Paratrooper Stories

When I graduated from the United States Military Academy at West Point in 1970 with a Regular Army commission, Ranger School was required for all RA Combat Arms officers. Airborne School - which turned out to be the easier of the two courses - was voluntary but, of course, overwhelming. My classmates and I also asked to "go Airborne". I reported for the 3 week "jump school" in early Aug 1970 with Ranger School to follow immediately for those of us who were Field Artillerymen since we would finish Ranger School before going to FT Sill, Oklahoma for our FA Basic Course.

Jump School - Week One

The first of three weeks of jump school then was the most physically demanding with a tremendous focus on running and conditioning and learning the basics of parachuting so that our responses would come almost by instinct when our "opportunities" arose. Our instructors used their power to order pushups to reinforce their teaching points and we all spent a lot of time in the "front leaning rest position" as we struggled to get the various requirements correct. The fact we were doing this training in Georgia in August also challenged us greatly. I don't recall we ever suspended training when the heat and humidity passed critical points - as I'm sure it must have - but the instructors required us hourly to roll through a set of showers to reduce our body temperatures.

Some of the equipment we encountered was beastly. We hung from suspended parachute harnesses and learned how to pull our risers to steer our parachutes as much as these old styles could be steered. We were dropped approximately four feet into sawdust pits from swinging harnesses to learn how to do "parachute landing falls" (PLFs) to spread the impact of landing through our whole bodies, thus minimizing impact on any single part of the body. We also did countless PLFs from wooden platforms. Doing a poor PLF can quickly cloud the mind if the helmet and its contents strike the ground improperly. Less than perfect executions were also guaranteed - hopefully after the head cleared - to result in more and more pushups and then more efforts to get it right. The jump student learns how to live with sawdust in every crevice of his body!

We also used the 34 foot tower with its long cables to overcome our fear of heights and to learn properly how to exit the aircraft. Our instructors placed us in harnesses with 16 foot nylon risers attached to a cable descending to the ground on a rapid slope. We then were ordered to "stand in the door" and given lots of time to sense how high we were above the ground. When the instructors smacked our butts we hurtled ourselves up and out the door with as perfect technique as possible and fell freely for 16 feet - an eternity it seemed - until our risers were fully extended. We then slide harmlessly down a long cable, coming to a stop when our jump classmates caught us. Some fiend long ago accurately decided 34 feet - or treetop level - is just about the right height for maximum fear for the new parachutist so some of the exits were more "rolling out" than "jumping out". Again, we did our exits over and over until we lost our fear of the 34 feet and we got them to perfection. Running up the steps of the tower while tightly bound in a harness and shouting and cheering the various jump chants help build courage but one is exhausted after several trips up those steps!

A vigorous exit and good technique are important to get the body away from the aircraft and to protect it from the significant shock of the parachute's opening. A jumper respects the instructors' stories about jumpers who didn't exit vigorously enough and struck some part of the aircraft as they passed at about 200 knots. Another thing a jumper learns very early becomes the last action he takes every time prior to exiting the aircraft: ensuring the harness straps which cross between his legs DO NOT cross over his testicles. Having one's body weight at parachute opening smash the testicles violently into the harness straps is something a jumper allows to happen only once. I am aware of stories of jumpers screaming and vomiting on the way down after having their testicles slammed like a hammer! Luckily, I never heard those screams and, even more luckily, my testicles survived my descents but you can be sure I checked each time before leaving the aircraft!

Jump School - Week Two

The second week consisted of more running and work on basics but we moved up to the 250 foot towers like those found in many amusement parks. My wife and I did one in Knotts Berry Farm in LA so she could sense the height and the free fall. Of course, in that case we had a floor beneath our feet! The FT Benning towers allowed jumpers to have a sense what would occur in the last - and most crucial - 250 feet of a parachute jump when preparations for landing must be accomplished. Students are again placed in a harness attached to a parachute and this time lifted 250 feet above the ground with feet dangling in open space beneath them. A few moments at the top with a chance to see all of FT Benning and well into Alabama are ended by an instructor's flick of a switch and the jumper is released from the tower to float with the parachute to the ground below. The jumper gets the opportunity to practice all he's learned in trying to steer the parachute and preparing for landing under the watchful eyes of instructors below. The ground around the towers was plowed so that it was soft enough to minimize injuries. I recall my landings were pretty nice. I only wish these landings were indicative of those I would have in the future!

Jump School - Week Three

The third and final week of jump school was the time to accomplish the five jumps required to win the novice jump wings. Bad weather can sometimes make this a problem but, luckily, we had good weather and were able to get our jumps in easily and consistent with the school's schedule. The instructors continued to run the students every morning before the jumps, primarily to ensure everyone was physically able to jump. There have been lots of instances of injured jumpers' ignoring their injuries to accomplish their five jumps. Instructors are watching to detect broken bones or too severely sprained ankles or knees which occurred in earlier jumps. I know I would have tried to do all jumps even if I had been injured. No one wants to have to redo any of the training, everyone wanted to finish with their classmates, and a delay and redo of any part of the training would have disrupted the sequence of follow on schools and assignments. Grab a band aid and drive on!

The five jumps in my class were made from what even then were ancient C-119 aircraft. I was not sure the planes would be able to get off the ground with a full load of jumpers as the pilot pushed the engines to full revolutions before releasing the brakes to let it rumble down the runway with just enough lift, it seemed, to lift off before crashing into the trees at end of the runway! What a racket, vibration, and experience for a new jumper! We made it into the air each time though and I don't recall any tree strikes.

I suppose I was fortunate since FT Benning's Fryar Drop Zone is across the Chatahoochee River in Alabama so I could expect a softer landing as my home soil welcomed me to its bosom. I suppose that red soil really bounced some of those Yankee jumpers!

