the Hill (1995)

by Scott, Leonard B

  “GO!”

  Ty was about to turn around and ask for additional advice when he felt a powerful shove and was propelled into space. All the training, all the lectures, all the dry runs were forgotten. He did what instinct told him to do—he clamped his eyes shut and waited to die. The opening shock of the risers slapped his face like a boxer’s one-two jab, and his testicles seemed to have been smashed up into his stomach by the harness leg straps. In excruciating pain, he opened his eyes, feeling himself sliding down the cable toward a huge mound of dirt. At the last second he remembered to raise his feet to keep from smashing his legs into the mound of dirt at twenty miles an hour. Barely clearing the mound, he slid up the cable to its stop, where two men caught him. They immediately unhooked his risers and pointed to the small, gray building under the tower. This was the grader’s shack. Seated inside was an instructor who graded each door exit.

  Ty checked to see if he would ever be able to have children and loosened the harness to ease the pain. Taking a deep breath to control his shaking, he jogged with an exaggerated waddle toward what he knew was going to be an ass chewing.

  “Sergeant Airborne, Roster Number Twenty-Two reports.”

  “Twenty-two, you did absolutely nothing right! The only thing tight on your exit was your eyes. It was a night jump for you. Twenty-two, you were hit in the face because you didn’t put your chin on your chest. You spread your legs and will probably talk like a girl for a week. Go up and do it again!”

  Ty’s face registered shock. AGAIN! He’d almost killed himself and the fool wanted him to do it AGAIN? The sergeant had just said he’d done nothing right. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this after all.

  The sergeant shook his head, seeing his shocked expression. “Turn around and look at this next jumper!”

  Ty looked up just as the frightened man tumbled out of the door forgetting even to stand in the door properly. The young soldier’s lips were curled back in anticipation of dying, and his eyes were so tightly closed that his face seemed disfigured. The risers snapped his head up just as they had done to Ty.

  The instructor frowned as he marked his clipboard. “Twenty-two, nobody does it right the first time. The first jump is just to give you confidence in the equipment. Now you know you ain’t gonna die, so get up there and concentrate on what we have been teaching you. MOVE, LEG!”

  Five jumps later, Ty slid down the cable without a trace of fear. It was getting to be fun. He’d messed up his vigorous leap several times but had learned to keep his head down and eyes open. He’d felt his last jump had been perfect. “Sergeant Airborne, Roster Number Twenty-two reports.” The sergeant glanced up. “Twenty-two, that was a satisfactory exit. You’re finally gettin’ the hang of it. Exchange your harness with the next man, then move to the bench and watch this flying circus … good job.”

  Jason dragged the tree up the hill and sat down on the log bench to rest. The chopping down of the small cedar tree for Christmas had been surprisingly tough. The wood was either harder than steel or the axe was in desperate need of sharpening.

  The cold wind whipped around him as he leaned back and absorbed the beautiful view. He now understood why Ty had loved his hill so. It was like a different world, unspoiled and so wonderfully quiet. No hustle or bustle, no time schedules to meet, no demands, no grinding of gears or whining of engines. The hill sat alone, untouched by time or altered by man, and seemed to exude a feeling of blissful peace. Quiet peace, a time to think and reflect. Constant, tranquil peace permeated everything growing and living on the magical red soil.

  Jason felt the first chill and slowly stood. He didn’t want to leave. He glanced at the headstones wishing the protectors well and picked up the tree. It was time to go back to the other world.

  “You sure you know somethin’ about building sheds?”

  Ty struggled to keep up with the sergeant as he strode toward the closest 250-foot tower. “Like I said, Sergeant Airborne, I built three or four back home.”

  Master Sergeant Cherry slowed as he approached a large group of men snapping in a parachute around a large steel rim with cables attached to its top. The soldiers were performing the chore of rig and run. A specially modified parachute was attached to the metal ring and raised to the top of the tower with a jumper dangling under the steel rim. The parachute and jumper were raised by cable to a catch that automatically released the parachute from the ring. The parachute, already inflated, floated downward and performed exactly like the standard-issue T-10 parachute, giving the jumper practical experience in maneuvering and landing.

