The three vintage Salvadoran Air Force C47's had no seats. Only a slick metal floor inside the plane with the paratroopers sitting in rows. To keep from sliding as the weary plane jolted and thrashed about in the winds each para had his legs wrapped around the man in frontof him.

It had been less than a half hour since we had taken off from the paratrooper base at Il Opango. The base was located in the high inland valley on the other side of the mountains. Now as the aircraft climbed out of the valley, it groaned and creaked in the high wind to clear the craggy peaks near the Pital. The tallest summit in the country rises 2,730 meters above sea level. Once over the peaks, the aircraft began its descent over lush tropical foliage and heading towards the bright blue waters off the seacoast.

Within minutes we would be approaching the drop zone!

This was, the culmination of an airborne adventure in vintage aircraft. We were only minutes away from the DZ where our group of thirty-two paras visiting paras were about to make a friendship jump with some sixty paratroopers of the elite army commando parachute battalion, El Comando de Fuerzas Especiales, Batallon de Paracaidistas de El Salvador.

Our group proved to be a mixed bag. Some came from as far away as Germany, Greece, and Norway. Still others were military retirees or were combat veterans with wartime jump experience as airborne rangers and force recon marines.And, the only woman parachutist in the group, was a lieutenant in the Chinese Army. Yet, regardless of their status, they had paid their own way to be part of the jump.

For the visiting paras, their day began began at dawn because the drop was planned for early morning when the wind condition for parachute operations would be at its best.

First light found the visiting paras assembled on the training field of the Salvadoran Army Paratrooper School. Paratroop instructors from the school would lead them through ground refresher training before they would be allowed to participate in the jump

As a start parachute landing falls were practiced. Under the watchful eyes of the paratroop instructors, each para made several PLF's by jumping off progressively higher levels. Click here to learn about PLF training at the U.S. Army Jump School at Ft Benning. Just as is the practice at Ft Benning, before making a parachute jump, even veteran paratroopers taking refresher training are required to make a satisfactory PLF from platforms in each of the principal directions before they leave the platform area.

Inside the ancient shell of a war-weary C47, Salvadoran jumpmasters instructed the visiting paras on jump procedures and Spanish language commands used by the Salvadoran Paracaidistas. Exits were made from the open doorway to practice even more PLF's. The airborne drop would be made with the Salvadoran Special Forces following Salvadoran SOP which differed slightly from that used at Ft Benning. The visiting paras were also checked out on the Harness Trainer by the Salvadoran jump school instructors. Click here to learn more about the Harness Training at Ft Benning.

Last, but not least, training was concluded with harness jumps from the familiar 34 foot tower. True to the Ft Benning Airborne School tradition, training at the El Salvadoran Paratrooper School paralled that of the U.S. Army. At Fort Benning, it is said that more student paratroopers have quit jump training because of failure to jump from the tower than on any other training device or during live parachute jumps from planes. Click here to learn the history behind 34 foot tower and for a discussion and description of the tower in paratroop training at both Illopango and at Ft Benning.

The weather was balmy and the wind calm during the mision briefing which was given in Spanish by a Salvadoran Major. Never having seen the DZ, the visiting paras paid close attention to an English-speaking Guatamalan Captain who acted as interpreter.

A short twenty minute flight would take them over the DZ, which was a cleared field just off the sea coast. On one end, the DZ was bounded by a meandering river. A string of barbed wire cattle fences stretched across the other end. And, on each side, the DZ was bordered by country roads and tree lined fields. To mark the DZ, colored fabric panels would be placed on the ground and a smoke gun would be fired to show wind direction.

With their chutes on and lined up by sticks, they waited on the runway. It was already 0900 and the drop over the DZ was planned for 0930 well before a rising wind would pose a hazard for jump operations.

They bantered enthusiastically about the pending jump from the vintage C47's, and following military tradition they had a long wait. And, while they waited, the once calm wind was gaining in strength. "Army says we don't jump if the wind exceeds 15 MPH," said one of the active U.S. Army jumpmasters in their group.

The C47 aircraft were sitting just across the parking strip; their mottled paint faded. These were the same type of planes from which the combat paratroopers in World War II made their jumps.more than fifty years ago.

When at last the paras began to load up, the wind was gusting across the runway and conversation was replaced by a sullen silence as the paras, bent over by their tight fitting parachute harness, waddled off in single file, and climbed the short metal ladder into the aging C47's. Inside the seatless interior, they sat on the metal floor, lined up in three sticks. Click here to learn about current U.S. Army jump procedures for the C47 aircraft.