Only one incident sticks in my memory from those five jumps. Instructors with bullhorns are spaced around the drop zone to offer encouragement and - more often - criticism to the hundreds of jumpers as they slowly descend to the ground. In one jump a jumper apparently had a "Mae West" as he descended. A Mae West occurs when one or more suspension lines slips over the parachute, creating two large bulges (get the 'Mae West'?) in the parachute. This can be dangerous since the nylon on nylon friction can quickly result in the nylon's melting and a loss of the parachute and its lift. The approved response to a Mae West is to activate the reserve parachute attached near the jumper's waist. The instructor on the ground in one of our five jumps detected one of the jumpers had a Mae West and directed him with his bullhorn to activate his reserve. Now, one must realize there was no way for the instructor to identify precisely which jumper needed to do this. We were still hundreds of feet in the air, all dressed exactly alike, of course, and the numbers on our helmets were much too small to see from the ground. We were a cautious lot, of course, since we were very new at this jumping business and weren't real sure we would recognize a Mae West as we dangled below it. A natural reaction: when lots of jumpers heard the directive to "Jumper with the Mae West, pull your reserve" , lots of them pulled their reserves! Where only one jumper had a Mae West, probably twenty reserve parachutes popped out! A very uncool thing to do and not one which made the riggers happy since all these deployed reserve parachutes had to be repacked. Luckily - and it was probably as much luck as anything - I wasn't one of those unfortunate devils and didn't have to suffer the pushups and joking from friends.

Jump School - Graduation

I don't have any special recollections of the graduation ceremony, probably because I knew then it was only a respite before the "stuff really hit the fan" and Ranger School began. I'm sure we didn't have to suffer the way Marines apparently do as shown in recent "home" videos of one of their pinning ceremonies. These videos depicted young Marines having their jump wings with their short pins smashed and twisted into the Marines' chests, drawing howls of pain and bloodied T-shirts. The Army didn't do it that way, perhaps because we were officers but, more likely, the Marines are great people but they seem to relish in doing everything in the most painful way possible. Nevertheless, they've proven themselves constantly over the years and I admire them greatly so, perhaps, their approach is necessary and we shouldn't be too critical. I'm just glad I'm "USA", not "USMC".

Jumping in Ranger School

Many new parachutists reported immediately to their units in the 82d Airborne Division or 101st Airborne Division as "cherry" jumpers, one with only the minimum five jumps. My classmates and I were "fortunate": we expected to get a jump or two in Ranger School so we wouldn't be cherry jumpers when we got to our first jump assignments. Ranger School is an entire set of stories on its own and I'll do that another time but I did get one jump during the course. I recall we were scheduled for a helicopter jump or two during the "mountain phase" of Ranger School but bad weather, mostly high winds, denied us that opportunity.

We prepared, though, to move to the Florida Ranger Camp via an "airborne assault". We boarded C-130s at FT Benning's Army Airfield for a jump on one of the auxiliary airstrips of Eglin AFB in northwest Florida. Although I was greatly concerned about jumping - potentially - on paved runways, the entire experience of jumping from this "modern" aircraft turned out quite well and I landed on dirt.

There was an unusual aspect to this jump, however. Our Ranger company consisted of four platoons, three of which were composed of Rangers who were jump qualified and, thus, would jump into the Florida Ranger Camp but the fourth was composed of soldiers who were, for a variety of reasons, not jump qualified. Many of these guys were scheduled to attend jump school after Ranger School rather than the more logical sequence of Jump School followed by Ranger School. The Army moves in strange ways sometimes, of course.

Our plan for jumping into Florida required the aircraft - the first time for most of us to jump from the C-141 Starlifter - to make several passes over the drop zone, dropping a specified number of jumpers on each pass and, then, at the conclusion of these passes to land on the runway and "airland" the nonjump, "leg" platoon. For some reason, the nonjumpers had been seated near the aircraft's jump doors on each side of the aircraft. This means jumpers exiting the door on each pass of the drop zone attached their static lines to the overhead cable and lined up near the jump doors, practically in the laps of the belted in nonjumpers. This placed the nonjumpers in a very precarious position! First, most of them had never been in an aircraft conducting airborne operations with their wind and engine noise, orchestrated movements, excitement, and danger so their eyes were as big as saucers as they watched the friends with whom they had completed about six weeks of Ranger School shuffle past, wrapped in their parachutes and other gear, and disappear out the door. More difficult for them, though, was the barrage of profane insults - "dirty ____ leg" was heard most frequently - and slaps and punches directed their way by the jumpers waiting to jump. Of course, the nonjumpers couldn't respond because they didn't know what effect their response would have on a guy about to throw himself into "the hawk" outside. The jumpers - most with all of five jumps under their belts - were brutal to their unfortunate mates but the nonjumpers probably paid them back sometime in the next two weeks. Besides, the nonjumpers on this occasion were probably going to jump school in the future and would be "insensitive" to nonjumpers in some future context!

Losing a Classmate

We lost a USMA classmate during this period of time. He was a member of a Ranger course which followed mine by a few weeks and he was killed in the jump into Florida. Remarkably, he had been President of the Academy's sport parachute club in our First Class year and, in a strange way, that probably contributed to his death. I am not certain but I heard later while we were at FT Sill he had perhaps tried to do a show off "stand up" landing on one of the paved runways rather than a PLF and the awesome shock of his body hitting the hard pavement in this way had been transmitted directly up his spine and killed him. His death brought home to us we weren't protected cadets any longer, the inherent danger associated with parachute jumping and the importance of following what we had been taught! Our jump instructors at FT Benning had told us the sky is even more unforgiving of mistakes than the sea and now we knew this was true.

