Rocket Jumper

by John Blaine

  The men at the end of the strip had everything Jimmy had asked for. While Rick sweated with impatience, Jimmy, Captain Aster, and Scotty debated about where to hang the various items on Rick.

  A jet flashed overhead, turned, and came into the landing pattern. Rick saw that it was a two-seater trainer.

  “The shovel on the left side,” Jimmy said finally. “Lash it to the safety ring on the belt. We’ll hang the water can from the ring on the right side. You do that, Scotty. I’ll secure the coil of line to the upper belt right in front of his chest.”

  By the time the jet taxied to a halt a few feet away, Rick was fully equipped except for the parachute, but he was having trouble standing up under the load.

  A stocky Negro airman, carrying a parachute, came toward the group. Jimmy greeted him with relief.

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  “Hi, Tommy. Glad you came yourself. How do we rig this? There’s no room for a harness.”

  Tommy examined the front of Rick’s rig. “Can’t you just use the rocket belt to let yourself down?”

  “Not enough flying time,” Rick explained. “If I drop too fast, I can’t maintain balance. If I drop slow enough to keep balanced, I’ll run out of fuel.”

  “I see. Okay, this chute is designed to clip onto the front of a harness. We’ll put loops of line through the armholes and snap it to those; that is, if the armholes are strong enough.”

  “They are,” Rick assured him. “Fiberglass reinforced with epoxy resin.”

  “It should do.” Tommy accepted the pieces of nylon rope handed to him by one of the men and began to secure them in place. “You ever jump before?”

  “No.”

  “Uh-uh. Well, when your chute inflates, you’ll see four straps, each with a cluster of lines. They’re called risers. If you want to move in any direction, pull down on the risers nearest to the direction. That will spill air from the chute and slip you toward where you want to be. Got that?”

  “Got it.”

  “Good. Now, you’ll lose altitude fast each time you spill air, so don’t do it too close to the ground.

  When the ground comes up, relax. Don’t try to fight it. Go limp.And one more thing. If your chute doesn’t inflate right away, grab the edge of the cloth and shake it out as if you were putting a sheet on a bed. That will inflate it. Just keep your nerve and you’ll be okay.”

  Tommy snapped the parachute to the nylon loops and inspected his work. “It will do. Good luck to you.”

  Rick shook the outstretched hand. “Thank you very much. I’ll need all the luck I’ve got.”

  “Let’s go,” Scotty said. He held the weight of the jerry can of water as they moved toward the helicopter. Jimmy ran ahead of them, another young officer at his side. The two climbed into the chopper.

  Captain Aster and Tommy helped Scotty get Rick aboard, lifting him bodily into the opening. Tommy backed away as the captain and Scotty took places beside Rick.

  Scotty picked up his throat mike, pushed the button, and spoke into it. “We’re aboard. Let’s go!”

  The rotor blades speeded. Rick swallowed and wet his lips. If only he could do it!

  CHAPTER XV

  Hit the Silk

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  Jimmy Taylor didn’t wait to climb. He flew along the contour of the ground with the helicopter wide open. Not until they were flying at top speed did he slant upward, gaining altitude.

  Rick adjusted his earphones and throat mike, first taking off his crash helmet. Beside him, Aster and Scotty did the same.

  There was a bag hanging over Captain Aster’s shoulder that Rick hadn’t noticed. The captain swung it around in front of him and unsnapped the flap. He drew out a pair of walkie-talkies and handed one to Rick. Over the intercom he said, “You didn’t call for these, but I thought they might come in handy. Now I’m not so sure you have room for one.”

  Rick hefted his. It weighed only a few ounces, and was not much bigger thanhis own tiny Megabuck units. “It will fit into my side pocket,” he said. “But I’ll have to wait until I stand up.”

  “Okay. If you fall, try not to land on it.”

  “If I fall,” Rick said grimly, “you’ll hear the crash of metal even over the rotor noise. I don’t know what all this stuff will do to my balance.”

  “You’ll be okay,” Scotty said reassuringly. “The stuff is hanging below your normal center of gravity, so it will tend to keep you upright.”