The first plane warmed up its twin engines and slowly taxied out to the runway. Then gunning its engines, took off, turned south, and began it climb over the mountains. It would soon be followed by two other C47's.

Inside the aircraft the wind whistled through the open doorway, and the plane thrashed around in the rough air currents. The force of the wind had reached 28 mph. And, each roller coaster-like dip of the plane brought a roar of glee from the paras, masking the tension building inside the aircraft. As the plane continued to bounce around the sky toward the DZ, the Salvadoran jumpmaster staggered to his feet. He took up his position near the open doorway at the tail of the plane and shouted

While he shouted in Spanish the command for "Ready," the jumpmaster stamped his boot hard on the metal deck to be heard above the roar of the engines and the wind screaming through the open door.

Motioning upward with his hands, the jumpmaster yelled at the first string of paras seated on the deck to stand up. Clumsily, the paras struggled to their feet as the plane continued to bounce about the sky, and faced the jumpmaster in a single file.

On the jumpmaster's command, they hooked the snap fastener of their heavy webbed static lines to the overhead metal cable running the length of the plane.

Hearing the command to check their equipment, the paras focussed on making sure leg strap snap fastners were closed tightly and in place along with the reserve chute snaps and chest buckles

They were coming over the DZ!

The jumpmaster gave the command to Stand in the Door and pointed to the first para in the stick.

Following Salvadoran jump procedures, the para hurled his static line snap fastner towards the end of the cable and took up his position with both hands in the open doorway, standing there slightly crouched, right boot placed just over the edge outside, and left boot behind as if waiting for the crack of the starter's gun to begin the race.

The rest of them in the stick were so crowded up together it was hard to breathe.
Instead of the green light, which is the final time warning on U.S. aircraft, signaling the jumpmaster that as far as the aircrew is concerned, conditions are safe and it is time to issue the ninth jump command, GO, the Salvadoran jumpmaster received his OK by a tap on the shoulder from one of the aircrew.

FUERZA!

There was no green light or the sound of a buzzer in the ancient plane. But the first para heard the jumpmaster roar, and he jumped. The others in the stick shuffled towards the door -- left foot forward in lock step with each para pushing hard against the jumper in front of him.

One para recalled when the command came to jump, he leapt out into the roaring slipstream with knees together, arms folded over his reserve chute, and his static line trailing behind him. After feeling the jolt of the static line ripping the chute open, he found himself swinging wildly in the wind. Twisted in the fall, the risers were unwinding and spinning him around. The parachute was the early model small canopy military parachute ... it was a T-10 which really could not be steered.

His downward journey would almost be totally dictated by where the high winds would take him. The best that could be done was to pull on the risers to face into the wind on landing.

IMPACT!

To keep from being dragged along the ground by the wind, he reminded himself to quickly collapse his chute on landing and shuck the harness. The ground was rushing up an at an alarming speed. He hit the ground going backwards ... and bounced hard.

Before he could spill air outof his canopy, he was lifted up again by the wind. His open chute caught by the wind dragged him with alarming speed and force across the rough terrain. As he plowed across the ground, dirt and debris were thrown up, stinging his face and shredding his uniform. Finally, his harrowing ride came to an end when he crashed into the barbed wire fence at the edge of the DZ.

Other paras were pounding into the ground and being dragged across the DZ. Even the most experienced of the American paras were plagued with injury. One veteran U.S. Special Forces para with considerable combat jump experience suffered a bad head concussion after slamming into the ground. A combat experienced Marine master jumper, and two Army Rangers, one of whom was a jump master on active duty, suffered broken ankles. Injuries were experienced by the Salvadoran paras as well. The strong winds had caused several of the visiting paras and their Salvadoran hosts to land in the trees and the river lining the DZ.

Luckily for one unconsicous Salvadoran para, who was being dragged along the ground by his chute in the high wind, an American jumper, Captain Tom Hussey who had injure his leg on landing, was still able to pounce on the billowing canopy and bring it to a halt.

For others, such as Captains Kevin Holeman and Rob Krott, being dragged across the DZ by their chutes resulted in shredded uniforms and bruises.

When it was all over, sixteen Salvadoran soldiers were said to be injured in the jump, and among the visiting paras, there were seven cases of of sprained limbs, one head concussion, and three broken ankles.

The injured were immediately aided by an American Army doctor who was a member of the visiting paras. Speedy medical evacuation was accomplished by a Salvadoran Army helicopter.

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As a reminder of this eventful drop in the "tornado-like" strong wind with a force of 28 miles per-hour, the wings below were produced for wear by those making the jump.

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