The First MC1-1 Jump

My first assignment following the Field Artillery Officers' Basic Course at FT Sill was with the 2nd Infantry Division Artillery in the Republic of Korea. Lots of things to relate about that assignment but, again, they are for another effort. This assignment meant I did not jump from the time I left Ranger School in November 1970 until I had worked my way by November 1972 into an assignment in the 1st Battalion, 320th FldArty in the 82d Airborne Division. Because I had spent almost 1 1/2 years in the ROK lots of my USMA classmates had been in the Division for the full time and had lots of jumps under their belts. There were also lots of members of the Class of '71 who had been in the battalion for about six months when I arrived and had a substantial number of jumps, too. I was very far behind in the airborne "game". I had to take a jump refresher course because it had been so long since my last jump. This was conducted entirely on the ground and included lots more PLFs and a few exits from FT Bragg's 34 foot tower.

I don't specifically recall my first jump with my battery but that's understandable given the way the Division approached jumping. Whereas jumping in the school context was the focus, the 82d Airborne's focus was, first, on the safe conduct of the jump but, second, also on what happened on the ground afterward. The division was - and is - the Army's "get their first" force, ready to deploy in hours anywhere in the world and to accomplish its mission. Being airborne is just a way to get somewhere fast and to get on the ground to tackle the mission. Our jumps, thereafter, were most often just the beginning of some sort of training or exercise which would last for several days of being cold, wet, and hungry while trying to put artillery fire out in a timely and accurate fashion. This focus tends to draw the mind away from the jump, particularly for an officer who is responsible fully for, as they say, "everything the unit does or fails to do".

One of my early jumps in the division was memorable, though. My experience had been with older T-10 personnel parachutes which are very difficult to steer. The only way to try to steer a T-10 is to pull as hard as the jumper can on one of the four risers which is in the direction he wants to move. This allows any wind to push him in the desired direction but the T-10 remained infamously unsteerable. As I arrived in the Division, MC1-1 steerable parachutes were being fielded. The MC1-1 has several panels in the parachutes which can be opened and closed by pulling on little handles attached to nylon cords. Proper use of these panels greatly improved the parachute's steerability and could effectively subtract about eight mph from the wind speed on landing. Of course, improper use of the panels could effectively add about eight mph to the existing wind speed. One knows where this story is going! My first jump with the MC1-1 proved this additive effect.

Safety regulations at FT Bragg then in effect would not permit jumps when the winds on the drop zone exceeded 13 knots. Of course, the winds were measured by very inexact instruments under the control of the DZSO, the Drop Zone Safety Officer, who knew everyone wanted the jump "to go" so winds "marginally" over the restrictions were frequently ignored. In any case, let's assume the winds were 13 knots the day I first jumped with a MC1-1. Of course, in my excitement returning to jumping after two years away and with the new parachute, I mixed up my instructions and, instead of pulling the cords which would have turned me "into" the wind just prior to landing I pulled the cords which had me "running" with the wind. So, instead of subtracting 8 mph to land softly at 5 mph, I added 8 mph to land at a not so soft 21 mph. Can you imagine jumping off the bed of a pickup truck which is moving at 21 mph and being expected to PLF yourself to a safe landing? I remember bouncing a few times and my head hitting the ground pretty hard before I finally slid to a halt. But, as we always said in those days, "any one you walk away from is a good one"! I did, so it was.

The Crowded Sky

One of the first things a new member of the 82d Airborne Division realizes is the sky can be a very crowded place when the division is conducting a "mass tactical jump" involving at least several hundred, occasionally thousands of jumpers. Those who haven't jumped in the division or who sit and watch from the ground may not hear the shouts and curses exchanged among the jumpers as they "compete" for space as they descend. "Move away", "out of my say, SOB", "look out", etc. are the sounds of the time as parachutes pass over, under, around, and sometimes almost through each other. A parachute which passes under another can "steal the air" which provides the lift for the higher chute, causing it to drop precipitously. This can cause the upper jumper to fall onto the lower chute! The solution to this very disturbing situation is to "run" to the edge of the chute on which the jumper finds himself and to jump off. This is supposed to reinflate his chute but it's certainly a situation in which I'm glad I never found myself.

Another parachute hazard can occur when a jumper becomes entangled in another's suspension lines as they descend. A really nasty and scary situation! First, when a jumper realizes he is going to glide into the suspension lines of another jumper, he's supposed to assume a spread eagle position in the hope he'll bounce of the suspension lines. If he fails to bounce off, goes through the suspension lines and becomes entangled in them, he applies the "approved solution" which calls for the jumper caught in the suspension lines to "climb down" to face the other jumper and for them to decide calmly how they will do their PLFs to avoid smashing into each other on the ground. Of course, this discussion is supposed to occur as they are falling more quickly than normal to the earth since the parachute was designed to work most efficiently for one jumper, not two! I often came close to other jumpers in the crowded sky but, luckily, in all my jumps I managed to get to the earth all alone. I was glad I didn't have to land with someone's jumpboots aimed for my ribcage or face!

Bucky's Disappearance

Jumpmasters are the unit's noncommissioned and commissioned officers who are responsible for safe conduct of a jump. A jumpmaster must inspect each jumper after he has put on his parachute to ensure it was done properly. Misrouting of a single strap can result in the breaking of bones or dislocation of joints when the tremendous stresses of the opening shock of the parachute are misapplied. Jumpmasters are also responsible for the jumpers' activities on board the aircraft, not an easy task given how crowded a noisy and hot aircraft is with jumpers burdened with parachutes and other equipment. The jumpmaster has to orchestrate all this activity in an orderly, "SOP" manner to minimize the chance for dangerous errors. A jumpmaster is boss and it's an important job!

Jumpmaster certification requires successful completion of a very demanding divisional school. Jumpmaster students - under the watchful eye of instructors, of course - inspect each other repetitively, repetitively to the point they can detect and identify mistakes in a parachute in their sleep. Emphasis is also placed on learning how to give the sequence of voice and hand commands inside the aircraft which will safely and with a minimum of confusion prepare the jumpers for their exit of the aircraft: OUTBOARD PERSONNEL, STAND UP; INBOARD PERSONNEL, STAND UP; HOOK UP; CHECK EQUIPMENT; SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK; STAND IN THE DOOR; GO. One has to remember these commands may be given in the middle of the night and inside an aircraft which is only dimly illuminated and with jump doors open so the wind rushing past the doors makes even shouting useless! Jumpers' knowing the commands and their sequence is crucial.

