Tom Stechschulte: First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha. A junior at Mount Sebastian College in New Jersey. They weren't love letters, but Lieutenant Cross was hoping. So, he kept them folded in plastic at the bottom of his rucksack. In the late afternoon after a day's march, he'd dig his foxhole, wash his hands under a canteen, unwrap the letters, hold them with the tips of his fingers, and spend the last hours of light pretending.

He'd imagine romantic camping trips into the white mountains in New Hampshire. He'd sometimes taste the envelope flaps, knowing her tongue had been there. More than anything, he wanted Martha to love him as he loved her. But the letters were mostly chatty. Elusive on the matter of love. She was a virgin, he was almost sure. She was an English major at Mount Sebastian, and she wrote beautifully about her professors and roommates and mid-term exams. About her respect for Chaucer, and her great affection for Virginia Woolf.

She often quoted lines of poetry. She never mentioned the war. Except to say, "Jimmy, take care of yourself." The letters weighed 10 ounces. They were signed, "Love, Martha," but Lieutenant Cross understood that love was the only way of signing, and didn't mean what he sometimes pretended it meant. At dusk, he'd carefully return the letters to his rucksack. Slowly, a bit distracted, he'd get up and move among his men, checking the perimeter. Then at full dark, he'd return to his hole, and watch the night, and wonder if Martha was a virgin.

The things they carried were largely determined by necessity. Among the necessities, or near necessities, were P-38 can openers, pocket knives, heat tabs, wristwatches, dog tags, mosquito repellent, chewing gum, candy, cigarettes, salt tablets, packets of Kool-Aid. Lighters, matches, sewing kits. Military payment certificates, C-rations, and two or three canteens of water. Together these items weighed between 15 and 20 pounds, depending upon a man's habits or rate of metabolism.

Henry Dobbins, who was a big man, carried extra rations. He was especially fond of canned peaches and heavy syrup over pound cake. Dave Jensen, who practiced field hygiene, carried a toothbrush, dental floss, and several hotel-size bars of soap he'd stolen on R&R in Sydney, Australia. Ted Lavender, who was scared, carried tranquilizers until he was shot in the head outside the village of Tanquay in mid-April.

By necessity, and because it was SOP, they all carried steel helmets that weighed five pounds, including the liner and camouflage cover. They carried the standard fatigue jackets, and trousers. Very few carried underwear. On their feet they carried jungle boots, two-point-one pounds. And Dave Jensen carried three pairs of socks and a can of Dr. Scholl's foot powder as a precaution against trench foot. Until he was shot, Ted Lavender carried six or seven ounces of premium dope which, for him, was a necessity.