Oh man, I've lived a sheltered life. Compared to you guys, I am your regular garden variety sissie.

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This whole internet thing is probably not a passing fad.-Ronald Brak
While speech might be free, consequences cost.-Doodler

C'mon over and join us on a hunting trip. We'll get you fixed up in no time...

Don,

I made all 5 of my jumps at Jump School from the C-141A jet transport. When they opened the doors (we jumped from the side doors, not the tail gate), they deployed these big air deflectors and a dinky little step. As we exited the plane, it definitely felt like it was sucking us out of the plane. By our 4th jump, several of the guys were trying to hit that step. I don't any of them ever did.

I don't remember the exact number of jumpers you could carry in the -141A model but it was somewhere around 120, give or take a dozen. That later stretched B model could carry many more. At Jump School, they'd drop about 1/4th of us on each pass so you'd have roughly 30 paratroopers in the air in fairly close proximity.

For 4 of our 5 jumps, we used the old T-10 parachute. It was a simple, round parachute. To steer it, you had to pull on the risers. The plane dropped us at about 150 MPH so you had to have your body position right or you'd tumble. If you were tumbling when the chute deployed, you ran the risk of having one or more of the lines wrap over the canopy. This is called a partial inversion but more widely known as a "Mae West" because it looks like an enormous bra. A jumper with a Mae West is going to be dropping about twice as fast as normal so we were taught to deploy our reserve chute. Unlike civilian jumpers, we didn't have quick releases and we were too low to do a cut-away from the main chute, so we had to get the reserve deployed and hope it didn't foul the main.

At Jump School (at least when I did it in 1975), the Black Hat instructors had a powerful PA system with speakers aimed at the sky. Just about every time a C-141 would make a pass and drop a stick, someone would have a Mae West. The Black Hats would call up, "Jumper with the malfunction, activate your reserve."

Invariable, at least 3 guys would pull their reserves. That would immediately be followed by a stream of profanity from the instructors. There was no way to hide the fact that you'd pulled a reserve. Packing a reserve chute is like trying to stuff 10 pounds of excrement into a 5 pound bag. The guys who pulled their reserve when they didn't need to caught a lot of grief.

Once we landed, we gathered up our chutes and put them into a bag. We'd clip the reserve to the bag handles, throw it over our shoulders, and run off of the DZ (a mile or so). This was a form of injury diagnostics. Some people would get injured on a jump but not want to report it to avoid getting set back. The Army figured that if you could run a mile with about 40 pounds of chutes on your back, you probably weren't injured too severely. If you stopped or walked, an ambulance would be there very quickly to take you to the hospital. You'd better be injured.

On my 4th jump, we had simulated combat equipment. When jumping from the side doors, the Jumpmasters try to stagger the jumpers so that no two go out of the plane at the same time. Somehow, I went out of the left door at almost exactly the same time as another guy went out of the right. The slipstream caught us and slammed us into one another - hard. I must have been a couple feet lower than him because my shoulder hit him square in the back. I was dazed as my chute opened. I looked up to check my canopy and saw two of them. All I could think at the moment was, "That ain't right."

Our chutes separated (thank goodness!) and I looked over at the other guy. He was hanging upside down. I'd hit him so hard that his feet were tangled in his chute lines. If he landed like that, he'd break his back and perhaps his neck. I yelled over to him to pull his reserve. He told me where I could stick that suggestion. Fortunately, he got his feet free when we were still several hundred feet above the ground.

Some funny things I remember from Jump School:

In addition to the C-141A, the Air Force provided two old C-123 transports to carry my class for our jumps. The C-123 was powered by two big radial engines. Once characteristic of radial engines is that oil leaks into the bottom cylinders, so when you start them, they blow a lot of smoke. In fact, if they aren't smoking, they're probably out of oil so you'd better shut them down quick. As a student pilot, I knew that but few of the other students did. The first time they fired up those engines and it looked like a PT boat laying a smoke screen, several guys thought the plane was on fire. They were scared and almost refused to get on board. The plane was fine - most of the time. On our second day, one plane took off with a load of jumpers only to return for an emergency landing on one engine. They made the jumpers get off of that C-123 and get immediately into the other one. There were a lot of pale faces on that walk between the two planes.

