabasco sauce worked its miracle and made the mixture edible. It worked just as well at breakfast with scrambled powdered eggs. The only food we never used it on was sliced peaches in heavy syrup.

In the summer of 1968, I was in Cu Chi, west of Saigon and east of the Cambodian border, with the 25th Infantry Division. On a very unhappy day, the PX in Cu Chi ran out of Tabasco, and the PX manager had no clue when a new supply would arrive. In short order, we were out of our precious elixir and making do with an inferior substitute — salt and pepper. Morale in that proud infantry division was low and getting lower each day.

Our division commander Maj. Gen. Ellis “Butch” Williamson, a fine gentleman, was on his second tour in Vietnam. Williamson took it upon himself to write a letter to the McIlhenney Co., the family-owned business on Avery Island, La., that makes Tabasco sauce. He asked the company to contact the PX headquarters in Dallas with the request that the PX increase its stock of Tabasco sauce.

He explained in his letter that the scarcity of the sauce had created a serious morale problem among the 20,000 men in his division.

A few weeks later, the logistics officer in our division received a call from Ton Son Nuit, the commercial airport in Saigon, informing him that a shipment had come in as freight and asking him to send a vehicle to pick it up. He said he would send a jeep the next time we had a convoy going to Saigon and was told that he had better send a two-and-a-half-ton truck. The next day the truck returned to Cu Chi with the shipment. The McIlhenneys had sent 20,000 bottles of Tabasco and paid for the air freight charges themselves.

Williamson sent a thank-you note on behalf of his grateful troops. Some 35 years have since passed, and I continue to savor every bite of non-combat food. But I remain a loyal user of the red liquid that I once carried through Vietnam with the same importance as my M-16 rifle.

—  Harry Rubin is a retired Army colonel. He lives in Hinesville, Ga., with his wife of 53 years and five spoiled house cats.