There is no such thing as bad coffee while sitting on guard duty on a cold drizzly night at three in the morning when the sergeant of the guard comes around bringing poorly boiled coffee that you would not otherwise drink under any other conditions. At three in the morning while tending guard and fighting to stay awake, the miserable coffee was hot, fabulous and greatly appreciated. Besides holding a warm canteen cup filled with steaming coffee, it was a reminder that you were not alone out there. There were others in the same miserable plight, and cooks in the rear were sufficiently considerate to boil a pot of coffee for the sentinels standing perimeter guard. When available, the cooks would send out huge sandwiches made with cold, dry bread and thick slices of cheese. I never heard any guard complain or pass on the cheese sandwiches. These were the kind of sandwiches that you would not dare eat without a canteen full of coffee by your side. They were that dry. I once soaked my bread in my coffee canteen cup. It soaked up about half of my coffee cup and I still had hours to go before my guard shift was over. I took small sips of coffee for the rest of my shift. But life was good, though somewhat cruel and ruthless during night attacks.
I got a call to pop a flare from my position when someone in a nearby bunker thought he saw movement in front of my grave position. Our perimeter was littered with Vietnamese graves, and I had adopted a grave with a mortar wall around it for my defensive position. There was no place to put my cheese sandwich down, so I stuffed nearly half of it in my mouth and grabbed a hand flare to pop. The sandwich was so dry that I was choking on it. Just as I grabbed my canteen coffee cup, a second call came over the radio. “Goddammit, pop the fucking flare! I see movement!” Struggling with the sandwich already in my mouth, I popped the flare but in my haste did not aim it upward. It shot off only inches from ground level and traveled some hundred meters before it slammed onto the side of a hill. My cheese sandwich now swallowed, I quickly grabbed a second flare and was about to pop it when over the radio came “I didn’t ask you to kill the fucking commie with it! Pop another one NOW and aim it upwards this time!”
I popped the second flare which nearly turned the whole area in front of my post into daylight. I popped a third one before the second one died off. There was no movement noted. The moment passed, and my adrenaline was still peaking. I had been unable to enjoy my sandwich but still had half a cup of that fabulously miserable coffee. With that and my rush of adrenaline, I stayed fully awake till dawn.
Boiling coffee with eggshells to lessen the bitter taste might seem like the worst possible thing you can do for coffee, but it's still a necessary and indispensable requirement in combat. Many years later I served As Target Acquisition Radar Advisor to the Indiana National Guard during their summer training. I would eat at their mess hall. One morning the chief mess sergeant sat at my table to chat. I complimented him on the coffee. “Well thanks for your honesty, Chief,” he chuckled. Most of these young’uns don't know, but I use a secret ingredient. I add crushed eggshells to the brew. It takes away that bitter taste. Everyone loves my coffee,” he bragged. I relayed my Vietnam version of coffee brewed with eggshells. Their company commander sat down at our table. “listen here, captain!” the mess sergeant shouted out to the commander, “This man here appreciates eggshells in his coffee!”
Combat cannot happen without pots and pots of Army coffee to make life less intolerable. But coffee is more than just about the taste. It's also about having something hot and drinkable on a cold, dark night while on guard duty with nothing else available to perk you up and keep you awake. It's about the total experience - staying awake, the feel of a hot canteen cup in your cold hands and cursing the bitter and overly strong coffee boiled in a five-gallon pot over an army gas field stove. It's about spitting out the coffee grounds when you start nearing the bottom of your canteen cup. You curse it, but it’s still the best coffee available! Good coffee or bad coffee, it’s still better than no coffee at all. You relish the taste regardless.
Dawn finally begins to creep back into my world. It’s cold, all the weeds around are covered with a light mist, bones aching from sitting in the same position all night. At the first appearance of light before sunrise, you begin to clean up around you, get all your gear together and just sit there waiting for the four-wheeled mule to come pick us up. Carefully positioned in a corner of my defensive grave, my canteen cup with now cold bitter coffee still provides a rush. Guard duty cannot happen without that miserably nasty army coffee.
Upon being relieved from guard duty that morning, the sergeant of the guard wanted to know who the dumbass was trying to kill the enemy with the hand flare. Nobody spoke up. I raised my hand. The whole guard mount broke out in laughter. They never knew the dry sandwich made me do it, and that it was a fabulous cup of miserable army coffee that saved me from choking.
Copyright texan@atudemi.com - January 2022