From My Mind to....

Airborne School: A Memoir Continues

Part 3

Week 3: Jump Week.

The days of push-ups, sit-ups and long runs are over. The training area was about a click (one kilometer) from the airfield. Each morning we would run to the airfield in formation and get outfitted with our gear for jumping. The run was designed to weed out those who were injured enough to be unable to jump. And like every other morning we’d enjoyed thus far, it was hot!

We were divided into groups, called sticks, based on the plane from which we would be jumping (either a C-130 propeller-driven cargo plane or a C-141 jet engine driven cargo plane). I don’t remember how many were in a stick, but we hoped the powers that be allowed for personal confusion, reluctance and reticence, and just plain stupidity on our part when determining how many needed to jump from each plane.

Needless to say, the Black Hats were there to apply their size 14 boot to the fourth point of contact of any cadet unable to exit the door on his own. After the first such application of persuasion, the rest of us moved smartly to the door and into freedom. Actually, after baking on an asphalt runway for an hour or so in full gear, waiting to board a plane with no air-conditioning, and packed in so tight we could barely breathe, we welcomed the opportunity for a little freedom.

While waiting to board the airplane, the Black Hats would impart bits of wisdom for us to remember thus making our jumps safer. Such as:

-          "While the drop zone is fairly large, you must exit the aircraft in a timely manner so that those at the end of your stick have time to exit while still over the drop zone. The aircraft will not circle back to allow late jumpers to exit."

-          "If you are first in line to jump, you will be required to “stand in the door.”  You’ll be afforded the opportunity to grip the handles firmly on each side of the open door facing outward for up to 30 seconds before jumping. If you exit early, or fall out, you will be landing in trees."

-          "In the event you find yourself floating toward another parachute, pull down on your risers (ropes running from your harness to your canopy) to steer away."

-          "If you are unsuccessful at moving away and you find yourself above another canopy, your ‘chute may collapse due to lack of air from the one below causing you to land on top of it. Double-time off that canopy quickly to allow your parachute to reinflate, thus depositing you safely on the ground. Remember you have seconds to react."

-          "There is a stream that meanders through the middle of the drop zone. If, by chance, you see that you will be landing in the stream, begin double-timing out of that stream as soon as your feet touch water. The stream is heavily populated with water moccasins and cottonmouth snakes."

-          Finally, you are required to make five jumps and the first four landings safely in order to graduate. If your fifth landing is not successful, they will pin your wings on your chest where you lay.

As I mentioned, military parachuting is much different than civilian parachuting. The military uses smaller, round canopies designed to put a soldier on the ground as quickly as possible, thus lessening the chances of being shot in a combat situation. The faster descent is why we practiced PLF landings ad nauseum to avoid injuries.

We didn’t train for free-fall jumps. We jumped using static lines, which means our parachute automatically deployed when we exited the plane, hopefully error-proofing the process. Jumping from a height of 1250 feet, we would be in the air from 30 seconds to a minute. Longer times were a bonus courtesy of thermal updrafts, something I was not lucky enough to experience.

“Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door” was a phrase we heard once, or twice … or a hundred times during training. Nowhere is this more appropriate than packed in a plane awaiting your turn to exit. Our plane would be going at 130 to 150 miles per hour when we jumped requiring both a sense of urgency when exiting and a need for good form.

And then we were free. If you were able to overcome your natural tendency to close your eyes when you jumped (euphemistically called a ‘night jump’), you were treated to an awesome view of the aircraft leaving you in a huge arc as the prop or jet blasts caught your parachute as it opened pushing you away from the plane. Despite how fast we exited the plane, its speed was often enough to provide adequate separation between the canopies that now dotted the sky.

For the next 20 seconds or so, you were alone in the world, floating to earth with a breeze in your face and a feeling of calm like you’ve never known. After that all-to-brief feeling of serenity, you find the ground rushing toward you quicker than you thought. Almost before you know it, your feet touched the ground, and you executed the perfect PLF for which you’ve trained so often.

You laid on the ground for a few moments, thanking God you’re okay, while a small part of your mind told you that you’d just done the dumbest thing of your life. Then you got up, gathered your gear in your arms and began double-timing off the drop zone following your fellow cadets. I remember wondering if they were going in the right direction.

After returning to our barracks, we all celebrated the day’s events with the only alcohol available—cans of 3.2 beer. The next day we again ran our mile, got our gear and tempted fate once more. We had four more jumps to make, actually making five jumps in four days.

Second … third … fourth … I was beginning to think of these jumps as routine.

Then Thursday afternoon, our fifth and final jump occurred. I was dealt an unexpected turn. As luck would have it, my jump was to be made from a C-141. Remember the -141 had jet engine. AND, I was to be first out.  Jumping from a plane with a jet engine had a twist—when the door opened, a baffled wall about the size of the door opening deployed to deflect the wash from the engine. Without the baffle, I would likely be slammed into the plane’s fuselage before clearing the tail. And since I was first in line and standing in the door awaiting the Go command, I wondered if I’d be able to let go of the frame on which I had a death grip. Suddenly it occurred to me why we had to jump out 36 inches! So much to remember….

“GO!”  My reflexes took over and I was free once again. After landing, I jumped up and took stock of all body parts. I began whooping and hollering—I had done it!

Graduation was Friday morning, though a bit anti-climactic. The pomp and circumstance didn’t meet with the intensity of the previous three weeks. Frankly, Everett and I were anxious to begin the 2000 mile trek home.

During one of the weekends, we were able to go shopping at the PX (Post Exchange). I had picked up the initial release of a Marshall Tucker Band. Somehow on the trip home, that record had been moved to the back window shelf, the sun turning it into a shallow bowl. To this day, I still have that album. Nope, can’t tell you why I kept it. But a penny on the turntable needle played the album perfectly.

Also, on the way home, another thought occurred to me. Until Airborne School, I’d never even been in a plane. During this course, I had taken off in five planes and made five parachute jumps. It turns out that I would not actually land in a plane until I flew to West Germany to my initial posting with the 12th Engineer Battalion some four years later.

Airborne School was definitely an experience to remember. I would never jump out of a plane again. But, I have to say it was an adventure I would always cherish.

Thanks for joining me on this memory.