then stepped off the platform and began to swing free. The instructor on the ground controlled the swing and determined when and how the student would hit the ground. As often as not, it was when he was in the most awkward position for landing. This device realistically replicated the kinds of falls a jumper was likely to make under actual conditions. Since most injuries occur upon landing, it was vital for the student to master them all.
During the second week, they worked on the thirty-four-foot tower, which provided a rough likeness of the sensation of jumping out of an airplane, except there was no 125-knot wind blast. According to the experts, thirty- four feet is the optimum height for creating the greatest fear: Anyone who falls from that height without a parachute has a chance to survive. Above that height, it's all over anyhow.
On top of the tower was a boxlike structure replicating part of an airplane fuselage. A steel cable extended from inside this 'fuselage' at a slight angle downward for approximately 150 feet, and then it was anchored about eight feet off the ground. The student hooked his risers to a pulley that rode on this cable. Upon the command 'Stand in the door,' the student took a position in the door. Upon the 'Go' command, the student leapt up and out, and then immediately assumed a tight body position and began his count. By that time, he had fallen to the length of his risers, approximately eight feet, and could feel the jolt of the cable (in an actual jump he would have fallen approximately 200 to 250 feet by the time his parachute opened). When he felt the jolt, the jumper checked his (imaginary) canopy to make sure it was fully deployed, with no more than four broken suspension lines and no tears larger than his helmet. He did that by comparing his rate of fall with that of the other jumpers in the air; if he was falling faster than they were, he considered activating his reserve parachute.
During descent, the jumper kept a sharp lookout in order to avoid other jumpers, and then began his preparations for landing when he was approximately fifty to a hundred feet above the ground. By this time, he had reached the end of the cable. Once there, he was critiqued by a Black I lat and told to recover and jump again. About fifteen to twenty exits were required from the thirty-four-foot tower before a trainee got a 'good to go.'
The last two days of the second week, Stiner and his comrades worked on the 250-foot towers. There, a trainee wore a special type of parachute, which was attached to a ring equal to the circumference of an actual parachute canopy. He was then pulled up to an extended arm on the tower. At the top, his parachute was released and he was allowed to float to the ground. He would then land as hard as if he'd jumped from an actual plane.
The third week was devoted to jumping. Also included were instructions on actions inside the aircraft, which were conducted in mock-ups. The Black Hats performed the duties of jumpmasters and would put everyone through the jump commands. These were: 'Twenty minutes,' meaning: 'Do a preliminary check of your own equipment; helmet tight, etc.' At ten minutes came 'Get ready,' meaning: 'Unbuckle your seat belt and prepare to stand up.' Next came 'Outboard personnel, Stand up,' meaning: 'Jumpers seated closest to the skin of the aircraft stand first.' Then 'Inboard personnel, stand up,' meaning: 'All the other jumpers, stand up.' Then 'Hook up,' meaning: 'All jumpers hook their snap fastener.' This was attached to the end of the static line, and hooked to the anchor line cable. Then 'Check equipment,' meaning: 'Each jumper checks his own equipment, plus the static line of the jumper to his front.' Then 'Sound off for equipment check.' The count started in the rear of the stick (the line of jumpers), with each sounding off loudly, 'Okay,' and slapping the buttocks of the man in front of him. The count was passed forward by every man in the stick. The last man to receive the count then signaled the jumpmaster, 'All okay, jumpmaster.' One minute out from the drop zone, the loadmasters (part of the plane's crew) opened the jump doors. The jumpmaster looked out to verify that they were in fact over the drop zone, then looked to the rear of the aircraft to verify that no following planes had dropped below the altitude where his paratroopers would be exiting. Once he had verified that it was safe to jump, he pointed to the first jumper and commanded: 'Stand in the door.' The jumper shuffled to the door, assumed an exit position, and watched for the green light. When it lit, the jumpmaster commanded, 'Go,' and slapped him on the buttocks. The jumper exited, and the stick followed at one- second intervals.
This procedure was followed before every jump, and it is still followed by airborne units today, no matter how experienced they are.
All jumps were made from C-119 aircraft (the old twin-tail flying boxcars), and the guys were ready 'almost to jump without a parachute,' Stiner observes, 'to get relief from rolling around in that sawdust pit and doing push- ups all day.
'The first jump was the easiest,' he continues, 'at least for me. But that 125-knot blast of wind was something that none of us had experienced. On the ground, Black Hats with bullhorns were yelling at the students who weren't doing it right; they gave strong personal critiques of each landing.
'We jumped four times that week, all during daylight. The fifth jump was with equipment, which included our load-bearing equipment and M-1 rifle.
'Saturday was a big day. Graduation! Families and girlfriends were allowed to attend and to assist in pinning on our wings. Everyone in my group graduated, except a few who'd been injured. We all felt very proud and privileged to wear the jump wings.
'Some people claim to love jumping out of airplanes. That may be so. But not me. Though 1 spent most of my career in airborne units and made 189 jumps, practically all at night with combat equipment, I was never crazy about jumping out of airplanes. After I had gained the confidence afforded by Jumpmaster School, however, I got to where jumping didn't bother me.
'Airborne units are unique in the capability they provide — that is, 'forced entry' operations. It's not just the jumping, it's the type of people that comprise the ranks of airborne units which makes the assignment so special.'
SWAMPS AND MOUNTAINS
Carl Stiner graduated from Jump School on Saturday and reported into Ranger School the next morning. That afternoon, he and his companions received orientations and drew equipment. They began training at daylight Monday morning.
Ranger School has two principal aims: to prepare small-unit leaders for the missions and situations they are likely to face in combat, and to teach skills that are necessary for survival in enemy-held territory. It is the most physically demanding school in the Army for non-Special Operations soldiers.
Though Ranger School is normally nine weeks long, for Stiner it lasted eight weeks — October to December 1958. (Nothing was deleted but the sleep.) It consisted of three phases: two weeks at Fort Benning, Georgia; three weeks in the Okefenokee Swamp at Eglin Air Force Base, Florida; and three weeks in the mountains at Dahlonega, Georgia.[7]
Once a soldier has completed the Ranger Course, he knows down to the tips of his fingers what his capabilities and limitations are. He has not only mastered the skills required of a small-unit leader in combat, but he also has the confidence and skills necessary to survive there. I have always trusted a Ranger-qualified officer or NCO to lead patrols for me in combat or any other tough situation, because I knew he had the skills necessary to accomplish the mission and would 'take care' of those entrusted to his leadership in the right way.
These experiences do not only apply to junior officers, they become the essential underpinnings of competence through all the ranks and assignments of an Army career-particularly command. They give an understanding of a man's capabilities and limitations that comes in no other way, and they develop self-confidence in ways not otherwise possible.
You have to be made of the right stuff to do it successfully. In practice it means that you go day and night; you get very little sleep; you are exhausted; you may get shin splints; you're strung out; you are in swamps; you're in mountains; you're cold; you're wet; you might be exposed to frostbite or hypothermia; or else you're hot; you're thirsty; you learn to live off the land and eat what's available. You learn to depend on each other. Although each man is expected to master individual skills, and in all field operations you usually operate in squad- and platform- size units, you take care of each other. From day one you are assigned a 'Ranger buddy.' In other words, if your buddy should fall out, you are expected to carry him — or fall out trying.
Under these conditions, there's no place for the limp-wristed or faint of heart.
