Fact or Fiction #4 - I want to be an Airborne Ranger

Stand up, hook up, and shuffle to the door…

I’m convinced the people that designed these cargo planes knew the exact frequency of the human skeleton and built these things to resonant on that wave length. The low hum of the engines becomes both painful and hypnotic as my body vibrates, as if molecule by molecule I’m slowly merging into the aircraft.

I’m tightly squeezed between two other soldiers, who are also squeezed tightly between two other soldiers. Nobody is talking. We are all just staring at the packs on our laps that contain about 40 pounds of nylon that only need to perform their function this once – as far as I’m concerned anyway. As I look towards the side of the pack, there is a small slit pocket that contains a card. I manage to pull slightly on the card and read the name Airman First Class Cody Hubert. The name was not important to me – but it would be important to the people that would be recovering my remains if this puppy doesn’t pop open. He was the Rigger that meticulously (hopefully meticulously) packed my chute in accordance with procedures and signed this card in the hopes that nobody ever needs to read it.

Jump right out and count to four…

When the alarm sounds, everyone stands up at once. We are packed together so tightly; I often wondered if I was ever really standing up on my own, or was I just being lifted off my seat as those standing on either side of me stood up. We all turn and begin to slowly move towards the back of plane. It starts as a slow Thorazine shuffle and quickly becomes a fast paced jaunt. I feel the metal floor plating of the plane vibrating under my boots with each step… then the vibration stops - and its silent.

If my chute don’t blossom round…

I’ve heard people say it’s like flying. Um… no. It’s like falling. At least what we do is like falling. There will be no "Yahooing" on the way down. I know there’s not a group of friends with a six-pack of beer waiting for me in the landing zone. There’s neither a bottle of champagne, nor joke telling, nor story swapping to be shared. I’m not going home tonight to tell the family how cool it was and how they should have seen the look on my buddy’s face when he stepped out of the plane.

I’ll be the first one to the ground.

8 seconds. That’s the life threshold for this mission. The odds of surviving this particular engagement increase dramatically after the first 8 seconds. That’s the time it takes from the plane to the ground. That’s the time we are the most vulnerable. That’s when our life is out of our control and in my case… in the hands of Nature, God and Airman Hubert.