Contributed by Kevin Parker, Director of Electronic Table Games Product Management and Sales, IGT
Kevin is a registered member of the Chippewa Cree Tribe of the Rocky Boy Reservation in Montana. He is a strong advocate for Native American gaming and has represented the needs of multiple tribes to both the National Indian Gaming Commission and the U.S. Congress.
As we approach Veterans Day, I think of my time in the military and how proud I am of my service. I was a paratrooper, and I spent the better part of four years in the 82nd Airborne Division, America’s Guard of Honor. We were always on alert, as our mission was to be anywhere in the world in 18 hours, prepared to fight and win. I thought I would give you a peek at a day in the life of a trooper.
I was the intelligence analyst for the 82nd Airborne Assault Command Post (CP). The Assault CP jumped in ahead of the rest of the division to provide command and control of air and artillery assets while providing a battle assessment to the various commanders. I recall the speed of it all—grabbing my gear, checking out my weapon, and arriving at division headquarters. Before leaving, I would grab the maps, gather any relevant field intelligence, and head for the door.
We would arrive at Pope Air Force Base, transported in a vehicle called a cattle car. To describe a cattle car ride is to understand military transportation at its finest. This vehicle is a very large troop transport that resembles an actual cattle car. The vehicle commander of the cattle car has one mission: to stuff as many paratroopers and their gear into the vehicle. I don’t know what the record was for stuffing troopers in a cattle car, but I know we tried for the record every time.
We unfolded ourselves from the cattle car and entered a large personnel shed called the “PAX,” where we would be issued our parachute (or ’chute), our reserve ’chute, and our weapon carrier. We would ’chute up and add our personal gear, which connected under the reserve ’chute with quick releases. The weapons carrier was strapped to the right leg, also attached with the same quick release. I carried little of my gear in my backpack, or rucksack, because I also carried the Assault CP tent, stuffed in a medium-sized rucksack.
Walking from Green Ramp—a parking place for aircraft—we would load onto a C-130 or C-141 aircraft. It was always dark, and walking to the plane while the engines were running, you smelled aircraft fuel and felt the exhaust while you entered from the back ramp of the plane. I couldn’t help but feel the excitement of the mission every time.
The rucksack was so large, it pushed my reserve right under my face. I’m sure glad I never had to deploy the reserve; it probably would have knocked me out. I am not a tall man—I’m 5’8”—but the ruck was so large, I had to be put at the front of the stick, or line, of 32 jumpers so I could jump (or fall) out of the aircraft first. When we leave the airframe, we are attached to a static line. A static line is a cord attached at one end to the aircraft and at the other end to the top of the jumper’s D-Bag (deployment bag, into which the canopy is packed). The parachutist’s fall from the aircraft causes the static line to become taut; this then pulls the D-Bag out of the container on the jumper’s back. Sounds simple enough, right?
When you jump out of a C-130 Hercules aircraft, you must jump up six inches and out 18 inches so you don’t hit the side of the airplane. I would jump up two inches and fall out of the door. I remember on one jump I hit the side of the plane, and my parachute deployment was not perfect. The risers of the parachute were spun together so much I couldn’t raise my head. I grabbed the risers and pulled them apart while using my legs to bicycle out of the problem. I bicycled so hard that when my risers were untangled, I was oscillating—swinging side to side like you would on a huge swing set. By the time I stopped oscillating, I was very close to the ground and released my gear; we landed at the same time, like a sack of potatoes. I always felt any parachute landing you walk away from is a good landing.
I remember our camaraderie and knowing that in the heat of battle, the trooper behind me would cover my back even to their last breath. The relationships I formed during my time in the 82nd have lasted a lifetime. Those four years were special, sometimes scary, but they formed the habits I use today.
I would later be called back to service for combat, and the lessons I learned in the 82nd carried me through. The results of my service were hard on my body, but I would be the first in line to volunteer if my country needed me. I hope the veterans reading this have a chuckle on me. I wish you all peace in the comfort that we kept the wolves from the gate.