My first jump was a strange experience. I happened to be on the last of the 4 sticks to jump, so I had a long time to watch the others go first. I remember the sense of disbelief when the first stick jumped. I was amazed that they really did it. When it finally was my turn to jump, we piled out of the plane on the Go command. It was as if everything was going in slow motion until the opening shock. I then had that amazing sensation of being 1000 feet above the ground. If I didn't look up, it was as if I were flying like Peter Pan, only vertically. There was little sign of motion until I got to about 150 feet high when the ground suddenly appeared to rush up at me. Landing was rude.

We had some Navy SEALs with us at Jump School. They'd already gone through BUDS so Jump School was a joke to them. I didn't see it happen but was told it was true - after lunch one day when we fell out in formation to run back to training, a SEAL reportedly jumped out of a 3rd story window, did a parachute landing fall, and walked into formation saying "This [excrement] bores me."

In the Army, we used to say that SEALs aren't crazy. You have to have a brain to be crazy. Only, we never said it to their faces.

In Finnish Army that would be called a tornihuhu. It's a story everybody "knows" is true, but you can never verify. The teller never actually saw it happen, but he knows a guy who knows another guy who witnessed it. If you find the guy who supposedly witnessed it, he tells you he actually just heard it from a guy who knows another guy who saw it happen. And so on.

Anyways, great stories Don and Larry!

In my defense, we did have SEALs in our training and I was far from the first guy who fell out for formation on that day. Several people who fell out earlier told me of the incident so it just possibly could be true.

If you've met many SEALs, you'd be inclined to believe it. As an example of the SEAL mentality, when my youngest stepson was going through Navy instructor training about 8 years ago, he had some SEALs in his class. Each student had to prepare and conduct a class. One of the SEALs brought in a short piece of detonation cord and blew the leg off of a table inside the classroom. He was invited to leave the course. My stepson was in the class and saw it happen.

Don't bother running from a SEAL. You'll only die tired.

While elite/special-forces members may appear insane and undisciplined, there is undoubtedly a place for them.

I can only hope that that place is as far away as possible from me.

We joke about it a lot, but the truth is that the military elites are quite sane and highly disciplined. They operate in small groups so they are highly dependent on each other. They won't accept some wild card in their group because he could get them all killed.

Now, they are quite innovative in their choice of equipment and tactics. That's what makes them so effective, as witnessed by how quickly a tiny number of special ops troops (mostly Army Green Berets accompanied by Air Force Combat Controllers with great air support) were able to work with the Northern Aliance to win control of Afghanistan. They accomplished in a matter of weeks what the Red Army wasn't able to do in years.

They're the best people in the world if you need them to come to your aid and your worst nightmare if they're coming after you.

I can truthfully say that I am one of a handful of people in this world that almost had a jet interceptor literally crash into his lap....

On one of our TYT cruises ("type training" - an airwing "getting acquainted" with the procedures and personality of the deployment carrier prior to a deployment cruise), one of the F-4 squadrons had a tiny bit of trouble landing on the ship.

At that particular time, my squadron (an A-7E outfit) was assigned a compartment on the O3 level, directly under the flight deck and about frame 225 (guessing here, I've slept since then). There was one other berthing compartment aft of us and then a tiny living-room sized workout room aft of that compartment with several stationary bikes, a couple of situp benches, a room-length mirror and a Universal gym. The workout room was directly beneath the flight deck where the deck gradually arcs downward toward the ocean at the very edge of the deck. In short, it was the last piece of solid metal on the flight deck and was called the "round-down."

Anyone who worked on a carrier can testify that, over time, you can pretty well know what kind of airplane is flying overhead by only the engine sound. There was the full-throated roar of the F-4's, the quieter rumbling roar of the A-7, the vacuum-cleaner whine of the S-3 and the THRUUUUUMMMMM of the E-2 and C-2 turboprops.

