Science: Iron Ration K

Genghis Khan solved the iron-ration problem by issuing each of his soldiers a straw so that his warriors could thus tap their horses’ veins and drink the fortifying blood. The U.S. Army believes it may lick the iron-ration problem with Field Ration K—a three-meal package of concentrated food, which contains 3,726 calories and can be packed in a heat-and-cold-proof, 6-by-6-by-4-in. box.

On Mt. Rainier, miles away from regular mess facilities, mountain troops lived on Ration K for days, came through fit as fiddles. At Indio, Calif., where the temperature ran as high as 122° in the shade, a five-day trial gave equally nourishing results. The menu was surprisingly varied. Breakfast consisted of enriched biscuits, compressed graham crackers, veal luncheon meat, fruit bar, malted milk dextrose tablets, soluble coffee, sugar, chewing gum, four cigarets. Dinner was much the same, with the addition of powdered bouillon—but without coffee or fruit bar. Supper: biscuits, cheese, fruit-juice powder, chocolate bar, sugar, chewing gum, cigarets.

Ration K is the prize package of the Subsistence Research Laboratory of the Chicago Quartermaster Depot. Ten years old, the laboratory now serves as the Army’s clearinghouse for food ideas, originating many of them itself. It is staffed by twelve commissioned officers and three civilian technicians.

To this staff—aptly self-named the “Human Guinea Pig Club”—is served the Army’s strangest noon mess (every day except Sunday). They may get anything from tomato bread and soybean sausages to eleven-year-old beef. Usually the fare is good, sometimes it is gagging; but good or bad, it is never just ration spinach and to hell with it. Due to these luncheon tests and the field trials a number of changes in Ration K have been made since it was first stowed in a knapsack late last year. Recent innovations: cheese for meat in the supper package, fruit bars for a touch of tartness, the cigarets as “morale builder-uppers.” Most vexing current problem : finding a thirst-quencher satisfactory under all conditions.

As good a Guinea Pig as the best of them is Subsistence Lab’s big (six-feet-two), roughhewn guiding genius, Lieut. Colonel Rohland A. Isker. A hearty but discriminating eater rather than a scientist, Colonel Isker built a solid reputation in the cavalry by always feeding his men the best there was. He went to the Q.M.C. Subsistence School in 1934, later became commanding officer of the laboratory. Not all his experiments have been successful. Tomato bread, for example, was a flop.