Twenty minutes later, Jason stood at attention as Captain Willis pinned a gold second lieutenant’s bar on his right epaulet. “I’m proud that you asked me to do the honors,” Willis said. “I’m just sorry your mom and dad couldn’t be here to pin on the other bar.”
Jason held his head proudly. “Sir, you taught me more than you’ll ever know. Thank you.”
Willis pinned on the other bar and shook the young officer’s hand. “Congratulations, Lieutenant Johnson. You take care of our soldiers. They deserve the very best this country can give … and they’re going to get it in you. The best of luck.”
Jason raised his hand in a rigid salute. “I will, sir. I promise.”
Willis stepped back one pace and returned the salute. He wanted to say more but knew he’d said enough in the past weeks. Johnson was ready. He was an exceptional leader who wouldn’t let his soldiers down. “So long, Jay. Take care of yourself over there.”
He lowered his salute and strode toward the door. There was no time for sentiment or reflection. Outside, standing in the cold, was another class of 220 young men wanting to learn to be leaders. And in the group there would be another like Johnson. There always was.
The large green bus squeaked to a halt and the door swung open, letting in the biting cold and a tired staff sergeant. “All right, people, this is it—the United States Army Airborne School. You will first be inprocessed at the IRP. Move off the bus with all bags and baggage and assemble on the white lines to your right. I will call your names and you will enter the building with your records in your hands. You will fill in the classroom from front to rear without leaving a chair empty. You will keep your mouth shut and your ears open until you have completed inprocessing. At no time will you smoke, spit, talk, or go to the latrine without permission. You will have one minute to clear this bus … oh yeah, welcome.”
Ty picked up his bags and filed off the bus. The ride had been a short one. His AIT company had been located on the sprawling post of Fort Benning in a place called Harmony Church. There was no church or harmony in the desolate outpost nestled among tall pines, but there were World War II barracks and cranky sergeants whose business it was to make infantrymen of basic soldiers. Ty had spent eight weeks learning infantry weapons, radios, tactics, land navigation, first aid, tactical formations, map reading, and misery. Harmony Church was twenty minutes from the main post of Fort Benning and thirty from the strip joints of Victory Drive, but they might as well have been on the moon for all he had seen of the post or downtown. They’d been kept in complete isolation and never had a pass or leave. The bus ride through the main post to the Airborne training area was like a ride through Disneyland for young men who had not seen civilization for eight weeks. The bus had been strangely silent. There was none of the usual smoking and joking. Each man was living out his own fantasies as he noticed cars, children, and women along the busy streets and sidewalks. The bus driver had pointed out the three huge orange-and-white towers looming up in the middle of the post. “Them’s the 250-foot jump towers you boys be jumpin’ from.”
Ty walked into the dilapidated classroom building and was about to take his seat when he abruptly halted. On the other side of the room was a lieutenant staring at him. Jason! Thinner, crew-cut, and looking three years older, but Ty still couldn’t mistake him.
“You, Private Nance,” Jason bellowed, “report to the back of the room.”
He strode down the aisle and waited with a scowl until Ty halted in front of him. Both men broke into smiles and embraced each other, bringing stares from the others. Jason put his arm around Ty’s shoulder and led him to a back room. “Damn, little brother, you look great, except for that skinhead haircut.”
Ty ran his hand over the black stubble and looked over his brother’s fitted uniform. “You don’t look so bad either, Loo-tenant brother, sir.”
Jason laughed and hugged him again. “I’ve missed you.” Ty clapped his brother’s back, feeling emotions he had forgotten he possessed. He hadn’t hugged a man since he had embraced Jason a century ago.
Jason backed up a step and shook his head. “I’ve been trying to contact you for a month. Didn’t you get my letters?”
“Yeah, but … well, I …”
“I know,” said Jason quickly, seeing his discomfort and giving him an out. “You were busy as hell, same as me. But did you get a letter off to Mom? She was really upset that you hadn’t written. You know she wrote a congressman to find out where you were?”
