TBS 2-67 Cruisebook_Updated_7Jan23

John Burwell Wilkes
transpired in the FDC.
One night I was trying to catch some sleep when I was disturbed by a
loud racket in the FDC that almost sounded like a fight. In an ugly
mood, I busted into the FDC ready to chew some butt, only to find
three big Marines with their backs against the far wall and pointing to
the ground in front of my feet. Amidst a pile of rubble projectiles was
a small wounded snake. I immediately belittled the Marines for being
scared of such a “harmless little snake.” I even touched the little guy
with my boot. The word had reached a nearby corpsman. All
corpsman were required to have training and extensive knowledge of
all indigenous snakes. As soon as the corpsman saw the little snake his
sleepy eyes burst wide open. He said the snake was a banded krait,
one of the deadliest snakes in the whole world.
While I was waiting for the battery to arrive, the infantry security
kept telling us the NVA were trying to mount an attack on the
mountain. There was growing contact and sightings of the enemy in
the lower portions of the mountain. Finally, we were told to brace for a
certain attack during the coming night. That afternoon two A­6
Intruders were dispatched to bomb the obvious approaches on what I
understood was a TPQ­10 radar­controlled bomb run. I do not
remember whether the aircraft were Navy or Marine, but they dropped
their bombs precisely where the enemy was believed to be assembling.
However, the most notable aspect of their bomb run to me was the
indescribable noise these loud jet aircraft made as they streaked
through the granite walled canyon. It sounded as though the whole
world was coming apart. The next report we received was that all
traces of the NVA had vanished. I think the incredible noise had as
much to do with scaring them off as the bombs.
The battery finally arrived, and I just had time to get it settled in and
conduct continuous fire missions on the plethora of targets the infantry
was identifying, when I got word that my active duty contract period
had expired and a helicopter was being sent for me. The news was
bittersweet. I really hated the idea of leaving the battery in the middle
of an operation, particularly since I was a couple of months short of a
complete thirteen month tour of duty. But on the other hand, the
enemy had been beaten, we were just mopping up, and I really wanted
to go home and be with my family. I had inquired about the possibility
of a short extension, but I had been told the only way I could legally
spend more time in country was to sign up for three more years of
active duty.
As directed, I said my goodbyes to all and made my way to the LZ to
meet my helicopter. As the CH­46 was making its approach, a few
enemy mortar rounds fell around the LZ, and I had to jump into a fox
hole fearing the irony of taking a fatal hit during my last moments in
the combat zone. The CH­46 hung off several minutes while the
mortar fire was suppressed before coming back to land. I wrestled
myself and my gear aboard. As it lifted off, I threw all my remaining
cigarettes to the troops on the ground. After months of promising
myself I would quit smoking when I left the combat zone, I kept my
promise and quit cold turkey. After all, I no longer had a need for ear
plugs.
Against my reluctance to leave, there was some relief in the
knowledge that during my entire tenure as commander of 1st Prov, we
never put a single round in the wrong place or made a mistake that
killed or wounded a friendly combatant. I would be surprised if there
was ever another battery commander who could make such a claim, as
A‐82