I worked daycheck maintenance in my squadron's AT/AQ shop and had showered and climbed into the top bunk in our berthing compartment. The bunklight was on and I had just settled into a good book when the landing phase of a sortie started. About every 20-30 seconds, an airplane would go over my head and touch down on the deck about four or five compartments forward of ours. At least most of them did....

I heard an F-4 inbound, making numerous throttle adjustments on approach - and not very subtle ones, at that. About the time I expected to hear the engines suddenly advance to full power for a go-around, there was a deafening WHAM!!!!! Paint chips and dust rained from the compartment's overhead; I shot a glance upwards, expecting to see small pieces of Phantom coming down. I don't even remember hearing the F-4's engines after that.

Turns out that the pilot was having some trouble getting stable on final and had been given a couple of "Power" calls by the LSO, but not close enough to the ship for him to command a Wave-Off. The F-4 inexplicably dropped suddenly toward the round-down when it was really, REALLY close to the ship and the LSO immediately pickled the Wave-Off lights, but it was already too late to avoid what is euphumistically called a "ramp strike." The tire marks from the main gear started about two feet down the round-down from the level part of the flight deck and the tailhook impact bashed a new skylight in the workout room's ceiling. All of the light fixtures in there were hanging from their electrical cables and the wall-length mirror was shattered; fortunately, no-one was using the room at the time.

The F-4's main landing gear hydraulic system seals were blown from the impact and it's tailhook suffered severe damage, but the jet was still airworthy; however, landing on the carrier was no longer an option. The pilot was told to take 'er to a shore base - and land gently. I imagine he and his RIO also had some serious laundry to do after that landing......

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"Any technology, no matter how primitive, is magic to those who don't understand it." - Florence Ambrose

the vacuum-cleaner whine of the S-3

So, is that why they called the S-3 the "Hoover"? I thought is was because those big low-mounted engines were particularly good at sucking up FOD.

Here's another jump story:

The first jump after Jump School is called the "cherry jump." In many units, cherry jumpers are put at the head of the stick, meaning they're the first ones in the door. My cherry jump was out of an old C-7 Caribou. Unlike planes like the C-130 or 141, we couldn't go out of the side doors on a C-7 because they were too small. Instead, we jumped from the tail gate.

OK, so there I was, first in the line and ready to jump. The Jumpmaster was down on the floor because that's where he had in a Carabou to be able to see the ground panels. The plane was very loud. He looked up at me and said something.

"What?" I asked.

Suddenly, I was falling through the air. I thought to myself, "Did I do that? I don't recall doing that."

After landing, I got the story. The Jumpmaster had told me to jump but I didn't understand him. The guy behind me did. I didn't jump - I was pushed!

Which confirms the old paratrooper saying, "You can jump or you'll be pushed. One way or another, you're going out the door."

That saying came to mind when the big drawdown of 1992 hit. I knew my military career was over. I could jump or wait to be pushed, but I knew I was going out the door.

I can't speak to the FOD problem since I worked A-7E's, but I DO know the S-3 had a distinctive "vooooOOOOPPP" sound along with that whistling whine when the pilot added a lot of power at once (warning, YouTube linque) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4FRJf...eature=related At about 04 seconds, and from 08-12 seconds into the video, listen for that sound.

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"Any technology, no matter how primitive, is magic to those who don't understand it." - Florence Ambrose

SEALs are disciplined when they're on the job.

I knew an ex-SEAL about ten years ago who had a framed letter from the Taiwanese government PNG'ing him. Seems his unit and another unit of SEALs got into a scuffle in a bar over how well one of the teams had done on a recent op and it resulted in the interior of the building being redecorated to the point of unrecognizability.

I will never question their capability when they're working. When they want to play, for God's sake, just keep the beer flowing and lay low!

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I'm not completely heartless, the doctor who removed it told me he'd never be able to get it all.

The last SEAL I met was last year when my son (now a Navy Ensign) graduated nursing school in San Diego. One of the participants in his commissioning ceremony was a SEAL who will graduate nursing school this May. That a SEAL would leave the teams in wartime is unusual but I didn't have the nerve to ask the story. I'm sure seeing a nurse with SEAL insignia on his uniform is going to raise some eyebrows in the hospitals.