Ty smiled faintly. “You think Mom was upset, you shoulda’seen my first sergeant when the congressional inquiry came down. He brought me in and chewed my ass for ten minutes for not writing and made me write a letter in front of him. He put a stamp on it and mailed it personally. I had to write one once a week after that, and he escorted me to the mailbox. Ya might say me and Top got real close.”
Jason chuckled, knowing the Army establishment hated congressional because they had to be answered. “Mom wrote and told me where you were. I called a couple of times, but your unit was in the field. They said you’d be reporting in for Airborne School today, so I thought I’d better see ya before goin’ home on leave. Mom would have killed me if I hadn’t.”
“Tell her I’m doing good, Jay. And yeah, I’ll write once a week.”
“You bet, but you’ll be home in three weeks yourself. We’ll all be home for Christmas, and Mom is really looking forward to it.”
Ty nodded noncommittally. “Yeah.… Hey, what’s this Mom said about you going to Airborne and Ranger schools? You gettin’ pretty gung ho, ain’tcha?”
Jason noted Ty’s eyes when he mentioned going back home for leave and felt a stab of pain in his heart. He knew Ty wouldn’t be coming. He covered his pain with a faint smile. “Look who’s talkin about gung ho. I never thought you’d want to be a paratrooper. What happened, they draft you into it?”
Ty pulled out his dog tag chain. “Remember these? I’m gonna be a Red Hill Paratrooper, just like dad and Richard. They both wore these wings, and in three weeks I’ll be wearin’ ’em.”
The staff sergeant stepped in the doorway. “Lieutenant, I’m starting inprocessing in two minutes. The private needs to be in his seat.”
Jason nodded. “He’s coming, Sergeant, thank you.”
Ty put his hand out. “I guess I’d better get goin’. Take care of yourself, Jay, and give Mom a hug for me … and check the hill for me.”
Jason ignored his hand and hugged him. “I’m so proud of you … come home Ty, please.”
Ty gave Jason the same distant look and smiled. “Sure, I’ll see you then. Hey, take the ‘Widow’ out of mothballs and give her a spin.” Ty turned to leave but stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, too … and, brother, I love you.”
He turned away so that Jason wouldn’t see his tears and quickly walked out of the room.
* * *
Jason leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes. In fifteen minutes he would be landing in Atlanta. After a two-hour layover he would catch a flight to Dallas, then Oklahoma City. He would be home by eight o’clock that evening. Home. The small house that always smelled of fresh-baked bread would embrace him with its warmth and memories. Home. The smiles and hugs of love from his mother and father would be the same as before. The familiar faces in Meyers and the looming majesty of the hill would welcome him. Yes, home. It was going to be good to be back, but he knew it really wouldn’t be the same. Ty wouldn’t be coming home. It was in his eyes.
“Coffee, Lieutenant?”
Jason looked up to see who the stewardess was talking to and was surprised to see she was looking directly at him. “Lieutenant”; God, it sounded good. He’d forgotten. “No thank you, ma’am.”
The hostess smiled. “Just holler if you need anything. Keep your seat belt fastened. It’s a short flight.”
Ty reported to 44th Airborne Company and was given a barracks assignment. Training would start on Monday morning, just three days away. He tossed
his duffle bag down by his bunk and began unpacking. He stowed away his uniforms and boots, then picked up the large bundles of letters he’d kept and lay down on his bunk. The letters from his mother he tossed in his footlocker.
Her words of love and devotion caused immediate warmth to spread through him. He desperately wanted to see her and go home but he couldn’t. He had prepared himself and couldn’t go home until it was over.
