Sky Drop

September 1, 2005
Sky Drop
By Kevin J. Curtis

It was early morning, predawn. The engines were already going as Fritz boarded the airplane. He had just emptied his guts on the tarmac not more than two minutes ago. This was his first jump into a battle zone. He had jumped several times before, but never into combat.

He sat in the airplane, still feeling nauseous. His stomach was tied into knots as he tried to imagine what was in store for him. He was one of the best of the best. He was army airborne. He had trained for this day, and now, just three days from his nineteenth birthday, he was about to jump into hostile territory on his first mission.

There were others like him… first timers. They were all in various states of nervousness, some more than Fritz and some less. The combat veterans were quiet and portrayed a calm that was foreign to the first timers. Inside, each man was dealing with his own mortality as the plane lurched forward and lifted off into the sky.

As they rose higher, the first rays of morning light filtered into the dingy plane. The cheery light contrasted with the grave situation of the soldiers. Most of them were well prepared for combat, and on some level, perhaps even anticipating the excitement. Still, it was somewhat unnerving to know that within the next few minutes or so, someone would be actively trying to kill them, and they in turn, would be seeking to do likewise against the as yet unseen enemy.

The first call came in for them to ready their equipment. It was mostly a formality, since their equipment had been readied earlier. The call made Fritz’ stomach lurch. He was afraid he might vomit again, but at this point he could only dry heave. A few minutes later, the second call came.

Fritz forced himself onto his feet with the other men and took his place in line. At the given order, they all hooked up to the line. This was it, Fritz thought. Do or die, his training would either see him through this or he would die down there. A grim thought, that didn’t do anything to improve his current condition.

The last call came, to jump. One by one, the soldiers left the relative security of the aircraft, and stepped into the dimly lit sky. Fritz felt his body being pulled downward by gravity, and the nearly 70 lbs. of equipment strapped to his back. He knew this feeling before from his training, and the familiar shock ripped through his body as the parachute opened up over his head.

The line of soldiers floated down from the sky. At first, nothing happened. Then, they noticed the tracer fire coming at them. They would be on the ground in another minute. At least then, they would have a chance. Hanging up here in the sky, they could do nothing but helplessly fall, and hope that they weren’t hit by the gunfire that was aimed at them.

Fritz looked down. The landing zone looked good. He would not end up in trees or water. He unknowingly breathed a sigh of relief. That was when a bullet angled up under his helmet near his left ear. It entered his brain, and disconnected his life force from his body. He dropped to the ground in a heap.

****

Stevens hit the ground, and quickly grabbed his parachute lines to keep from being pulled along the ground. He unhooked the buckles that fastened him to the ‘chute, and began to roll the material up in a ball so it was less able to give away his current position. Others were dropping from the sky just to the right of him.

The sergeant called, and Stevens adjusted his pack, and headed in the direction of his voice. There was a young soldier on the ground up ahead. His face was unrecognizable. The bullet had splattered pieces of his skull and brains into his helmet and on the ground. The name patch on his uniform said it was Fritz.

The sergeant reached down and removed the clip from the fallen man’s rifle. He handed it to Stevens. He quickly removed one of Fritz’ dog tags, and the rest of his ammunition. There was no ceremony. There was no time to cry. The sergeant yelled, “Move out!” and the survivors headed for the tree line up ahead.

As the troops jogged for the cover of the trees, mortars started to explode around them. It was only about 100 meters before they would be out of the open, when an explosion hit Stevens, dead center. His body and equipment were fragmented and sent flying through the air. A wad of bloody tissue hit the face of Red Deer, as he felt the shock of the concussion nearby. The blood on his face wasn’t his. It belonged to Stevens.

****

Finally in the trees, Johnny Red Deer wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins, and he heard the sergeant but couldn’t immediately respond. He felt a slap against his helmet, and when he regained his senses, he could see the enemy moving at them with guns firing. Red Deer and the others returned fire. The battle continued for only a few minutes, but inside of his head, it seemed to Red Deer like days.

The sergeant was on the radio calling for air support. Overhead there was a deafening sound and the field up ahead burst into flames. The shooting stopped. Red Deer noticed a pain in his shoulder. He looked to the side and saw the blood and the hole. The man next to him was shouting something. Someone ran over to him. That was when Red Deer passed out.

****

Larson called for the medic who came and field dressed the wounded man. The sergeant called out to the men that the choppers were on their way. Larson dropped his pack, and hoisted the fallen Red Deer onto his back. Now he had to run back into that same field that they had run through after the drop. Only now, it was burned to a crisp. Dotted here and there, were the fried corpses of the enemy who had been shooting at them just minutes before.

Larson stumbled, and he fell to the ground. His face was inches from the grimace of one of the cooked enemy soldiers. He struggled to his feet with the help of another man from his unit. With the unconscious Red Deer back over his shoulder, he held his rifle in the other hand and ran for the choppers that were just now landing.

He handed Red Deer into the open side of the helicopter, and barely jumped in before the still moving rotors pulled them skyward. Up above, the bright blue sky of the early morning belied the event that had just transpired below. Larson starred blankly as the medic worked on the now semi-conscious Red Deer. Next to the wounded man, was another fallen soldier. Much of his head was missing. Larson looked away.

As the chopper carried him away from the battle, Larson realized that he was now a combat veteran. What hadn’t occurred to him just at that moment was that he would be back in the fight tomorrow.