Jumpmaster school ends with the students' performing as jumpmasters in an intense night of jumping while being graded by the instructors. Bucky Walker is a member of USMA Class of '71 and attended Jumpmaster School when I did, early in 1973. Bucky's grandfather was the Commanding General of 8th US Army in the Korean War who was killed in a jeep accident during the war. His father was the USMA Commandant of Cadets when I graduated and was the officer who handed me my diploma as I crossed the stage. But, these illustrious ancestors didn't stop Bucky from having a very bad experience in his night of proving he was ready to be a jumpmaster.

One of the tasks of the jumpmaster is to ensure the stability of the small jump platform which extends from the jump door and to verify visually there are no unsafe conditions such as sharp edges, protrusions, and other aircraft which will endanger jumpers. He does this, first, by carefully verifying the platform will hold his weight and, then, while holding the inside of the aircraft and standing on the platform, by forcing his body outside the door and then conducting a 360 degree visual observation before pulling himself back into the aircraft. This safety check is done several minutes before the aircraft flies over the DZ so it is many miles from the DZ.

Bucky got his chance to shine that dark night in North Carolina! On his turn to be the jumpmaster, he checked the stability of the platform, grabbed the aircraft skin, and thrust himself into the wind to make his visual check. At this point, the instructor observing him looked away for a moment and, when he looked back, Bucky was gone! He had fallen from the door many miles north of the DZ. Now, his static line was attached to the overhead cable so his parachute would open automatically but no one knew where he was or in what sort of terrain he would land. Not a pleasant situation for those in charge because they had a man out there somewhere, possibly hurt. This story ends well, though, because it wasn't too much later in the night that a call came into FT Bragg. Young LT Walker had appeared unhurt at the door of a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, deployed parachute neatly stored in his kit bag, and requested to use the phone. Bucky had a great story but, unfortunately, he flunked Jumpmaster School!

My Jumpmaster School Experience

The 82d Airborne Division doesn't jump just for the fun of it. This means the division's troopers usually jump with the personal equipment necessary to survive and accomplish their mission in the field for an extended period of time. This means a jumper may have to "jump in" equipment such as a machine gun, radio or, for field artillerymen, an aiming circle or basic equipment to compute firing data for the guns. This equipment is frequently carried in a Weapons and Individual Equipment Carrier (WIEC) or "weece bag" which is boxlike after being packed with up to 50 pounds of equipment. The WIEC is attached to the body between the legs, making loading the aircraft, sitting and standing, and exiting the aircraft very challenging physical efforts. A lowering line is folded and attached to the WIEC, allowing the jumper just prior to landing to pull a handle and the WIEC, still attached, falls safely below him to land a couple of seconds before he does.

My first experience with jumping a WIEC came in Jumpmaster School where the students practiced using them so they would be able in their units to assist in their packing and safe attachment. Our school jumps were for training only so we didn't have real equipment to jump so my WIEC contained a mortar ammunition box with several filled sandbags inside. I guess the dimensions of the WIEC were approximately 3 feet high, 1 1/2 feet wide, and 1 foot depth with a weight of about 40 pounds. All attached between my legs!

I got the WIEC packed that day, managed to drag it and myself onto the aircraft, and dragged it down the aircraft to reach the jump door. No insurmountable problem to that point or in the descent. My problem came as I prepared to land and pulled the handle to release the WIEC. It wouldn't drop away! I recall in the next minute or so before landing frantically trying to get the WIEC away from my body because I didn't want to hit the earth with this hard, ol' thing between my legs. I pulled on the handle again and again and pounded over and over again on the top of the box without success. It was quickly clear I was going to ride this thing between my legs into the ground and all I could visualize was my soon to be destroyed manhood and broken legs, hips, and other injuries which I was sure were imminent. I hadn't even worried about pulling into the wind as I worked to release the WIEC so I compounded my problem, of course, as I landed faster than I should have. After pounding into the earth, I slowly came to a stop, still with this thing between my legs, and began to assess my body. I was very surprised and pleased to find nothing broken. I had a pretty good bruise on my thigh but that was a small price for having a "good one is any one you walk away from". You can bet I was usually able in later jumps to find some other poor jumper who needed to jump in most of the equipment. I think I only jumped a WIEC a few times after that and I don't regret that at all!

The Weak Stomachs

Paratroopers are tough guys, right? Well, of course, as a former paratrooper, I know this statement is accurate in most regards. The only instance when it's not accurate has to do with the weak stomachs which can be evident during certain jumps. Let me explain. It can take a long time to conduct jumps in which a large number of aircraft and jumpers will participate. This means long, outdoor waits to receive and put on the parachute, to marshal in the loading area, and to load the aircraft. Jumps in the winter can be cold affairs, then. Not surprisingly, jumpers are no different than most people: they want to be warm. This means trying to beat the cold by wearing extra layers of clothing or field jackets, which often end up under the parachute since there is little time or space to repack this gear before putting on the parachute.

It may be cold on the outside but the interior of the aircraft may be quite warm, particularly when it is crowded with sweating paratroopers pushed body to body. This heat can begin to affect stomachs, raising the level of nausea. This situation is worsened as the aircraft begins to descend to drop altitude where the air is thicker and, thus, the aircraft begins to bounce around a lot. Now, place the aircraft "in trail", i.e., flying in the turbulence of aircraft flying ahead, and the level of nausea can peak! It only takes the first guy to get sick to create a chain reaction. One gets sick and another, already on the verge of throwing up, joins him and so on. This business is made worse by the insistence of USAF loadmasters responsible for their aircraft that jumpers use "air sickness bags" and pass them down the line so they can be disposed of without making a mess on the aircraft. I believe you can begin to picture this: almost sick guys have to pass down the line a reeking bag of vomit, pushing them over the edge! Even the most hesitant and cautious jumper often reaches the point where he just wants "to open the damn door and let me off this plane"! I was there lots of times myself!