A cloud of vapor puffed into the darkness from Jason’s nostrils as he dug his boots into the red soil and churned his arms. Conditioned after twenty-four weeks of getting up early, he’d been rolling out of bed every morning at five and running up the trail to Red Hill. Today was no exception, despite the cold, biting wind that nipped at his ears and nose. A part of him was home, but another part was still at Fort Benning. One part was enjoying the love and warmth of the family, while the other fought to retain the regime of a soldier going to combat. Seeing the top of the hill in the early morning grayness, he pushed himself harder to feel the familiar pain that would signal he’d hit the edge. His body smoked as he topped the crest with the last of his strength. He slowed to a walk and felt elation in the challenge. His lungs burned with the cold air, but he’d won the race with the sun for the first time.
Jason faced east, just as the orange ball peeked over the purple horizon. He smiled at his small victory and walked toward the cemetery to complete the work he’d started two days before. Opening the gate, he knelt by the third tombstone to pull out the tall, yellowed grass.
Jason tossed the grass over the fence and looked back at the other markers where the two paratroopers rested. He knew they were smiling somehow, somewhere.
Ty stood at parade rest with five hundred other men, waiting. From up a small hill they came, their jump boots glistening in the early morning sunlight. Running in a small formation, in perfect step, wearing starched fatigue trousers and gray sweatshirts with master parachute wings painted on the front, the infamous Black Hats, the Airborne instructors, were coming to deal out misery and woe. Each of them wore a black cap with shining parachute wings pinned exactly one and one-half inches up and centered on the cap. They turned off the road onto the gravel, their boots crunching ominously on the stones. Five hundred pairs of eyes strained to watch the instructors as they came closer.
“COMP-A-NEEee, AH-tench-HUT!” the student company commander yelled.
A large Airborne instructor captain strode forward and positioned himself in front of the student company commander, who immediately raised his hand in a salute. “SIR, AIRBORNE CLASS NUMBER 46 DASH 66 IS PREPARED FOR INSPECTION!”
The captain looked at him with disdain. “We’ll see about that, leg!” He quickly returned the salute and lifted his head. “INSTRUC-TORS, CONDUCT INSPECTION!”
Ty was third in line in the first platoon and saw the instructors return the salute with precision and lower their hands, slapping their legs in the traditional “pop” of all black hats. The instructor assigned to his squad stepped in front of the first victim. “Leg, what did you shine those boots with, a Hershey bar? Drop!… Legs, this is the first stick. It is not a squad or section, that’s nasty leg talk. You are the FIRST STICK.” He stepped to the next man. “Leg, did you shave today?”
“Ya … Yes, Sergeant.”
“Wrong, leg, you thought you shaved! THAT is a leg shave. You have nasty leg hairs under your nose. You said ‘yes’ to me. In Airborne you will say ‘CLEAR, Sergeant.’ Is that clear, leg?”
“Yes, Sergeant! Uh … I mean, CLEAR, Sergeant!”
“Drop, leg!” The sergeant took a step back. “First Stick, YOU WILL spit-shine your boots. YOU WILL shave closely. YOU WILL wear a clean, serviceable uniform. YOU WILL wear your parachutist helmet properly with chin strap right side up. YOU WILL say CLEAR instead of yes. YOU WILL shine your belt buckle, and YOU WILL address me as Sergeant AIRBORNE!”
He strode to Ty and scowled. “Leg, you have the prettiest scar I ever saw. Who are you?”
“Sergeant Airborne, I am Private Nance!”
“Wrong, LEG! The tape on your helmet says Roster Number Twenty-two. Now, WHO are you, leg?”
“Sergeant Airborne, I am Roster Number Twenty-two!”
“OUT-standing! But your boots are cruddy, your belt buckle looks like something is growing on it, your chin strap is on upside down, AND your scar is too pretty. DROP!”
Ty began to get down in the front leaning rest position like the others and do push-ups when the sergeant bent over and barked, “REE-COVER, leg!… Leg, when I say ‘drop,’ you drop like you been hit in the head with a two-by-four soaked in motor oil. You got down entirely too slow. DROP!”
