But when I found out I was on the manifest for my *13th jump* I was concerned…
It was 1965. I was in the Army. I had been on the island of Okinawa in the South China Sea, for a year. I had heard that after a year, a person could take a Leave (vacation from the Army), and hitchhike on Air Force airplanes all the way back to the United States. It sounded crazy, but on the chance the rumor could be true, I submitted a request and to my amazement, it got approved! A 30 day leave back to the “World”. All I needed was for nothing to go wrong between that moment, and when my leave started in a few weeks, but suddenly I had to make one more jump! By this time we had been reduced to “pay” jumps. We had to jump at least once every three months to keep our active status and get that extra $50 a month jump pay. I hadn’t jumped for months. I felt a sense of dread. If I got injured in a jump, I wouldn’t be able to take that leave.
Jump School consists of three weeks of physical and mental torture. There are practice falls, platform jumps to the ground, then tower jumps into the air in parachute harnesses hooked to a cable. All the different parts of parachuting are covered in the first 2 weeks. In the 3rd week, we got to make real jumps out of real airplanes. We only made 5 jumps in Jump School, but every move is choreographed. Practicing for 3 weeks nonstop, with every other thought driven out of your head, makes all the moves automatic. It goes like this: Ride around in a crowded hot airplane with all your gear on with the side doors of the airplane open. When the Jumpmaster demands, Stand up. Hook up. Check the guy in front of you. Do the airborne shuffle toward the rear of the airplane. Turn at the door. Place each hand on the outside of the airplane. Launch. Nice and straight. Feet together. Arms in tight hugging the reserve chute mounted on your belly. That’s it. No variation. No room for error. By the book. When the ground approaches, hit it with both feet together to protect your ankles. Do the Parachute Landing Fall: feet, hips, shoulders.
That was then. Now however, it had been over a year since Jump School. Plenty of time to improvise; to come up with our own variations. We were no longer used to doing it the “right” way. When the jump command came, we stood up, hooked up, checked the guy in front of us, then started toward the door. Everything went just fine up to this point. But now, instead of just charging for the door like we’d been doing for the last year, just to make sure nothing went wrong, I decided to go back to the basics. I’d do the Airborne Shuffle, outside foot first, catch up with the inside foot, then forward with the outside foot again. Problem is, they had left some loading equipment on the floor of the airplane. I shuffled the outside foot (the right foot in this case) forward, then caught up the left foot (which was on a section of rollers used to move boxes). It took all my concentration to keep from falling. I was being pushed from behind. The whole line rushed to the door. I kept my concentration on my feet. I kept my concentration on my feet so much in fact, that I missed the door. I went Airborne Shuffling right by it and found myself staring straight into the face of the Jumpmaster while the guys behind me were turning left and heading out the door.
Well, you never want to be left on the airplane after everyone else has gone out. You never want to be in the airplane when it lands. You never want to have to deal with an angry Jumpmaster. I grabbed the backside of the door with my left hand, waited for one more guy to go out the door behind me, and threw myself out the door sideways.
Did I mention that protocol requires one hand on each side of the door and a straight jump out to keep all your equipment in order? I learned why we do that as I went spinning out the door.
After falling for a count of 4 seconds, the static line opens the chute for you with a thump. The next thing you do is look up to make sure the chute deployed properly; that there are no malfunctions. At the count of 4 seconds, my chute opened with a thump. I reached up to grab the risers and check the chute, but I couldn’t. I was still spinning from going out the door sideways. The risers were spun together so tight they were wound all the way down to my neck. It was physically impossible to look up. All I could do is look down, watch the ground spin, and try to judge if I was falling a normal speed or at some accelerated speed. I had passing visions of parachutists on both sides of me so I judged that I was falling at a normal rate. I spun till I stopped. Spun back the other way until I stopped, and so on. When the spinning finally finished, I got to look up and check the chute, and it was just fine. All that remained was to get to the ground.
When you’re 1,250 feet up and the chute is open, there is not a great sense of motion. Falling is a leisurely enterprise. Time seems to stand still. At treetop level however, time makes up for what it lacked before. Prepare to land. Not much time. Let’s see. My last jump I had executed a perfect standing landing; the badge of honor. Feet apart, hit the ground, bend the knees, and hold it without falling over. Can’t risk that. Drifting backwards. Better try to do it right this time. How does that Parachute Landing Fall work again? Oh yeah. I’ve got it. Feet. Yes. Ass. No that doesn’t feel right. Head. Ouch. I’m sure that wasn’t it at all. Glad I had a helmet on.
Took a deep breath. Stood up. Looked around. I Made it. Hot and sweaty. Relieved. I packed up my gear and carried it off the field to the waiting transportation truck. I survived the jump. The good news: I got to take my Leave and go home for 30 days. The bad news: At the end of 30 days I had to go back.
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