Dear Tom:

I was recently thinking about the vast progress made in the modernization of some of the noncombat functions of the Marine Corps. I can think of nothing more non-combat, yet more essential to the combat operations than that of supply.

When I first joined the Marine Corps, things were relatively simple. When you needed an item of equipment, you went to the company supply shed and asked for it. If they had it (and they usually did), it would be issued. A simple form was used for this transaction. It looked like the old grocery store receipt book where the carbon paper was inserted for two copies of the original. The form was filled out, you signed it, and you were on your way with the item now in hand. That old document was the 734 form, long since replaced by more "modern" methods.

I am happy to announce that the Marine Corps has come a long way since those old days with their obsolete systems. Now when you want a piece of equipment, you no longer go to the company supply shed; you go to the battalion supply officer who looks upon you as the thief you are and demands all kinds of justification for your request and, finally after making the decision that you are entitled to it, tells you he is out of whatever you want. He breaks out the latest computer printout of his inventory to prove it to you. So you leave with the confidence that he has you on the waiting list for that item, and when they come in, you can draw it... provided you stay on top of it; he has no time to remember your nit-shit requirements. The new system has been made possible through the magic of computers. In the area of supply accountability, we have done away with the old 708 card which was used to give us a current balance on any item of importance. We now have the CMR - Consolidated Memorandum Receipt - which is computer-generated based upon the latest input from the CMR clerk. It is difficult, admittedly, to take inventory with this printout, as it doesn't give a complete description of the item due to space limitations. It does give a TAM (Table of Authorized Material) number, and if you are lucky enough to have a TAM with you, you can identify what is on the CRM. In addition to listing the important items, the CMR lists some of the consumables such as food, ammunition, shitpaper, candles, etc., which a commander is now held accountable for despite the fact that they are consumable. The old system cost very little to administer, and that in itself assured its demise. All it provided to the commander was an up-to-date list of what was actually on hand in his supply stores. With the new system, we have an expensive computer-operated means of telling us what we think we are supposed to have in the warehouse, and it has freed the company supply clerk for more important duties, replacing this one man with several computer operators, clerks, etc., now housed in the battalion supply office under the wing of that kind son of a bitch assigned as the battalion supply officer.

The new system was designed with economy in mind. The Marine Corps is proud of the fact that we operate on less money per man than the other services, and we are willing to spend millions of dollars on computers to get the printouts to prove it. We preach supply economy to our troops. We take the submitted budgets, cut them in half, and then give a mere fraction of the half of what the commander has asked for in order to survive. He's a damned liar anyway; if he's asking for ten, give the son of a bitch two. He probably only needs one.

We make the trooper pay for the items of equipment he loses, and we are hard-nosed about it. It is by saving these nickels and dimes that we are perhaps able to pay a fraction of the costs of crashed Harriers (at 7-1/2 million per copy).

We have reduced our inventory to computers. We started this several years back as an experiment. We quickly ascertained that there was no computer which was lance corporal proof, and that the new system wasn't worth a damn, so we kept it. In 1965, when we flapped out for the late hate in Viet Nam, the Third Tank Battalion desperately needed three .30 calibre machineguns. They went to the inventory and issue point at Camp Foster and attempted to draw them. The supply officer told them they had none in stock. He broke out the computer printout which showed a "zero balance" on that item. A lance corporal in the office broke into the conversation saying, "Sir, we got some in the warehouse security cage." The lieutenant gave him a withering look, pointed to the computer printout and informed him in no uncertain terms that he, the supply officer, was knowledgeable as to what he had and what he did not have. The kid, luckily, was persistent, and insisted he had seen them in the warehouse just recently. The lieutenant, condescendingly appeasing the kid, suggested they all go look. They did. They found fifteen of those guns in the security cage, ready for issue. The lieutenant still didn't want to issue them, as it was obviously a mirage ... "But the computer says...

As a Marine, I have always lived with supply shortages. During the Viet Nam flap, the shortages in the States became more acute and this was understandable since we were sure that first priority was to Viet Nam. When I arrived there in 1967, however, I was in a combat zone for three days before I got a weapon. I had spent this time listening to the briefing bullshit at division and regiment. I finally got to the First Battalion, Fifth Marines, located in real indian country in Que Son Valley. As soon as I got there, I located teh armory and asked for a pistol. The armorer infromed me that he had none for issue. Nott being particular, I asked for an M-16 rifle. He had none of those I couldn't believe it. I guess I was supposed to wait and pick one up from a fallen Marine. The armorer told me that a shortage of weapons had been chronic. We put our heads together and started going through the spare parts box and the defective weapons, and I finally had a pistol which was serviceable then went to the supply tent to draw my 782 gear. There I was told that there was none for issue due to inventory being held. The next day a warrant officer from division supply, who had been sent down to correct the supply deficiencies of this battalion, decided that the best thing to do was to destroy everything in the supply tent and then start from scratch with a new issue! He actually started a bonfire and was throwing 782 gear into it. I couldn't believe this insanity! From the flames (and before they could be consumed), I pulled my items of 782 gear: A gas mask, pistol belt, canteen, etc. I was beginning to wonder about all this supply economy shit. While I was pulling this gear out of the fire, a young corporal told me, "Sir, you can't do that! You're gonna mess up the system!" I merely looked forlornly at him and continued to singe the hair on my arms as I reached into the flames.