DIVARTY Day

I was fortunate to serve under two Division Artillery commanders during my 3 1/2 years in the division. The first was Colonel Maxwell Thurman who was later Vice Chief of Staff of the Army and, subsequently, Commander in Chief, Southern Command, during the US operation in Panama in December 1989. The second was Colonel Carl Vuono who concluded his career as Chief of Staff of the Army. The 82d Airborne Division was famous then for having its senior leaders become later in their careers among the most senior leaders in the Army. The Airborne Mafia, we called it.

COL Vuono decided to host a "Division Artillery Day" to allow troopers' families to learn more about what their husbands did every day. The day included opportunities to fire the M-16 rifle, M-60 machine gun, our 105mm howitzers; to rappel from a wall; and to jump from the 34 foot tower. There were lots of games for the kids and food so it was a good day for all.

I do remember one incident at the 34 foot tower, though. As I said before, someone decided this height is just about right for causing great fear. And it did its job very well. One battalion commander's wife had managed to overcome her fear enough to get into the harness and climb to the top of the tower. She froze, though, when she reached the tower's jump exit and would not budge from the door, despite the efforts of a senior NCO and a good friend of mine 1LT Lynn Hartselle who were "running" the tower to coax her out. Her Lieutenant Colonel husband was watching from below and could not accept the embarassment of having his wife freeze, of course, so he told the guys around her to "get her out". Suddenly, as everyone watched, the NCO and Lynn grabbed her around her hips and propelled her out the door and down the cable, screaming all the way. I don't know if the LTC and she are still married but that must have put some serious strains on their marriage! Lynn survived the incident, apparently, since he was promoted to Brigadier General many years later.

My wife Linda was a Captain assigned then as a nurse at Womack Army Hospital on FT Bragg and we were dating so I invited her to DIVART Day. She was a real trooper and did the 34 foot tower, the rappelling wall, and participated in firing the 105mm howitzer. She sorta inched down the rappelling wall, though!

Jake's Scary Jump

Our battalion jumped into FT McClellan, Alabama once to conduct two weeks of training. This was great for me because I was able to invite my parents and brother to watch the jump and I was able to spend the intervening weekend at home. My parents were amazed with all that happened in, first, the "heavy drop" of our howitzers and trucks onto the DZ; then, a few minutes later, the drop of hundreds of paratroopers who steered their parachutes for a landing as close as possible to their particular equipment; and, finally, the rapid marshaling of our guns and the commencement of live fire missions directly from the DZ. A lot of sound, fury, and activity which they observed completely and with binoculars. They watched me, as the Battery Executive Officer, orchestrate the commencement of firing so they saw me in a new light!

This jump remains in my memory for another reason, too. LT Paul "Jake" Jacobs is USMA '71 and remains to this day a good friend. He was then the Battery Fire Direction Officer, responsible for a section of our smartest guys who were trained to compute the firing data necessary for the guns to hit their targets. On that day, though, he had been the Jumpmaster on one of the aircraft despite also being attached to a WIEC containing much of his fire direction equipment, simple charts and "firing sticks" much like slide rules.

One must also know, the DZ at FT McClellan is quite small, thus, forcing our aircraft to make several passes with a few jumpers going out on each pass. This greatly complicates the task of the Jumpmaster who is responsible for getting the correct number of jumpers out, quickly and safely, when the pilot illuminates the "green light". As Jumpmaster, Jake was focusing intently on his jumpers but wasn't able to watch as carefully what was happening to him. At some point in time - probably when he was sticking out of the jump door and in the wind checking exterior safety - the lowering line of his WIEC flew over the top of his helmet and remained, unknown to him or anyone else, around his neck. This was not a problem in the aircraft but it would prove to be a bad problem later!

Jumpmasters are the last to leave the aircraft so Jake jumped at the end of the last group - "stick" - of jumpers. This meant he was likely to land, of course, near the end of the already short DZ. As he descended he saw the tall pine trees at the end of the DZ but he felt he would be able to avoid them and land in the much softer earth of the DZ. He pulled mightily on his risers to accomplish this and believed he would be successful if he pulled hard almost to the ground. As he neared his landing, he pulled the release on his WIEC but that's when things went very badly. The WIEC released as it was supposed to but, of course, the lowering line was wrapped around Jake's neck. He said later his head snapped downward as the approximately 50 pounds of weight took its full effect and, quickly, Jake realized he couldn't breath. He spend the next minute or so - as he continued descending - desperately trying to get the line over his helmet and, failing that, at least to get enough weight lifted so he could breath. He did manage to lift the WIEC enough to allow himself to breath and not suffocate but his not being able to pull his risers toward the DZ ensured he landed in the trees.

An important part of postjump activities is accounting for all the jumpers. We knew Jake would be last and land on a far end of the DZ but it was clear after a while that he wasn't coming in so we sent out people in vehicles to look for him. I remained in the battery area to coordinate his firing so I wasn't with the group which found him but I listened carefully when Jake and they returned and described how they found him. It seems his WIEC did as it should and landed before he did - in the top of a tall pine tree - and then Jake landed next - in the top of another tall pine tree about 15 feet from the one in which the WIEC landed. Jake was suspended horizontally and high in the trees when they found him! It took a while to get him down but his only injury was a bad nylon burn on his neck and probably some weak knees. He took a lot of ribbing but I know he was glad to walk away from that one!

My Most Scary Jump

My most scary jump experience came in what we called a "Hollywood" jump. Instead of having to attach all sorts of equipment to one's body and spend lots of hours getting to the jump, a Hollywood jump was a very simple one with only the minimum equipment and frequently from a helicopter or other aircraft with a quick turn around time so the whole process went quickly.