  “You hope,” Rick returned.

  “I hope,” Scotty agreed, his face worried. “I wish . . .”

  Rick put a hand on his friend’s arm. “I know what you wish. But it all depends on the belt, and I can handle that best.”

  “Sure. It makes sense, but I still don’t like it.”

  Jimmy broke in. “Rick, I think we’ll have to drop you from about a thousand feet.”

  Rick considered. “That’s pretty high, Jimmy. The updraft can carry me all over the sky at that altitude.”

  “Yes, but I’ve been talking to Tommy. He went to the tower and called because he forgot something.

  That chute has been packed for over a month. Tommy would have repacked it, but he didn’t have time.

  And the longer a chute has been packed, the slower it inflates, Tommy says. He also says to drop you upwind, andtry to gauge it so you won’t be carried too far. The chute acts like a sail.”

  “I guess he knows best,” Rick replied. He rubbed sweating palms on his knees. “But I think a thousand feet is too much.”

  “Hold while I talk with him again.” This time Jimmy cut the intercom into the circuit and Rick heard the conversation. Jimmy repeated Rick’s concern, and Tommy answered from the tower.

  “The chute will probably inflate in not more than a couple of hundred feet of fall. Maybe you can shave it a little, but I certainly wouldn’t drop him from any lower than eight hundred feet.”

  “You heard, Rick?”

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  “Yes. Tommy’s the expert. We’d better do as he says.”

  The rigger’s gentle voice added, “I wish I could make this jump for you, I really do. But that rocket belt wouldn’t perform for me the way it should. Now, be careful when you use the rockets. If you push ahead too fast, the thrust will start you swinging like a pendulum. Just use thrust gently, to steer a little. If you do start swinging, you can check the swing by pulling down on the risers. Pull against the swing as though you were stopping that rope swing under the ol ’ apple tree. Okay?”

  “I understand,” Rick answered. “Thanks, Tommy.

  I’ll do my best. And thanks for wanting to jump in my

  i“ place.

  “The best is all anyone can do, Rick. Good luck again.”

  They flew in silence for a few minutes, and then Jimmy spoke on the intercom.“Coming up on the lodge.

  Rick, better get ready. Scotty, put on the safety belt Rick used and hookyourself up in the doorway.”

  It was cool in the cabin, but Rick was sweating. His palms were wet and a lump of ice had settled just under his ribs. He was scared, and he admitted it to himself. But, having admitted it, he pushed the fear aside. He had to do it right. There was no margin for error, no second chance. When he went through that door, it would be final.

  As he got up from his seat, supported by Scotty and Aster, he forced himself to plan. His margin wasn’t much, and he would have to get the parachute inflated at once. He knew about counting before pulling the rip cord, but he also knew a count wouldn’t be necessary in a vertical drop from a helicopter. He needed only to be sure he was clear before opening the chute.

  Rick looked down at the pack on his chest and rechecked the position of the rip-cord handle. It was a D-shaped ring, locked in place by a flap of heavy canvas with a snap on it. Better not forget to unsnap it.

  Another thing.If he was falling sideways when the parachute opened, the risers would travel across one of the pipe columns of the rocket belt. He would have to try to fall straight, and to keep an eye on the ri
sers as the chute inflated, ready to clear the pipe if needed.

  Scotty had put on the safety belt and was now secured to the safety handle next to the door, leaning out and looking downward. Rick moved to the doorway and gripped the handle on the other side of the door. He felt Aster, behind him, rechecking the fastening of his gear.

  No one had mentioned the can of water, because everyone knew what it was for. It was to soak them all-Rick and the two girls-if he made it. The wetness would be some protection against the heat.

  Rick pushed the intercom talk button and said, ‘I’ll have to disconnect now, Jimmy.Got to put the crash helmet on.”

  “Good luck, Rick. Try to land on the table rock and lower the rope.”

  “No time,” Rick said. ‘I’ll have to land next to the girls. There wouldn’t be time to pull them up.”

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  “Okay.Coming up on target. Disconnect and get ready.”

