The Road to 1/507th HHC
I’m going to try and keep my stories somewhat chronological but I’m sure I will forget a lot and will have to fill in later. I’ve already forgotten lots of names and details for many things I have been thinking about writing. Anyway:
I’m still in Benning, it’s still hot, and I’m still getting yelled at- only now its black hats instead of drill sergeants. I didn’t mind Airborne school at all, I was even relaxed enough to fall asleep in the bird before my first jump.
When I walked through the door for the first time, 1,200 feet above the ground, a mixture of nerves, wind, and noise caused great disorientation until I received a super wedgy (hereafter referred to as “opening shock”) that things slowed down (which is the desired result when your parachute opens). It was very peaceful, watching the C-130 flying away rocking back and forth in the harness.
It wasn’t long before I realized I was still going to hit the ground pretty soon- and hard. To my horror, I was drifting right along the road, which is hard, and every other square foot of drop zone is about as soft as you will find. I attempt to steer clear, however, steering is to a T-10 parachute as verbal commands are to a two-year-old in full tantrum.
So I tear a few ligaments in my ankle when I hit the road, hobble back to the assembly area, and tough it out until I get back to go through prep for our next jump. It is then I realize my ankle has swelled up to baseball size and I probably can’t go through a second jump without severely injuring myself. This results in my transferring to medical hold with head quarters company. Which will lead nicely into my adventures there.
posted by Maddog @ 10:09 AM
3 comments
3 Comments:
There I was, I'll remember this jump forever. I was in a c-3, it was a crisp clear day, I was climbing higher and higher, when whoosh! Out and down I went, and I plummeted to the ground, my chute didn't open!!! The impact was harsh, but I limped away with just a broken ankle.
For those of you that don't know this story, a C-3 is my "third carpenters belt" The climb up was a ladder to a roof top, the "plummet" was me falling from a roof top, breaking my ankle and going to the hospital.
Not one of my army stories, but it seemed to fit in.
heres another song for you maddog, the only thing good to come out of Ms. Liberty's blog
You media pansies may squeal and may squirm,
But a fightin’ man knows that the way to confirm,
That some jihadist bastard truly is dead,
Is a brain-tappin’ round fired into his head.
To hell with some weenie with his journalist degree
Safe away from the combat, tryin’ to tell me,
I should check him for breathin,’ examine his eyes.
Nope, I’m punchin’ his ticket to Muj paradise.
To hell with you wimps from your Ivy League schools,
Sittin’ far from the war tellin’ me about rules
And preachin’ to me your wrong-headed contention
That I should observe the Geneva Convention,
Which doesn’t apply to a terrorist scum
So evil and cruel their own people run from,
Cold-blooded killers who love to behead,
Shove that mother’ Geneva, I’m leavin’ em dead.
You slick talkingheads may preach, preen, and prattle,
But you’re damn well not here in the thick of the battle.
It’s chaotic, confusin’ it all comes at you fast,
So it’s Muj checkin’ out because I’m going to last.
Yeah, I’ll last through this fight and send his rear away
To his fat ugly virgins while I’m still in play.
If you journalist weenies think that’s cold, cruel, and crass,
Then pucker up sweeties, kiss a fightin’ man’s ass.
Robins hair must have taken over for an extended period of time, because I haven't heard from the maddog in a while.
See you at drill this weekend.
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