Fort Bragg, home of the 82nd Airborne Division. America's Guard of Honor.

Here the most combat ready unit in the Army resided in glorified historical splendor. All over are memorials of famous former members, such as Medal of Honor recipients. Museums and offices echo the past with plaques and statues. Parade Grounds are named after such heroes. Pride is instilled almost instantly reading the heroics of the enshrined. Soldiers run and double timed everywhere. Outside of all messhalls were chinning bars. Before a meal pull ups were required.

Upon arrival Jack and five others are assigned to the equally famous 504 Airborne Infantry Regiment, nicknamed "The Devils in Baggy Pants". A story has it that an excerpt found in a German officer's diary had words something like this:

"American parachutists, these Devils in Baggy Pants, are less than fifty meters from my outpost line. I can't sleep at night; they pop up from nowhere and we never know when or how they will strike next. Seems like the black hearted devils are everywhere"

It had been ten years since this happened but many of the Noncommissioned officers and officers acted as if they were still engaged with the Nazis.
If anyone thought they now had it made, bullshit! Bragg leads the world in chicken shit. Everywhere one looks, they see men running. Nobody walks wearing fatigues in Fort Bragg. Running keeps you in shape and gets you there faster, at least they were told that. "Ain't no use in looking down, ain't no discharge on the ground....Airborne". Sound off!

Jack had promised himself never to get caught not counting cadence. He never was caught again. Dawson, Banks, Craig, two more and Jack reported to First Sergeant Morris in Company I's office for assignment. Morris with his thick mustache looked the part of the battle worn tough that he was. Jack and his crew were replacements for the men who had died in the November accident. After an orientation session in the orderly room with the company commander, they reported to SFC Townsend's Supply Room to get the essential soldiering gear. Steel pots, packs, mess gear are issued and signed for. Sheets, blankets, pillows and cases are also distributed.

While choosing their bunks and making their beds the indigenous troops started ribbing them. One jerk in particular, Will Herz, a straight-leg, non jumping Son of a Bitch , rode them mercilessly.

Herz kept relating how he, being a non jumper, that fateful day had helped to remove charred bodies from the crashed 119. Herz related how the pilot of the crippled plane had radioed his squadron leader. With his plane rapidly losing altitude, the pilot of the stricken craft was ordered to "hang in there" and try to deliver his precious cargo of 40 GIs. Though valiantly he tried, the whirling steel blades became slicing machines as they cut a hugh swath through the paratroopers who dangled helplessly in its path. The other unlucky ones were found slumped in places where earlier they were poised to jump. Their charred corpses a grim reminder of a squadron leader's attempt at heroism.

Herz sang songs such as "Blood on the Risers "* and "Gory, Gory What a Helluva Way to Die. "* That first week that is all the new men heard from everybody else. They showed how they had washed and scrubbed the packs, belts and other web equipment that blood had been on. Enough is enough and to the supply room they trotted, hoping, almost demanding stuff without these haunting bloodstains. Supply said no, to use it as it was and furthermore, shut up.

When this didn't appease them, they applied for and were granted their first official Leave of Duty. Since they were now separated, Jack had no way of knowing how the other five guys felt but he was devastated. Fear grew. It was near Christmas and the train ride on the now defunct Atlantic Coast Line took twelve hours. As he peered from the windows, every time the train passed a plowed field he was reminded of the Drop Zones in Georgia. Immeasurably, the trepidation bathed his body. Something Jack never envisioned happened. Jack was slowly but surely deciding to quit.

The words kept haunting him. "Gory, Gory What a Helluva Way to Die. "* Herz's gruesome stories resurrected, and racked with fear, his already tortured mind whenever his eyes closed. Leave could not end fast enough. He wanted to quit jumping so badly he was ready to re-enlist for six more years and go to Europe as a straight leg. Panic had replaced conservative thought processing and he's thankful now that re-enlistment can only be after a year or more of service. His six months were not enough.

After furlough, the six of them met again with the right people and were successful, new equipment, brand new was issued to them. All of them decided to stay, actually they weren't given a choice. The ribbing didn't let up and the sixth (cherry) jump was more frightening than any, before or since.

* Click on "SONGS" to see  songs "Blood on the Risers "* and "Gory, Gory  What a Helluva Way to Die." in their entirety.