  Rick handed earphones and throat mike to Captain Aster, took his crash helmet in exchange, and put it on, making sure the strap was tight. Aster handed him the walkie-talkie. He moved the shovel to one side and slipped it into his pocket.

  His handkerchief was in use, keeping his pants legs in place. He tapped Scotty on the shoulder and made nose-blowing motions. Scotty nodded and handed him a handkerchief, which Rick stuffed into his pocket as a pad for the radio unit.

  Scotty pointed ahead and down. Rick looked and saw the girls in the clearing. In the same glance he saw that the flames were nearly upon them. Already bits of flaming twig were falling in the clearing.

  The helicopter came to a hover, bucking heavily, over the fire. Jimmy was taking a position from which the wind would carry Rick toward the cliff.

  Rick felt queasy as he looked at the emptiness below, but he gulped air into a dry throat, unsnapped the D-ring, and gripped it tightly.

  Scotty squeezed his arm and Rick nodded. Scotty held onto him, and Rick saw that Jimmy was swinging the chopper broadside to the cliff. He had a clear view, now, from the fire directly under him to the clearing where the girls were looking up, their backs against the rocky wall of the cliff.

  Scotty, his eyes filled with tears, motioned out and down.

  Rick nodded. He stepped forward to the very edge, steeled his screaming nerves into some semblance of control, put both feet together, and jumped.

  CHAPTER XVI

  Rocket Jumper

  Rick was no longer conscious of the noise of the helicopter. His first feeling was surprise that he had no sensation of falling. His second was the onset of complete calmness. He was no longer afraid. His thoughts were crystal clear and he moved with sureness to balance himself.

  He pulled the rip cord. As though in slow motion, the flaps of the pack popped open and the springs on a tiny parachute snapped out like a miniature umbrella. Rick knew what it was.The pilot chute. It floated upward past his face, followed by a length of cord. Thecord pulled a fold of silk from the pack, and then fold after fold unleaved as though by magic, and the main parachute streamed upward.

  Rick knew that the parachute was moving straight up, and he need not worry about the risers catching the belt pipe controls. He tilted his head back as the last of the fabric went by his face, followed by the long ribbons of cord that were the lines from which he would soon be suspended. He caught a quick glimpse of the helicopter far above him, and then the sky was blotted out by billowing silk. The parachute inflated with a sound like the snapping of a gigantic whip, and the world went gray in front of Rick’s eyes.

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  For a moment he hung limply in the harness, shaking his head to drive away the flashing colored lights.

  He knew what had happened. From dropping at high velocity he had been pulled up short as the canopy opened. It was known as “opening shock,” and it had almost blacked him out.

  His vision cleared and he looked down. He was over the flaming forest, and the high spot in the cliff was coming nearer, both in altitude and horizontally. He would make it easily, he thought, but the thought was premature. The rising wind from the blaze caught him and swung him sideways. As Tommy had directed, he reached over his head and caught the woven fabric of the risers to which the parachute cords were attached. He hauled down as he started to swing again, and the swing checked.

  He had lost altitude. If his descent continued as it was going, he would slam into the cliff just below the top. He reached up again, and pulled on the back risers. The parachute spilled air, and he slipped backward toward the inferno. The chute inflated again, and he waited.

  The ground was no longer coming close. For a moment panic seized him, then he realized the updraft was so strong it was actually holding him in the air. He would have to spill air from his chute. He tried to judge the direction in which he would slip and pulled down sharply. The air spilled from the back portion of the canopy and he slid downward like a board dropping from a wave crest.

  Too fast! He let go of the risers, grabbed for the belt controls, and twisted the thrust handle. Flame spewed from the nozzles, checking his fall,Lifting him right into the canopy!

  Rick cut the throttle and dropped again, until the canopy inflated fully. But now one of the risers was caught under the water can, and he was tilting sideways. If he turned over, neither parachute nor rocket belt could help him! He swung his legs desperately to balance the drag, reached for the thrust nozzle, and turned it on. He shot upward at an angle, past the parachute canopy. It billowed like a wounded jellyfish and the air spilled from it.

