The bus took me all the way up to the gate of the base and with a smile on my face I marched through the drizzle to the guard post and presented my ID, after a cursory check the sergeant on guard let me in. It didn't take long to bump into Yuval who was jumping about and talking at 6000 words a second as if he was on speed. He couldn't stop smiling and although I couldn't understand anything he said I gathered that he was as happy to be there as I was. All the guys were hanging around chatting animatedly amongst themselves. It dawned on me that it was the first time that I had been on an army base that wasn't located in the West Bank since my induction, it was a nice feeling not to have to feel like being on enemy turf the whole time.
There were loads of different units there for jump training including the Sayeret, Duvduvan and Maglan. It really made me feel as if I was a part of the Special forces community to be going through the course with these guys. They had all come through the same gibush that we had and so we already knew a lot of them anyway and we quickly started swapping stories of our training.
The base was located right next to a large Air Force base which was where we would go to board the aircraft that we would soon be jumping out of. All of the new units were ushered into a briefing room where a solid looking Colonel let us know that the first week of the course was where we would learning how to parachute and the second week was devoted to the five jumps that we would make to qualify as Paratroopers. Each jump was to be in some way more complex than the jump before, though the officer didn't elaborate exactly how that was to be the case, it seemed to me that a jump was a jump but apparently not.
It was December ensuring grey skies and the constant threat of rain, despite the fact that we were on a 'real' base instead of the mud hole of the advanced infantry training we were still sleeping in tents. The ground around the tents quickly turned into mud, it was as if the weather felt an obligation to ensure that even on parachute course we had to feel some level of discomfort, it was still advanced infantry training after all.
We were given a jump instructor to teach us all of the necessities of landing on the ground or more precisely how to hit the ground after jumping from an aeroplane with a static line parachute. A reservist was responsible for the team's training, his name was Shteelman and he behaved exactly according to his name. I imagined him as the kind of Paratrooper that may have existed in Israel's past, the kind of man who would look at the mud filled tents we were sleeping in and shake his head at the luxury new recruits were allowed. He stood erect as though unbreakable and barked orders to us constantly, he looked as though a smile would have cracked his face apart.
At first it was easy, we just stood and practised how to fall, or rather how to hit the ground correctly. It wasn't complicated the trick was to let your knees go absolutely limp but behave as though both knees were connected so that when hitting the ground both legs immediately buckle and then go in the same direction, the rest of the body follows with hands up around my head. I can't lie it was a pretty civilised way to pass the time and there wasn't a stretcher in sight.
Once we'd learned how to hit the ground we had to learn how to jump and there were a whole bunch of different harnesses and zip lines for us to use in order to practise parachuting. All of them involved being strapped into a rig that's exactly the same as a parachute only the straps are attached to a zip line or simply a spring high above giving a very small bouncing, bungee effect when jumping. Of course when it came time to start practising on these rigs it had never occurred to me that I might actually be afraid of heights, when it came time to jump from a height of three meters from the ground in a harness that my brain knew in no uncertain terms ensured I would certainly not hit the ground my body found itself unwilling. This was problematic to say the least, it was also hysterical to the rest of the guys.
And so I found myself standing on a platform above the ground in all my rigging supposed to jump off and yet hesitant. This was an obstacle to be overcome, a paratrooper who can't jump out of a plane is not a paratrooper. As one by one soldiers in the harness next to mine were strapped in and jumped I stood there gawping. In the end I closed my eyes and forced myself from the platform into the space beyond and was promptly supported by the 'bungee harness'. From that point on every jump was a problem but something that I was going to overcome or else risk never seeing my red beret.
The toughest obstacle was a ten meter high tower where we'd put on our rigging, jump and be carried along by a zip line. While moving down the zip line we'd have to execute a range of different manoeuvres such as releasing the reserve parachute that sat snugly on my stomach. We'd have to jump from this tower more times than I could count and every time I had a problem doing it. One time I was about to jump only to hear the instructor shout after me "no wait we haven't attached the harness properly!" It was too late, my centre of gravity had already shifted and I tumbled out of the tower with a scream only to be safely carried along by the zip line as I saw the instructors rolling around laughing in the tower out of the corner of my eye, in fact everyone down below was laughing too. I deployed my reserve parachute while muttering curses under my breath.
Despite the fact that we were in a real base with an actual functioning kitchen the food was awful, every meal seemed to consist of dried rice, hard boiled eggs and cream cheese. Once again I had taken the bed nearest to the tent flaps and so when the rain blew in it blew in on me. At one point we noticed that every time we entered the tent there was the worst smell in there. At first we all blamed Elad but he adamantly insisted it wasn't him, at which point I saw it on my sleeping bag. The cat that insisted on nesting on my sleeping bag clearly wasn't a big fan of the food on the base either and was responsible for the smell and another problem for me to have to deal with after he had insistently deposited a present on my sleeping bag time and again.
It rained, it rained often, the sky was grey and the weather gloomy and everyone decided it would be funny to talk to me in gibberish instead of Hebrew knowing that I couldn't tell the difference. I couldn't understand why everyone was suddenly shouting at me for not understanding various words, finally Yuval let me know why it was so funny, they found it hilarious but I just felt isolated. To make things even better Mark found me while I was on my way to the vending machine when everyone was supposed to be asleep. He wordlessly bid that I follow him to the tent housing our equipment, he took my M4 carbine from me and handed me a MAG machine gun. "This is your personal weapon now Marc, you take it with you everywhere when you sleep, eat and shit." That was the end of the conversation, I took my punishment silently and trudged through the mud back to my diarrhoea stained sleeping bag.
