First Jump

For most young people, training and reality are two distinct worlds. They spend twelve to sixteen years in education before they ever see how it all plays out in real life. In the military, that gap is often shortened to days. After two weeks (in my case three) of purgatory, the planes were warming up.

Military parachuting is a far cry from sport parachuting. It looks simpler, as the vast majority are static line jumps. However, the Air Force cargo planes are huge with respect to private planes. The proper exit is most critical for the chutes to open properly. The most common cause of chute malfunction was not due to poor parachute rigging; malfunctions most often stemmed for poor exits.

Our training emphasized exits and landings. We learned to do them in our sleep. They trained us hard enough so that in fact, we were half asleep, when we drilled by the numbers. Yet harnessed in our parachutes that first morning, most of us were second guessing the details of our training.

Typically, we checked our own equipment before loading. However, the jump masters were all over us. We were going out their plane with: a parachute strapped to our back, a reserve to the front, and a helmet firmly attached to our heads . The C-130 took off for a very short flight. Have you ever flown in a big plane with the doors open? Did I say this was a short flight? That was my first impression of the real deal.

We were up and hooking to the static lines before you knew it. On these first jumps, they settled each of us in the door. I heard the command to go…and that’s the last I saw of that plane. There was no crawling back in.

I heard the full roar of the engines, and felt the blast of their power…then things became strangely quiet. The drop zone below was so large you could hit it with your eyes closed; we needed one that large because my eyes WERE closed at exit and landing! Most would admit their first jump was multisensory overload.

Well, surviving the exit left just one primary chore…the landing. That issue was fast approaching. By my drift it was easy to surmise wind direction. However, I zigged when I should have zagged. I slipped with the wind, creating increased horizontal motion.

Once airborne, you will hit the ground. In Latin it is called terra firma, which in reality is terror firm ah! My landing was a perfect two point landing…balls of my feet and my head. The jump masters had secured our helmets with the hard headed students in mind, those who didn’t follow all the directions.

Trained to rise quickly to ensure a proper chute collapse, I felt the sprained ankle. Remembering the cost of my eye patch, I was left with one choice. I sucked it up and hid the pain. In four more jumps, I was getting out of here.

The night came quickly. I made my way to the pay phone. Two back-to-back calls to my dad made for a great week. I would not call him again until firmly in my first duty station.

One jump does not a paratrooper make. You become a paratrooper by climbing in the door again and again…and again. Those next four jumps will be grouped into one final post. I can say that my eyes stayed open longer with each additional jump. This was the path we all took toward the Currahee Trail.