A Fight for Survival

Paratrooper training

The Georgia sun beat down on my back, the heat radiating off the tarmac and turning my fatigues into a personal sauna. Even with the C-47 circling overhead, a low rumble in the distance, the air felt thick and heavy. Molly watched as the men of Easy Company prepped for their jump, a mixture of nervous energy and grim determination etched on their faces. It was hard to believe that just a few days ago, the two Hunters had been in Iowa, saying our goodbyes. Now, they here the were in Toccoa, about to witness their first taste of the sky.

Molly's gaze drifted towards Dick Winters. Even from there, she could see the tension etched around his eyes, the subtle clenching of his jaw that betrayed his carefully controlled demeanor. He tried to hide it, she knew, but Molly had spent enough time around soldiers to recognize the signs of fear, even when masked as focus. Alexis didn't look any better. If anything, should looked alot worse. Molly was nestled in between Malarky and LB, across from Dick and Nixon.  Nixon, ever the picture of cool, stood beside him, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his wrist. The wind snatched the smoke away almost instantly. "First time jitters, Dick?" he asked, his voice a low murmur against the drone of the plane's engine. Winters shot him a look that could curdle milk, then turned back to watch the approaching C-47. Molly could sense that he wasn't afraid, not in the traditional sense. But the ground, the earth beneath his boots, that was his domain. The air, the vast emptiness above, that held a different kind of uncertainty, a surrender to forces beyond even his control.

The plane lumbered closer, its shadow falling over us like a giant bird of prey. I could almost feel the weight of anticipation pressing down on us as the men began to board, their faces disappearing into the belly of the beast. Molly thought back to what their instructor told them before they left for the open sky. 

The Jump Master, a man who looked like he'd stepped straight out of a war story, would be barking orders, his voice a gruff counterpoint to the roar of the engines. "Are we ready to be Army paratroopers?" he'd bellow, his voice echoing through the plane. And the men, a chorus of nervous energy, would respond, "Yes, Sergeant!" The equipment check would be a ritual, a litany against chaos. She could feel Malarky's checking her gear as she checked Nixon's. Then each man, and women, a link in the chain, their voices a lifeline in the face of the unknown.

"Nine okay!"

"Eight okay!"

"Seven okay!" 

I pictured Sobel, his face pale beneath his helmet, his voice tight with a fear he couldn't quite mask. "Six okay!" She could barely here Drew cry out, "Five okay!" before Malarky yelled from behind her, "Four okay!" It was her turn as she yelled, "Three okay!" She was surprised by the sound of her own voice for a moment. 

"Two okay!" Nixon's voice, steady and reassuring, would cut through the tension.

"One okay!" Winters, his tone clipped and resolute, would be the final affirmation.

Then, the Jump Master, his voice laced with a strange mix of excitement and grim humor, would deliver his final instructions. "They'll be a lot of men jumping from the sky today, hopefully under deployed canopies. Stand in the door. I guarantee you're gonna love it, Lieutenant. Go, go! Jumping from 1,000 feet AGL, in sticks of 12 jumpers per aircraft. All you have to do is remember what you were taught, and I guarantee you gravity will take care of the rest. Go, go, go, go! Go, go, go, go, go! Go, go, go!"

A collective intake of breath. The moment of truth. And then, Sobel's voice, cracking under the pressure. A sharp, panicked curse. The Jump Master wouldn't hesitate. "And gentlemen, rest assured, any refusals in the aircraft or at the door and I guarantee you will be out of the Airborne." Sobel, his face ashen, would mumble something unintelligible, his bravado crumbling in the face of true fear. The Jump Master, his gaze sweeping over the men, would issue a silent challenge. "Four okay!"