In this case, our battalion had for some reason I don't remember now gotten access to several hundred MC1-1 and T-10 parachutes and a full day's use of a UH-1 "Huey" helicopter. I was designated the battalion's Marshaling Area Control Officer or MACO, responsible for the ground preparation of hundreds of jumpers while others rotated through jumpmaster duties on the ground and on the Huey. We established a big pile of parachutes on one of FT Bragg's DZs and proceeded to distribute them to jump as many of our troopers as quickly as we safely could. Several people probably jumped more than once but I, as MACO, knew I would be able to jump only in the very last lift. We distributed the steerable MC1-1s first so another feature of jumping last was the almost certainty I would get a T-10.

After several hours of overseeing the distribution of parachutes and jumpmaster inspections, the pile of parachutes had dwindled to the point it was my time to jump on the last stick. And sure enough, only T-10s remained. We had maintained a parachute turn-in point with a 2 1/2 ton truck and a jeep all day in the middle of the drop zone where our troopers had turned in their chutes and they had been loaded on the truck. As we loaded the aircraft, we were told the turn-in point would be "breaking down" soon but I didn't realize then how important this was to me. We quickly gained jump altitude and I could see the jumpmaster sent us out near the center of the DZ. But, as I descended I saw a jeep and 2 1/2 ton truck on the very far end of the DZ so I came to the conclusion the turn in point had already been moved and I was going to have a long walk to it. I pulled my risers as hard as I could, for as long as I could, trying to get as close as I could to what I thought was the turn-in point.

As I neared the altitude at which I needed to prepare to land, though, I pulled into the wind and slowly turned and saw the real turn in point upon which I was rapidly descending! I saw very quickly my essentially unsteerable T-10 was going to take me right into the 2 1/2 ton truck! As I approached a couple of guys looked up and shouted "Look out". As I recall my response was a very intelligent "I know! I know!" The truck grew ever larger in my vision as I approached it at about 15 mph. Not able to do much, I gradually pulled my legs toward my chest and, remarkably, sailed over the engine and passenger compartments and crashed directly through the wooden slats between the passenger compartment and the bed of the truck. I landed on a pile of parachutes already in the back of the truck and woke a soldier sleeping in the back. His response: "God damn!" My response: "Get me out of here". That seemed the appropriate request on my part since my chute extended back out of the truck and the wind in it was trying to pull me back through the broken slats through which I had just crashed. Luckily, some guys on the ground jumped on the truck and released the chute's quick release mechanism and released me from it. Then I just lay on the nice, soft pile of parachutes and contemplated how lucky I was not to have crashed at that speed into the truck's engine compartment or windshield! My only injury was a badly bruised hip but, as was the case with Jake, I knew I was fortunate to walk away. At the next battalion officer's party, I was awarded a piece of one of the slats through which I had crashed with a small brass plaque attached congratulating me for a "direct hit on a 2 1/2 truck on Normandy Drop Zone, 26 June 1973". I think it was Jake who made the award!

Where Are My Guns?

The tenuous nature and risks of airborne operations were demonstrated very clearly to me when my battalion was to undergo its annual Operational Readiness Test while I was commanding B Battery. Our test would consist of a "heavy drop" of our equipment and guns followed by our drop onto them and then several days of "moving, shooting, and communicating". As part of the test, we assisted the experts in loading our equipment on the several pallets on which it would be dropped from the aircraft and then moved to nearby Pope AFB to board our aircraft for our own drop. Everything seemed to be have gone well as I exited the aircraft, identified the colored panels on the howitzer pallet to which I wanted to steer, and managed to land reasonably close to the pallet. As I ran to the pallet to begin preparing the guns so we could commence firing as quickly as possible, I noticed the DIVARTY Commander COL Vuono and my battalion commander LTC Madigan standing by the pallet. Not a good sign since they would not have known which howitzer we would begin to position our battery around! As I got closer, I noticed the pallet and the howitzer on it were "broken", much 'flater' than normal and the howitzer's wheels were flat rather than upright. Boxes of live ammunition which had been part of the pallet were scattered about and many were broken open. Definitely not a good sight!

As I neared the gun, COL Vuono and LTC Madigan called out "John, you won't be able to use this gun. It "streamered in". This is not a term a paratrooper wants to hear! It meant my gun's parachute had malfunctioned and the pallet had fallen to the earth, perhaps with no lift at all from the parachute. One thing was certain: the Cols were correct I would not be able to use that gun. It was destroyed! Well, I thought I'll have to do this test with only five guns, not six. Just then someone informed me the aircraft carrying another of my guns had a mechanical problem and had not even left the runway so I would start the test with only four guns, not six. Think now, this was a peacetime test and no one had been shooting at us!
Well, we managed to get the gun later in the day from the plane which had not taken off and we survived the test with our five guns. I don't envy those ordinance guys, though, who had to come to the DZ later to collect that live ammunition. That may have been a ticklish job!

In any case, we learned that day we would have to be flexible and ready to play the hand dealt us!

The Almost Go to War!

The 82d Airborne Division is the US Army's largest force ready for rapid deployment around the globe with one of the division's three infantry brigades with its other support units required to be ready for "liftoff" within 18 hours of notification. The closest we came to performing that mission in my time in the division was the Yom Kippur War in the Middle East in 1973, at a time when the infantry brigade my battalion supported was the brigade with the 18 hour requirement. My battalion had the same 18 hour requirement.

The war had begun with Israel unprepared for an assault by the Syrians and Egyptians and it was very much a close thing for them in the early phases of this short war but, through its usual tactical competence and fighting spirit, the Israelis stopped the Syrians in the Golan Heights and had encircled an entire Egyptian Army, threatening to destroy it. At this point, American intelligence systems began to detect Soviet mobilization of their airborne divisions, perhaps for deployment to the Middle East. The Nixon Administration (only a few days after Mr. Nixon's "Saturday Night Massacre" of the Watergate Special Prosecutor's investigation) assessed this as an unacceptable threat to our ally, Israel, and notified the world we were increasing the readiness of US forces worldwide. Most US conventional forces increased their readiness only marginally but the 82d was ordered to the level just below "war" as we packed up ready to go somewhere, against someone: Egyptians, Syrians, or Russians.