As time went on in Viet Nam, I relearned a fact of Marine Corps life. We would be nowhere if we didn't have larceny in our hearts. Wheeling and dealing was the name of the game. The supply personnel would discourage this, of course, and tell us we were botching up the system. The system be damned! We had to operate; we had to eat; we had to shoot. If we waited for our system to give us the wherewithall, we'd have been (and would presently be) in a hell of a fix.

In 1970, that damned war (Viet Nam) was costing the taxpayers seven million dollars per hour, and the Marine Corps was worried about nickels and dimes. Any time we got an opportunity to do so, we would rip off another service, preferably, or another Marine unit, if necessary, for the things we needed and couldn't get. I recall a supply officer we had in Phu Loc who didn't know his ass from first base. He failed to keep us supplied in the basic things, such as food ... C-rations.

The artillery battery assigned to us was the opposite; they over-ordered on everything, and got what they asked for. Late one afternoon, an H-53 helicopter brought in an external load of two pallets of C-rations for the cannoncockers. They knew better than to put the load down on the infantry landing pad, so they parked it near the artillery command post, which just happened to be in close proximity to my antenna farm. I got up the next morning at the crack of dawn. I stepped out of my bunker and beheld a sight which would have warmed the cockles of the heart of the most devote scrounger: My troopies were coming from the C-ration dump. Each had two cases and some were going back for more. I called my radio chief (a real thief at heart) and told him to hide the rations well. He assured me that he would. ABout two hours later, a lieutenant from the arty battery came to me and stated: "Sir, last night we had two pallets of rations in the area, and there is only one this morning. I don't suppose you know anything about that."

I became righteously indignant, stood up and replied, "Are you accusing me of stealing your frigging food, lieutenant?"

He became a little less confident: "No, sir. I just thought you might have seen someone taking them?"

I sat back down and told him in a fatherly way, "Go check the engineers. I'm not saying they took them, mind you, but they are a thieving bunch of bastards."

He took off, knowing he had solved the mystery. A good Marine officer is always alert to detect the qualities of a good thief in the men he commands. I found one of the best I've ever known, quite by accident. In Hoi-An, my communications chief and I were discussing how nice it would be if we could get a couple of M3A1 sub-machineguns, commonly referred to as "grease gun." We made our plans that he would try the Recon Battalion and would exploit contacts in Tank Battalion. As irony would dictate, one of our new Marines, a little, fat lance corporal from Mobile, Alabama, came walking into the hootch, holding two brand new M3A1 grease guns. He had on his constant, mischievously pleasant smile as he said, "Skipper, just wanted to let you know I had these two grease guns and that I'd be taking them out on patrol, if you don't mind."

I looked knowingly at the comm chief who had a look of utter disbelief on his face. But he acknowledged my unspoken message with a different look. I then got a very serious and somewhat nervous air about me and said to Chandler, "Where did you get these weapons?"

Chandler's smile faded and he looked worried as he replied, "I stole 'em from the Arvin about an hour ago."

I pushed on. "Put the weapons on that rack, and then go to whereever you have them and bring all the magazines and ammo you stole into this hootch. I'll try to cover for you, but I don't know, Chandler. Ten minutes ago an Arvin captain came in here, mad as hell. He said he had seen a little, fat Marine run off with two grease guns, and by God, he wants them back."

Chandler took off and returned shortly with the magazines and ammo. I told him to lay low for the rest of the night, and I'd try to get him off the hook.

The next morning the comm chief and I made it a point to sling the grease guns on our shoulders and go to chow. On the way to the chow tent, Chandler saw us and spoke, "Sir, ain't them my guns?"

I looked offended and replied, "No, goddammit! Go steal your own grease gun."

Chandler proved to be an invaluable asset to the communications platoon. I always took him with me when I could. Once when we were driving to Danang we were stopped by a northbound convoy crossing a one-lane bridge. We had halted by a district headquarters compound, and it looked as if it was going to be a long wait. I told Chandler, "Chow time." He was off like a shot.

He returned in minutes with a full case of C-rations stolen from the Arvin. Along with the rations, he had an M-79 grenade launcher. I asked him where he got it (knowing the answer beforehand) and he gave the expected answer, "I stole it from the Arvin."

I asked if he had any ammo for it, and he proudly produced one round. I chastised him and let him know that one round was insufficient supply for such a fine weapon. He returned in a few minutes with a full bandoleer.

During my second tour in Viet Nam, I was appalled to find that the Korean Brigade had first call on the supplies staged at Red Beach. It seems that when LBJ was busting his ass to get some of our allies involved in is war, he sent one Congressman Brown to Korea with a blank check to convince the Koreans they needed a piece of the action. As a bargaining point, the Koreans got the assurance they would have first call on the supplies staged at the Red Beach supply dumps. Further, they were promised that what they drew and did not use, they could send back to Korea to put in their stockpiles. It was often difficult to get adequate artillery support from them. You'd call for eight rounds; they'd give you two, and send six home for future use. Only God and the politicians know the depths of some of those recommendations.

Probably one of the worst things about our modern supply system is that we have allowed the supply tail to wag the maintenance dog. I had an engine from an M-60 Tank which had been dead-lined four months before I ever got to Ordnance Maintenance Company in Okinawa. A year after my arrival, I left to come home. The engine was still deadlined for want of a $1.38 item. I guess no one could make the computer understand, but it wasn't for our lack of trying.

If supply, with all its air-conditioned, mother's milk-fed, kid-glovehandled computers can't get the parts, then the system isn't worth a damn.