  Master Sergeant Cherry motioned to the closest instructor, who immediately jogged over. “Sam, I want you to put Twenty-two up next. I know he’s not in your platoon, but I got to get some grader sheds built, and this trooper knows how to build ’em. When he gets finished, send him over to supply.”

  The instructor smiled. “Sarge, you been scroungin’ again, huh? Sure, no sweat. I’ll square him away and he’ll be over in a few minutes.”

  Ty was glad the sergeants were sure he would survive the 250-foot fall, but he wasn’t quite as convinced. He now knew that when the tower branch chief NCO had asked if anyone had experience building houses or sheds he should have remained silent. He violated the rule of all low-ranking soldiers: never volunteer for nothin’. The master sergeant had taken him out of training on the swing landing trainer and brought him immediately to the tower to complete the critical tower jump. The platoons revolved in training, and he wouldn’t have had time to build a shed and jump. Damn! The men who were jumping from the tower had received an hour class that he hadn’t been present for. Maybe there was something he was supposed to do or know before going up the incredible height.

  “Twenty-two, get over here!” commanded the instructor. “Put this harness on and stand right there. You’ll be going up next.”

  “Sergeant Airborne, what do I do when I get up there?”

  The instructor broke from the traditional scowl and smiled. “You look around at the view and then fall. Keep your feet and knees together and relax. Do a dynamite PLF once you make contact with the ground. Nothin’ to it.”

  Ty put on the harness and placed his hands on his helmet for inspection. Nothing to it? He was going to be raised 250 feet in the air, suspended below a silk umbrella, and released into space. My God, how could he say “nothing to it”?

  The sergeant quickly cinched the leg straps up tighter and slapped his buttocks, the traditional Airborne signal for “you’re checked and okay. Move to the ring.”

  Ty moved in slow motion over to several men who fitted the parachute risers into his canopy release assemblies and stood back. The ring began rising, taking out the slack of the suspension lines, until Ty was suddenly lifted from the ground. Oooooh shit!

  The ride up was short and spectacular. The view was breathtaking, but he wasn’t interested in the view. He was trying not to move a muscle as he prayed that the contraption would hold together. Suddenly, he was lifted another six feet and released. The drop forced his stomach into his throat, and he quit breathing. The parachute billowed and popped into a full blossom of green silk, jerking him upward in a slight jolt. There was no pain, no noise, no sudden rush to the ground. He was floating. He yelled, “AIRrrrr-BORNE!” unable to contain his joy at surviving and experiencing the indescribable feeling of floating. It’s great, super, unbelievable, it’s … oh hell, the ground!

  Ty hit the plowed field and crumpled into a green ball. He lay still for a moment and yelled again. “AIRrrrBORNE!” It didn’t hurt at all. It was like jumping off a four-foot wall. Piece a cake.

  The C-119 roared down the runway and lifted off into the crisp, cold air. Ty swallowed hard, and tried to concentrate on what he’d been taught. It was useless. His mind was a blank. It was the first airplane he’d ever ridden in, and he was going to jump out of the damn thing. The jumpmaster stood up and clapped his hands over the outside engine noise. He stomped his foot and held up his hands, yelling, “SIX MI
NUTES!”

  Ty and his stick of jumpers yelled back, “SIX MINUTES,” and began rocking their bodies back and forth to awaken anyone who might have fallen asleep. Ty knew the six-minute warning was one of the jump commands, but he couldn’t imagine anyone sleeping at a time like this. A minute later, the jumpmaster stomped his foot forward again and commanded, “GET READY!”

  All the jumpers stomped their lead foot out and slapped their legs while yelling, “GET READY!”

  The jumpmaster yelled, “UNFASTEN SEATBELTS … INBOARD PERSONNEL, STAND UP!… OUTBOARD PERSONNEL, STAND UP!”

  Ty fought to overcome the weight of his chute and struggled to his feet.

  “HOOKUP!”

  Ty unfastened the snap hook from his reserve carrying handle and hooked up the metal device to the cable above his right shoulder. He then formed a bite in the static line just six inches down from the snap hook and held on for dear life with his right hand.

  “CHECK STATIC LINES!”

