page 7

From a NZ gunner ...

The Trees stand out with their stark trunks and scraggy foliage against the pale blue skv like gigantic fingers pointing up. making an obscene gesture. Around us is scrub, which merges into jungle to the south, rice paddies to the north and east. In the far north is a range of rolling hills covered in dense jungle. The stillness is such that one can almost feel it. pierced occasionally by the sound of a distant chainsaw as men clear an area for a camp.

Suddenly the silence is pierced by the whine of a turbine starting up. The whine increases in volume and is Joined by a beating sound until the noise becomes almost unbearable. Then a hurricane-force wind blows our tent down about our ears, and a miniature sandstorm stings our faces and covers our rifles and guns with a layer of grit and dust as a helicopter takes off from the nearby landing zone.

The helicopter disappears, and silence reigns on again. Now there is the distant drone of a passing C47. Must be a flare ship returning to base. A couple of deauce-and-a-halfs pass by loaded to the hilt with rice. The Americans must have been busy last night to capture that much.

Suddenly the air is shattered with a loud "Blat! Blat!" The US skyraiders are putting in an air strike about 2km to our east. Everyone stands and watches as the two planes make pass after pass, dropping two, four or even six bombs at each pass. We hear the noise— a roar followed by another "Blat! Blat!" Then a voice comes over our tannoy loud-speaker "Battery Target!" This is the signal for action. Men come running from the tents with a "Yahoo" to man our (our 106mm howitzers. Orders come over the Tannoy "HE M51 charge one" which sets us preparing the required ammunition.

Meanwhile the layer is busy pointing the tube in the right direction "Bearing 874 mils!" The number two grabs his gun rule "Angle of sight nine mils depression! Fire by order! Two three twenty five!" This indicates that the target is 2325 metres away, the quadrant elevation is set on the sights and the gun is loaded. As each gun reports they are ready the Tannoy voice is heard "Down four! Down two! Down one! Down three! . . . Fire!" Four booms are heard almost simultaneously as the guns are fired. A few seconds later we hear the crump of the shells exploding.

After firing the required number of rounds, we are told Target description landing zone, zone cleared, stand easy!" and we get to cleaning the gun. When that is finished we return to our tents to await another target. We usually hold a post mortem on the last target fired.

"Who's the fastest gun alive?"

"Not you. you b . . . s!"

"Bet old Charlie's got a headache now. eh?"

"This one's for old Ho Chi Minh!"

And so on. We return to peace and quiet. Our tent is reerected, and we lie down out of the heat. Gradually we become aware of a beating drone growing closer and closer. Then amid another miniature sandstorm our tent is blown clown again. Another goddamned chopper has arrived.

But this is where I come in. While we are in the field our days follow a similar pattern most of the time. We move around from time to time, seeing; different villages, and sometimes meeting the local people. The only language that can be understood by both parties Is Sign language, so conversations are necessarily rather limited. However no language is needed when we offer them our spare C-rations, their smile of gratitude is more than enough. During our stand-down periods there is much talk about what we will do on our next day's pass in Saigon, or on our R and E leave in Bangkok. Thailand or Hong Kong. But the thought that is uppermost in the minds of all the men in 16 Battery. RNZA is "I wish I were back in New Zealand."