But we learned of our alert in an unusual way. The division had just begun a Command Post Exercise (CPX) on the FT Bragg Reservation. A CPX includes only headquarters and certain commanders with few troops in the field with the purpose of testing communications procedures and other Standard Operating Procedures which can be tested without troops. My battalion headquarters had established itself in the field and the CPX had begun in the afternoon. I was the Battalion Adjutant but I had been designated one of the operations officers during the night shift so I climbed into a cot (unusual luxury, but, heck, it was a CPX, after all) late in the afternoon before my shift beginning about midnight. I awoke when someone shook my shoulder but, when I glanced at my watch, I realized I had been awakened about an hour early. I questioned the guy who awakened me and he said the exercise had been canceled and the Battalion Commander and Command Sergeant Major had returned to garrison because "something was up". He told me the Battalion Commander had placed me in charge of breaking down the battalion headquarters and getting it back to garrison as soon as possible. We weren't sure what was happening but everyone had been following the war in the Middle East so we suspected something to do with this was the cause but we had only rumors as we moved to get back to garrison.

We were moving pretty quickly after the new orders and our small convoy moved in the early morning darkness toward FT Bragg proper. As we rounded the final bend in the road before post, though, we were amazed to see every building within sight with every inside and outside light illuminated. It was clear the whole division had been alerted so whatever was going on wasn't playing around!

I reported to the Battalion XO as soon as I could and was informed our entire staff would in just an hour brief the DIVARTY Commander (COL Maxwell Thurman, later Vice Chief of Staff of the Army and the commander of the US Southern Command when the US moved into Panama in 1989 to arrest Manuel Noriega and install the legally elected government). Luckily, our increased readiness as the field artillery battalion in direct support of the first brigade to deploy meant we had kept our status up to date so we were ready to brief with minor updates. We briefed COL Thurman in his office well before dawn and he - a brilliant guy and never one to let an opportunity to seize the initiative - gave us specific guidance and off we went to be ready as we could.

The next few days were feverish as we prepared to deploy. Part of the process of preparing for the division ready force is doing all the bureaucratic things which must be done before any deployment so we were pretty ready in that regard. Our units spent most of the time, therefore, getting the guns and vehicles rigged for heavy drop, not knowing where the drop might be and with no certainty we wouldn't actually land and have to 'derig' our equipment on the ground. Of course, we had to be ready for the most demanding scenario so we rigged for heavy drop.

The media - such as it was in those days - descended on FT Bragg as did more C-130s and C-141s than I knew existed. The Department of Defense was pulling out all the stops and the demonstration of our ability to move a force of our size and capability was amazing! Only the US can do something like that. Well, we got our equipment ready with artillery ammunition loaded and ready to go. Our troops were ready to go quickly and within the timeline requirements. Our kids then moved to Pope AFB waiting to be ordered on board the aircraft and to have the last step completed, the issue of small arms ammunition. The battalion staff worked from our offices but no one went home for about a week as we stood by for orders and slept and ate by our desks.

This isolation and the suppression of the release of information was difficult for all of our families. I was a bachelor at the time so it wasn't so bad for me but, as Adjutant, I was the one who had to take most of the telephone calls from anxious wives and parents. Everyone really knew what was going on since the media was speculating and reporting on our preparations but these wives and families wanted real badly for someone like me to provide information about their loved ones. I'm afraid I wasn't much help because my orders were pretty explicit but I did use a "code" with some wives which I hope helped them understand better what was going on.

Well, we sat, waited, and waited some more, wondering if we were ever going to deploy, while we watched the media for reports about the war and what the Soviets were doing. I know I was very worried about facing Syrian, Egyptian, or Soviet armor since the division had inadequate antiarmor capability at that time. Our 105mm howitzers were singularly inadequate in engaging tanks, the division had few attack helicopters, the infantry's 106mm recoilless rifles were WWII/Korean War relics, and our few M551 "Sheridan" Armored Assault Vehicles were aluminum vehicles masquerading as tanks. I'm afraid an armored force would have cut through us with our only hope in USAF, USN, or USMC tactical air support. We would have written an exciting page in the history of the 82d Airborne, though!

We knew negotiations were underway for a ceasefire which would prevent the Israelis from destroying the Egyptian army and allow each side enough of its goals to permit a "declaration of victory". Amazingly, the negotiations were successful and essentially the "status quo ante" was reestablished. Everyone backed off and President Nixon lowered the armed forces' readiness levels. Never did finish the CPX!

The Boys and Girls Who Become Paratroopers

Paratroopers are strange people! As the old saying goes - and it applies perfectly in this case, of course - "who wants to jump from a perfectly good airplane?", correctly implying something exceptional about paratroopers. The "skytroopers" in the 82nd Airborne Division were then - and remain - among the best the Army has to offer but they have a lot of testosterone to burn so they can do some strange things in their quest constantly to prove themselves. Those with whom I served were no exception.

This enthusiasm was most welcome in comparison with what was going on in the rest of the Army at that time. It was pretty bad in the early 1970s. As is well know, the Army had been torn apart by its experience in Vietnam. Most American ground combat units had been withdrawn from Vietnam by this time but the problems which began there and had been reinforced by resistance to authority by youth throughout society had spread generally in the Army and were peaking. The last draftees wanted out of the service and were generally sullen and resentful. Drugs - ever harder ones - were a serious problem, of course. Race problems were serious and escalating. Officers were attacked and, on some posts, officers on duty, particularly at night, had to do so under arms. These were very dark days for America's Army, only made worse in the next few years as budget cuts prevented modernization and reduced realistic training. Morale was at a low.

