November 28, 1968. More than fifty Thanksgivings ago somewhere south of the DMZ and East of Laos on a secured helicopter landing zone in Vietnam.

For days the Marine Corps had been promising us a full Thanksgiving dinner. The 150 plus men of Bravo Company First Battalion Third Marines were looking forward to a break from yet another C-rat meal. The day dawned cold, damp and foggy still we were all excited and looking forward to a hot meal and sharing memories of past Thanksgivings spent back in the world with family and friends.

We were in a state of semi-stand down and there were going to be no patrols from our LZ that day. As the morning wore on the fog thickened into heavy cloud cover. We were socked in.

Soon the realization and disappointment began to sink in, the helicopters would not be flying and the likelihood celebrating the day with hot food quickly dwindled.

Around 1400 the radio in the command post crackled to life confirming our fears. The helicopters would not be bringing Thanksgiving dinner. However, there was a road about 6 kilometers off the ridge we were occupying. Trucks would deliver Thanksgiving dinner in vacuum containers to a specific set of coordinates on that road.

About 1600 two platoons of Marines and two Navy Corpsmen left the LZ headed for the road and a rendezvous with dinner. It was nearly 1800 when our two forces connected. Close to 20 vacuum containers each about the size of an ice chest were unloaded from the trucks Thanksgiving greetings and well wishes were exchanged with the truck drivers who soon left to return to the Dong Ha Combat Support Base and the nearly 40 Marines and the 2 Corpsmen began the long trek back up the ridge.

By now darkness had set in and we moved up the ridge in a column of twos each man with the handle of a vac-can in one hand and his weapon in the other. The going in the dark was difficult to say the least and the wet muddy conditions along with the weight of the vac-cans did not make for an easy hike.

It was after 2000 when we crossed back into our lines. The vac-cans were opened, and steam rose from hot turkey, dressing, rolls with real butter, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy and vegetables. There was even pumpkin pie. As we sat in small groups enjoying the first hot meal, we’d had in weeks we talked of our mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, grandparents, wives and children back home and hoped that they too were enjoying Thanksgiving and not wasting time worrying about us.

As much as we enjoyed this small break from the war that was not a war each of us knew that some of us sharing that Thanksgiving would never celebrate another and we were all sure that would be someone else.

I was 21 years old and had the privilege of being one of the 2 Hospital Corpsmen who humped Thanksgiving dinner to Bravo Company that cold Thanksgiving Day so long ago.