  Each jumper kept his grip of the static line and traced the yellow nylon cord with his other hand to make sure that it wasn’t frayed and that it was attached properly to the parachute pack.

  “CHECK EQUIPMENT!”

  Ty ran his hand over his chin strap, then looked at his harness. Everything was still in place and secure.

  “SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK!”

  The last jumper in the stick stomped his foot and slapped the jumper’s buttocks to his front, yelling “O-KAY!” Each jumper did the identical drill, passing up the okay signal.

  Ty was the lead jumper and could hear the word being passed forward. “O-kay … O-kay … O-kay … O-KAY!… O-KAY!” He felt his butt being slapped, and he stomped his foot down and pointed at the jumpmaster’s face, yelling, “ALL OKAY, JUMPMASTER!”

  The sergeant shot his thumb up and nodded toward the Air Force crew chief, who opened the side door, letting in a burst of light and icy cold wind.

  Ty could see nothing but blue sky and prayed that the pilot knew what he was doing.

  The jumpmaster grasped the door, and to Ty’s horror, leaned out into the 120-knot wind. His face contorted in folds of blowing skin. What the … he’s gone CRAZY!

  The sergeant pulled himself back into the aircraft and held up his finger. “ONE MINUTE!” He leaned out the door again and rotated his head all around, making sure there were no other air-crafts nearby, and stepped back. “THIRTY SECONDS!”

  Taking one more look to make sure the drop zone smoke was still white, meaning winds were safe, the jumpmaster stepped out of the door and pointed directy at Ty. “DROP ZONE COMING UP … STAND IN THE DOOR!”

  Ty shuffled to the sunlight and handed the static line to the jumpmaster before stomping his foot on the edge of the jump platform and extending his hands. He held his head up, ignoring the 120-knot winds tearing at his fatigue pants, but he couldn’t ignore the ground speeding by 1,250 feet below. My God, they’re serious! We’re gonna do it! OOOOOh shit, I don’t remember what …

  The red light in the door frame went off and the green light came on. The jumpmaster slapped Ty’s buttocks. “GO!”

  Ty had no time to think or react. His repetitive training did it for him. He leaped without thinking and snapped into a tight body position. “Onethousand, twothousand, threethousand, fourthou … oooOOH!”

  The jerk knocked the rest of his words out of him. With a “pop,” the green canopy of silk settled over Ty, shading his face in the most beautiful sight in the world, his canopy fully deployed. “AIRrrrrrBORNE!”

  20

  Roster number twenty-two, fall out and report to the back of the sweat shed.”

  Ty had just thrown his parachute onto the table when he heard his number called over the loudspeaker. He jogged down the crowded aisle of fellow jumpers to the back of the shed, where he saw Master Sergeant Cherry standing with his hands on his hips.

  The sergeant looked more like an old football player than an Airborne instructor. His body was heavily muscled, and his neck was as thick as a tree trunk. The black cap cast a sinister shadow over his face. “Nance, I got a deal for you.”

  Ty immediately became suspicious; the sergeant hadn’t called him by his roster number. “What is it, Sergeant Airborne?”

  “Nance, you’re not gonna be goin’ to Vietnam as soon as you think. I just pulled a few strings and had your orders delayed a month. I got a bunch of grader shacks that need to be rebuilt and can’t be waitin’ on engineer support that probably will never come. I talked to Sergeant Major, and he fixed it for me. You’re mine until the end of January. When you graduate today, you will be moving to the headquarters barracks and reporting to me tomorrow morning. I’ll put you on leave until the first week in January, and then we can get started. I know you’re thinking this isn’t much of a deal, but trooper, I’m keepin’ you out of da Nam for a month. Believe me, that’s a deal.”

  Ty had stiffened. “Sergeant Airborne, I wanna go to Vietnam. The sooner I get it over, the sooner I can get home.”

  The master sergeant frowned. “Trooper, it’s too late. I already got your orders cut. I can’t go back now and change ’em. You can go home on leave, so it ain’t that bad.”

  Ty cussed himself for volunteering the week before and sighed in resignation. “I won’t need the leave, Sergeant Airborne. I’ll get to work after I graduate.”

  Cherry eyed him more closely. “Don’t you wanna go home for Christmas?”