But paratroopers have always been volunteers because they want to wear the beret, wear the shiny, bloused boots, and pin those wings on their chests: to be the best. They want to be good soldiers and be proud of whom and what they are. I had experienced some of the Army's problems in my service in Korea but most of them did not exist at FT Bragg.

One Friday afternoon when I was commanding a field artillery battery I had a chance to talk to three or four of my soldiers as they were leaving the barracks to begin their weekend. I asked them what damage they were going to do this weekend and the response was "Sir, there's a rodeo this weekend in Charlotte and we're going over to ride the God damn bulls!" Not one of these soldiers had grown up in the west nor had any bullriding experience but it seemed perfectly logical to them that their first exposure in this way to a bull should be in front of thousands of people in a professional rodeo! I asked them if they really thought this was a good idea but they were not to be dissuaded and off they went. I wondered all weekend what I would find in Monday morning's battery formation, fully expecting to be informed I would have to write difficult letters to some parents. I was pleasantly surprised and relieved on Monday to learn the group of four had only suffered lots of bruises, one broken arm, and the realization that a parachute is nothing like an angry rodeo bull. When I asked them how their rides had gone, they agreed it had been something they were glad they had done but not something they wanted to do again!

Just because an individual loves to parachute jump doesn't also mean he's a very reliable in other soldierly duties. For example, my battery had a pair of twins from New York City who were born in Puerto Rico. The Mendez brothers loved to jump but on every Friday that they could, they would leave FT Bragg and drive straight through to New York City. Nothing wrong with this, of course, if they could be standing tall in formation every Monday morning. Unfortunately, this was usually not the case. In fact, they would usually drag in about Wednesday! The First Sergeant and I were always awaiting their return with the punishment paperwork ready to be dated and signed. The punishment I gave them varied and was increasingly more painful but it always included periods of weekend restriction to barracks so I could count on their being around on those weekends when they were restricted. I believe in retrospect, though, the punishment would have been more effective if I had somehow reduced the number of their parachute jumps because I'll always remember their heavily accented question at the end of my telling them what their punishment was: "Sir, can we still 'ump. Can we still 'ump, sir?".

The testosterone was raging in these kids and they had to find ways to release it. It seems fighting was a particularly preferred way to do so. I believe guys in the 82d Airborne prefer to fight civilians but if there aren't any around their next preference is Marines (and Quantico was close enough that this was frequently possible). Next on the preference line was "leg", i.e., nonairborne qualified soldiers, and, finally, each other if necessary.

Downtown Fayetteville was a pretty tough place in those days, particularly on the infamous Hay Street with its bars, strip joints, tattoo parlors, pawn shops, and other places I don't even want to know about. Hay Street was a particularl wild, crazy, and, of course, dangerous place to be on Friday and Saturday nights. Generally, groups of guys would meet in the middle of the street around midnight for a miniriot to establish their "bona fides". How the police handled that every week, I'll never know! Linda was assigned to FT Bragg's Womack Army Hospital for that period and she told me of the always busy emergency room filled with guys with broken bones, lacerations, and black eyes.

One Monday a couple of my soldiers remarkably told me about the trouble they had caused the previous Saturday night and of which they were very proud. It seems they had trouble with a bouncer in one of the bars so, having been thrown out of the joint, they returned to their car where one of them had a tear gas canister. They laughed heartily on retelling how they had thrown the tear gas canister into the club and watched the patrons run pell mell into the street, crying and screaming. I gave them a stern lecture, of course, about how people could have been hurt but somehow I don't think it was going to make a difference next time!

On another occasion one of my troopers apparently had too much to drink one afternoon and decided to step into the area between our barracks and the adjacent barracks of the soldiers of a sister battalion in DIVARTY to announce he could "whip the ass of anyone". Well, a couple of soldiers of that unit responded to his challenge and at least one of them proved my soldier wasn't as good as he thought - at least in the state he was in. Of course, this little fracas was observed by others from my battery and other batteries in the battalion so they came to my guy's aid. In a short while, as I was told later, a full scale brawl was underway between the two buildings, perhaps involving a total of fifty or so "All Americans".

Someone must have called the DIVARTY Staff Duty Officer, a young Captain, and he responded quickly. He arrived in uniform and wearing the arm brassard of the SDO. As he told the story later, he pushed into the middle of the brawl, identifying himself and trying to pull the two sides apart. The next thing he recalled was being slugged by an unidentified brawler and slumping to the ground. The brawl apparently ended when its participants realized someone could be in very serious trouble: an officer performing his official duties having been put "down and out". I'm sure a mad disappearance occurred as the SDO slowly regained his feet. In retrospect, he was successful in stopping the brawl but I am certain he would choose an alternative means in the future. To hear the soldiers in both battalions later, absolutely nothing happened and, anyway, "I wasn't there!"

Commanding paratroopers is a tough job. You want them to be model soldiers - disciplined, highly trained, courteous - but you also know that what makes them tough soldiers, ready to jump into dangerous situations frequently works against their being model soldiers. It may not have been model soldiers who jumped into Normandy or who held Bastogne against impossible odds but, rather, some mean bastards who refused to give up. No 'cookie cutter' leadership styles were possible then or now!

Looking Back

My three and one half years in the 82d Airborne Division were exciting and rewarding. I had served in Korea already and, in fact, had commanded a battery there but the 82d trained so much more and harder than we did in Korea. My fellow officers were the best and I am still in contact with several of them. Unfortunately, my time in the 82d was also my last assignment in a troop unit. From the time I left FT Bragg in spring 1976 until I retired in early 1997 I was either in a school or a very senior headquarters, far from troops. I won't deny I didn't miss some of the "babysitting" aspects of being responsible for troops but I did miss drawing energy and enthusiasm from them. I enjoyed the work I did thereafter but it wasn't the same!