Working on the "roof" comes with its own shopping list of dangers. Anytime one of us set foot on the nonskid of the flightdeck - given the right circumstances - there was the very real possibility that we could end up being carried belowdecks in a Stokes, or worse, lost at sea.

The Navy did what they could to reduce possible injuries and fatalities with training, safety lectures, and what practical safety devices as could be employed in such an environment. During Flight Quarters, only the necessary personnel were supposed to be on the deck, and they were required to have the proper safety equipment: cranial headgear with built-in hearing protectors, goggles, long-sleeved cotton knit jerseys, a CO2-inflatible life vest (with signal light for night ops), heavy cotton dungaree or BDU pants, and steel-toed safety boots.

Around much of the length of the deck are "catwalks" - railed walkways only a few feet wide, about five feet below the edge of the flight deck and with access ladders into the 03 level; in areas with no catwalk, such as on the aircraft elevators, there were steel mesh safety nets that extended outward about 10-12 feet from the edge of the deck. Beyond the catwalk railing and nets was a 65 foot drop to a lot of salty water.

During the man-up for a launch, one of our birds developed a problem requiring one of our Riggers (Aircrew Survival Equipmentmen) to come up and check it out. The job wasn't finished by the time the Start Engines call was made, but he stuck with it - after all, he was experienced, dressed for the roof, and wasn't worried. He wrapped up, counted and pouched his tools, and started making his way to the catwalk as quickly and safely as he could. Just then, an adjacent running jet was directed to pull forward from the parking line and turn, catching the Rigger with the jet blast before he could grab anything solid.

The Rigger was knocked off his feet, blown across the deck-edge net, and started his fall. His drop to the Atlantic was abruptly halted when he impacted the Boat and Aircraft Crane, breaking his collarbone in the process. Not content to rest on his hard-won luck, he bounced off the crane's structure and landed on the crane's base sponson at the hanger-deck level, breaking both legs - but 35 feet above the water, on a small "porch" on the ship's side. He was in severe pain, but at least he was dry - and the Corpsmen got to him in record time.

I caught up with the Rigger a week after the accident and he told me all about it. He capped his adventure off with, "You know, I'm one lucky b******. If I'd gone in the water, there's no way in H*ll I could've popped the jacket bottles with a broken collarbone."

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"Any technology, no matter how primitive, is magic to those who don't understand it." - Florence Ambrose

GB, Jr., a former Tomcat RIO has lots of stories. He tells about a "nugget" (FNG) on his first approach to a carrier in an F-14. His RIO was senior, as BigDon will attest, junior pilots fly with senior RIOs ans vice versa. At altitude over the boat, the pilot said, "I can't do this". The LCDR, in back, said "but they're expecting us on the deck". He managed to talk the pilot into a landing, they hooked them up to the catapult, and shot them off. They landed back at Oceana (Virginia Beach) and the pilot turned in his wings. Two years, and two million dollars of the taxpayers money down the drain.
On a more serious note, I got an e-mail that ended "every time I grt shot off the pointy end of the boat, i realize I have the best job in the world." The next day, I got one that started "This is the worst day of my life." At that time, although the F-14 could carry four 2000 lb. bombs, it had no laser guided capability. They came up with the solution of using an F/A 18 to guide the bombs. They launched the two planes almost simultaneously (BigDon wil know how close together) and Jr looked over at the Hornet, back into the cockpit , back at the Hornet as it rolled inverted and went into the water. The pilot was a friend, and had his fiancee and both sets of parents waiting in Mallorca for their wedding. I ain't all fun and games!

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"I want to write about people I love, and put them into a fictional world spun out of my own mind, not the world we actually have, because the world we actually have does not meet my standards." Philip K. Dick
No matter how strong, or brave, or pure of heart you may be; sometimes the dragon wins!

Well Mr. Tox, you have it right about the S3 noise.