Thirty minutes later, the inspection was over and no one had passed. Ty had heard about the initial inspection and knew it was the tone setter. It established the high standards of Airborne. Tomorrow, if a man showed up with a gig, he’d pay by having his name taken and would be sent to the gig pit, where a collection of specially selected NCOs “convinced” the offender that he didn’t really want to be a paratrooper. Only a small group of men who went to the gig pit returned. Most would be “convinced” by the extra, exhausting PT to conform to standards or quit.
Following inspection, the company took a PT test consisting of push-ups, sit-ups, knee bends, pull-ups, and a two-mile run. Forty-five men failed and were absent from the ranks when the company formed up again to start training. Ty was now the second man in the stick when the platoon sergeant approached with four other instructors. “Legs, we have made the first cut. We started with 110 men in this platoon, and we now have 98. Look at the man to your left … now the one to your right … now the one to your rear. Legs, one of them other legs is not going to make it. It might be you! This is the mighty First Platoon. You will double-time everywhere you go. And when you move, you move like LIGHTNING and sound like THUNDER!”
“Legs, you are about to jump from the thirty-four-foot tower. You have for the past two days learned to properly put on your parachute harness and reserve parachute. You have learned to hit the ground utilizing a PLF, Parachute Landing Fall, insuring to make contact with the ground with all five points of contact. The five points of contact are, again, the balls of the feet, calf, thigh, buttocks, and latissimus dorsi muscle, better known as the pushup muscle. You have learned the jump commands inside the aircraft and learned, utilizing the mock door, how to jump from an aircraft while it is in flight. Now you will have the opportunity to experience what it is like to actually jump outside of an aircraft. You will be hooked up to a set of risers that are connected to a cable. Once you exit the door you will receive an opening shock similar to that of the real thing and slide down the cable to the mound to your far right.
“Legs, you must remember what we taught you and take up a good door position with your head up, arms extended with palms facing out and barely touching the outside skin of the aircraft. Have your legs slightly bent and buttocks down. On the command of ‘GO,’ leap vigorously out thirty-six inches and up six inches. You snap your chin to your chest and pop your hands to your reserve. Keeping a good, tight body position, your legs should be together and you should be slightly bent at the waist, insuring to keep your eyes open and count the required four seconds.
“Legs, we have discussed the five points of performance. They are: keep a tight body position and count, check canopy, keep a sharp lookout during descent and avoid fellow jumpers, prepare to land, and land. Legs, move to the tower and remember everything I just told you … MOVE!”
Ty tried to run, but the parachute harness fit so tightly that all he could manage was a bent-over waddle. The soldier to his front approached the steps of the tower and stopped. “I ain’t going up there, man.”
Ty slapped his back reassuringly. “Look up, man, it ain’t that high. No sweat, it’s a piece a cake.”
“No way!”
A Black Hat stepped in front of the scared soldier. “Roster Number Twenty-one, you have exactly five seconds to make up your mind whether you wan
t to be a paratrooper and get up those steps.”
The wide-eyed soldier shook his head. “I … I can’t do it.”
The Black Hat pointed to the harness shed. “Move out, quitter. You’re gone! Next man, move up the steps!”
Ty reached the top of the tower, where there was an enclosed tin mock-up of the back of an aircraft. On both sides of the mock-up were exact replicas of jump doors. A Black Hat barked, “Come here, leg!”
The sergeant hooked up two risers to Ty’s parachute harness and gave the jump command, “Stand in the door!”
Ty remembered to shuffle his feet and stomp his right foot into the doorway. He immediately crouched, raised his head to look at the horizon and threw his arms out, with the palms facing the skin of the aircraft. He remembered everything, but his eyes failed him and he glanced downward. Ooooh shit! It didn’t seem that high from the ground, but from where he stood, it looked like it was a mile up. There was nothing out there to catch him. No soft sawdust to soften the blow if the risers broke. Nothing but lots and lots of empty space.
“GO!”
He tried to respond, but his body and eyes knew it was suicidal. He tried to leap, but his feet were glued to the floor.
the Hill (1995) Page 15