  Ty’s eyes lowered. “I’d rather be busy.”

  Cherry felt a pang of sadness for the young paratrooper, knowing that either he didn’t have the money to go home or there were troubles there. “Okay, Nance, you start tomorrow. By the way, good luck to you today.”

  Ty nodded and turned around to go back and chute up. Cherry sighed and barked softly, “Nance.”

  Ty looked over his shoulder. “Yo, Sergeant Airborne.”

  “Nance, since you’re mine, I guess I should at least pin your wings on today. Don’t you crash and burn on me, and I’ll see ya at graduation.”

  Ty grinned. “Piece a cake.”

  Ty shuffled to the door wanting out of the aircraft. The plane had made several dry passes over the drop zone without dropping troops because of high winds. After the fourth pass, the jumpmaster saw white smoke, signaling winds were now within limits. The longer flight and anticipation had gotten to four jumpers, who vomited in the aisle and immediately caused a chain reaction from half the stick. The aircraft floor was slick with liquefied breakfast. Ty was in the middle of the stick and was trying to breathe through his mouth so as not to smell the sickening bile. He approached the door feeling no fear. He stomped his foot on the edge of the doorway and leaped.

  The gusting wind tore at his body as he hurdled toward the ground. The static line became taut and pulled open the pack tray, releasing the folds of silk that quickly caught air and unfurled into a green half-sphere.

  When Ty looked up and saw his canopy, he froze. Another jumper was heading directly for his chute.

  The jumper’s risers were twisted above his head, and he couldn’t see where he was going. Ty began to scream a warning, but it was too late. The jumper hit the billowing silk and panicked. He grabbed hold of the skirt of the canopy.

  Ty knew it was just a matter of time. He’d listened to the malfunction class and knew the other jumper’s parachute would float over his and collapse. The instructor had explained that the lower chute takes the air so that a chute passing over another gets no updraft and collapses. It wasn’t dangerous at high altitude because the upper jumper would fall below the lower jumper and his chute would reinflate. But if one of the jumpers didn’t slip away quickly, they would continue the process of one chute stealing air from the other, a phenomenon known as “leap frogging,” until the last jumper stole the air and the other plummeted the last forty feet to the ground without an inflated canopy. The instructor had warned all of them to never, never, NEVER grab another’s canopy during leap frogging. If a man held onto the i
nflated parachute and his chute collapsed, his weight would pull the good canopy with him and cause the chute to collapse.

  Ty screamed, “LET GO! LET GO OF THE CHUTE!”

  The jumper’s chute floated over Ty’s and fluttered for an instant, then collapsed. The jumper screamed, feeling himself fall, and held on to Ty’s chute for dear life. The canopy tilted with his weight and suddenly became a fluttering jumble of silk.

  Ty was prepared to pull his reserve but wasn’t ready for the sudden plunge. Without a parachute he was nothing more than a rock propelling toward earth. He yanked the reserve handle with all his strength and was hit in the chin by the small, spring-loaded pilot chute. The miniature chute ripped upward and pulled the rest of the white reserve parachute from its container. He was jolted upward, and then as fast was jerked down. The other jumper was dangling twenty feet below him, hopelessly entangled in Ty’s original parachute.

  Ty looked at the ground only 300 feet below and prayed the jumper’s parachute fluttering in a jumble beside him didn’t suddenly inflate and become entangled with his reserve. The ground was coming up fast. The reserve was smaller and designed for only one man, not two.

  He yelled at the man below him to relax, but the other jumper continued kicking and yanking at the silk in a frenzy to free himself.

  The huge speakers on the drop zone, known as the voice of God,were blaring, “JUMPER WITH THE ACTIVATED RESERVE, RELAX AND KEEP YOUR FEET AND KNEES TOGETHER. RELAX, RELAX.”

  Ty could see two jeeps racing toward him along with four drop zone instructors, who held megaphones. They were all yelling for him to prepare to land. He tried to keep his legs together for the landing, but the other man’s fighting below was causing his body to sway. The entangled jumper hit the ground with a thud and the sickening pop of breaking bones.

  The reserve without the extra weight slowed his descent just as Ty struck the ground, and he rolled onto all points of contact like he’d been taught.