Which boats were you on btw? (Folks that lived, sweated and bled on them are allowed to call them boats. All you lubbers still have to call them ships)

I had duty with my kid brother, (the one that works for NASA now). He was an AQ and I was an AT in the same squadron. Though nowadays I hear you have to be an AT for several years before they let you go for the AQ designation. Makes sense to me. My squadron didn't have much of a problem but I saw other squadrons just flat out "fail to thrive" because their AQ's were too inexperienced. (AT's are avionics techs and AQ's are fire control techs, the AQ's being a subset of the AT's) In my squadron we both did the same jobs. I've hung many a missile test kit off a rail in my day. (The 28 day inspection, I loved them. Fine tuning something that could put a Phoenix missile up your keister from three horizons away was magic)

Mr. Jacks, it has been pointed out to me that the Army is the most self destructive of the services when it come to brawling. (Meaning they will fight and hurt each other way before they fight anybody else.)

My friend Mr. Happy was MAC flighting across country by himself and at one stop over it was late and big trouble found him at the control tower cafe that's universal to most military airfields of any size. Eight "legs" were going to beat him down for being a paratrooper and Mr. Happy told me he firmly believed they were intending to hurt him badly, if not outright beat him to death.

Until four SEALs who had been stuck there all day and were tired of the eight guys' "bullsugar" and used the fact that they and Mr. Happy had jump wings in common as a reason to step in on his side. It was a hell of a fight after that. Guess who won.

Greybeard, I don't know what to say.

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"The beauty of that discussion of averages is that you don't have to be an expert in Apollo or in photography in order to see where this time study "analysis" breaks down. You just have to be, well...not an idiot." -JayUtah

I actually never made it out of Training. I went in as an Army MP and did the full basic and AIT at Ft. McClellan in late 1988. I didn't pass the final PT test and rather than getting a restart, I got sent home.

The only I have of my own, that I can think of here, happened one night on out last camp out. Our company had 4 platoons. I was in 2nd. 1st was all female. The week of this last camp out was in late November and happened to be the week later in the Moon phase. Night was pretty dark. Since it was supposed to be combat condition, there was a light restriction. No light unless you absolutely HAD to use it. This meant forming up in the dark, and it was pretty common to line up in the wrong platoon.

This particular night I was back at our camp with one other guy. Basically CQ and radio sitting. I didn't see this first hand, but the story was pretty consistent among all that told it.

The rest of the company had just finished some assault/defense game where we used blanks and blank adapters. A blank is a round that had a high powder charge held in place with a little plug rather than a bullet. They are dangerous at close range because they still expel hot gas, but past about 10 yards they are just loud and scary. Except the one for the M-60. This uses a bigger round the M-16, and the blanks are also bigger and louder. We had a guy actually blow his blank adapter off the end of the barrel. That makes it a manual repeater instead of a machine gun, but it sounded like something totally NOT a rifle round.

So anyway, Pvt. Bad Day is one of the last to get to the company area to form up. He doesn't want to be the "one we're all waiting on", so he's running up to a group that he can sort of make out in the dark. Pvt. Trigger Control hears him running up from the side of the formation and turns, M-60 slung over his shoulder and held in the firing position "Rambo" style. As Pvt. Bad Day get right up to them, he runs into the muzzle of Pvt. Trigger Control's 60. Pvt. TC had the forethought to line up in the back of the platoon finger on the trigger, safety off. The weapon "just went off" and Pvt. Bad Day took an M-60 blank to the daddy bits.

The one time I talked to him, he didn't want to talk about it. I don't think he was actually injured, but for the whole company to know what happened would be a bit embarrassing.

I never did find out what happened to Pvt. TC. My hope is that there was a significant amount of reinforcement that forming up with a loaded weapon, off safe, finger on the trigger, is a bad idea.

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A Nerd can figure out how long it will take the original Enterprise traveling at warp 6.5 to travel from Regulus to Antares.
A Geek with think he can use that to pick up a girl in a bar.
A Dork knows he can't pick up the girl with it, but will hang around for hours anyway, just in case she asks.
She might. You never know.

Me too, in early 1977. I guess they moved MP AIT to Ft Leonardwood now. That's where i took basic.

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You're a coward and a liar and a thOOF - Bart Sibrel