  Desperately, Rick twisted to maintain balance, and managed to straighten up. He hauled in on the riser lines for a moment, lessened thrust, started to drop slowly, and hauled in on the lines some more.

  It was belt or nothing, now.

  He kept hauling until most of the canopy was pulled in toward his chest, then clamped it in place with his elbows and took both controls. He was still over the fire, but the fire was nearly at the small clearing. He tilted the vector controls a trifle and angled downward.

  The girls were looking up at him, and he thought they were yelling, or screaming, but couldn’t be sure.

  Then, as he came closer, he heard a faint cry, “Be careful, Rick!”

  It made him grin. He couldn’t help it.

  The extra gear made him unwieldy and disturbed his control. He checked his descent a trifle with more thrust, and slanted more sharply inward toward the cliff.Only feet to go, now. He spread his feet wide to take the load when he landed, and skimmed the still green top of a tree as he descended the last few feet.

  He landed standing up, and the girls ran to him, both babbling.

  “Rick, you idiot,” Jan sobbed. “You might have been killed!”

  “Why did you come?” Barby wailed. “Now you’ll be burned, tool”

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  “Cut it out!” Rick snapped. “Let’s get busy. Untie the shovel, Barby. We’ve got to dig in and cover up until the fire burns out, and we’ve only a few minutes left.”

  He was busy as he spoke, unsnapping the parachute snaps from the nylon loops. Jan helped, gathering the canopy into a bundle in her arms. It came free and Rick helped Barby with the shovel. Even as he took it, he realized why no trees grew in the clearing. There was only a thin layer of moss, and under the moss was solid rock!

  There was only one hope. If they could dig under the belt of trees nearest the clearing, there might be a chance. The rocket belt was still heavy in spite of the great amount of fuel expended. But precious moments would be lost in taking it off, and Rick could see from the fire front advancing swiftly toward them that every moment counted. He was sure there wouldn’t be enough moments.

  He scraped pine needles away to bare earth and drove the shovel in. He hit a large root. Naturally, he thought. The tree roots, unable to spread into the rocky area, would be thick at its edge. He tried again, and a clump of dirt turned over but didn’t come loose. Tiny rootlets, strong as cord, held it in place. Rick struggled against the weight of the
rocket belt and drove the shovel in with all his strength, then pried. A clump about four inches square came out.

  It was no good.

  He threw the shovel down and turned to the girls. The fear in their eyes reflected the growing hopelessnessin his own . They could see the situation for themselves.

  For a heartbeat he looked at them. Their faces were streaked with soot and dirt, and they were scared, but they were under control and their heads were high.

  “We can soak the parachute in water,” he said. “If we get under it, the water will help some.” He didn’t add the obvious: until it evaporated under the heat.

  He reached into his pocket and got his scout knife. Barby was already getting the chute from where Jan had placed it. Rick slashed the rope that held the water can to his waist. “No time to do much fancy wrapping,” he said. “We’ll just wad it up and soak it, and hope we don’t spill any water. We’ll need it all.”

  Jan spoke hesitantly. “How much fuel is left, Rick?”

  He shrugged. He didn’t know. “I’m not sure how much I used on the way down.At least a half or more.

  Some is left, anyway.”

  “Enough for a single flight to the top?”

  “Maybe.If the belt didn’t have so much weight to carry, I’d sayYes positively.”

  Jan’s dark eyes locked with his. “Rick, give Barby the belt. I’ll stay here and wait it out with you.”

  Barby came up with the parachute.“You’ll do no such thing,” she said. “It’s all or nothing.”

  Rick turned and gauged the oncoming fire. Already he could feel its breath scorching his face. There was a steady shower of burning twigs.

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  Their chances were about zero. Exposed on the rock, even covered with the wet parachute, they would be cooked. He knew it wasn’t just the immediate flash of the crown fire they had to worry about. The forest would burn to the edge of the clearing, and the tremendous heat would be reflected back from the face of the cliff. And the three of them would be caught like biscuits in a camp oven, to roast slowly. The parachute cloth would dry in minutes, then turn brown as it scorched, until they had to throw it off and expose themselves to the terrible heat.