There was a plus side to having to carry the MAG around with me, the short British guy carrying around a gun that was as big as him made me a minor celebrity amongst all the other fighters. People would stop me to talk about what a ball breaker of a commander I had for making me carry the weapon around with me everywhere, I got the nickname 'plus' because I looked like a plus sign with the weapon on a strap across my waist and the guys stopped their teasing, even promoting me to the others as their friend with the MAG. So this was the first week of jump school, the second beckoned and so did those all important silver jump wings and all I had to do to get them was jump from the sky.
There were loads of different units there for jump training including the Sayeret, Duvduvan and Maglan. It really made me feel as if I was a part of the Special forces community to be going through the course with these guys. They had all come through the same gibush that we had and so we already knew a lot of them anyway and we quickly started swapping stories of our training.
The base was located right next to a large Air Force base which was where we would go to board the aircraft that we would soon be jumping out of. All of the new units were ushered into a briefing room where a solid looking Colonel let us know that the first week of the course was where we would learning how to parachute and the second week was devoted to the five jumps that we would make to qualify as Paratroopers. Each jump was to be in some way more complex than the jump before, though the officer didn't elaborate exactly how that was to be the case, it seemed to me that a jump was a jump but apparently not.
It was December ensuring grey skies and the constant threat of rain, despite the fact that we were on a 'real' base instead of the mud hole of the advanced infantry training we were still sleeping in tents. The ground around the tents quickly turned into mud, it was as if the weather felt an obligation to ensure that even on parachute course we had to feel some level of discomfort, it was still advanced infantry training after all.
We were given a jump instructor to teach us all of the necessities of landing on the ground or more precisely how to hit the ground after jumping from an aeroplane with a static line parachute. A reservist was responsible for the team's training, his name was Shteelman and he behaved exactly according to his name. I imagined him as the kind of Paratrooper that may have existed in Israel's past, the kind of man who would look at the mud filled tents we were sleeping in and shake his head at the luxury new recruits were allowed. He stood erect as though unbreakable and barked orders to us constantly, he looked as though a smile would have cracked his face apart.
At first it was easy, we just stood and practised how to fall, or rather how to hit the ground correctly. It wasn't complicated the trick was to let your knees go absolutely limp but behave as though both knees were connected so that when hitting the ground both legs immediately buckle and then go in the same direction, the rest of the body follows with hands up around my head. I can't lie it was a pretty civilised way to pass the time and there wasn't a stretcher in sight.
Once we'd learned how to hit the ground we had to learn how to jump and there were a whole bunch of different harnesses and zip lines for us to use in order to practise parachuting. All of them involved being strapped into a rig that's exactly the same as a parachute only the straps are attached to a zip line or simply a spring high above giving a very small bouncing, bungee effect when jumping. Of course when it came time to start practising on these rigs it had never occurred to me that I might actually be afraid of heights, when it came time to jump from a height of three meters from the ground in a harness that my brain knew in no uncertain terms ensured I would certainly not hit the ground my body found itself unwilling. This was problematic to say the least, it was also hysterical to the rest of the guys.
And so I found myself standing on a platform above the ground in all my rigging supposed to jump off and yet hesitant. This was an obstacle to be overcome, a paratrooper who can't jump out of a plane is not a paratrooper. As one by one soldiers in the harness next to mine were strapped in and jumped I stood there gawping. In the end I closed my eyes and forced myself from the platform into the space beyond and was promptly supported by the 'bungee harness'. From that point on every jump was a problem but something that I was going to overcome or else risk never seeing my red beret.
The toughest obstacle was a ten meter high tower where we'd put on our rigging, jump and be carried along by a zip line. While moving down the zip line we'd have to execute a range of different manoeuvres such as releasing the reserve parachute that sat snugly on my stomach. We'd have to jump from this tower more times than I could count and every time I had a problem doing it. One time I was about to jump only to hear the instructor shout after me "no wait we haven't attached the harness properly!" It was too late, my centre of gravity had already shifted and I tumbled out of the tower with a scream only to be safely carried along by the zip line as I saw the instructors rolling around laughing in the tower out of the corner of my eye, in fact everyone down below was laughing too. I deployed my reserve parachute while muttering curses under my breath.
Despite the fact that we were in a real base with an actual functioning kitchen the food was awful, every meal seemed to consist of dried rice, hard boiled eggs and cream cheese. Once again I had taken the bed nearest to the tent flaps and so when the rain blew in it blew in on me. At one point we noticed that every time we entered the tent there was the worst smell in there. At first we all blamed Elad but he adamantly insisted it wasn't him, at which point I saw it on my sleeping bag. The cat that insisted on nesting on my sleeping bag clearly wasn't a big fan of the food on the base either and was responsible for the smell and another problem for me to have to deal with after he had insistently deposited a present on my sleeping bag time and again.
It rained, it rained often, the sky was grey and the weather gloomy and everyone decided it would be funny to talk to me in gibberish instead of Hebrew knowing that I couldn't tell the difference. I couldn't understand why everyone was suddenly shouting at me for not understanding various words, finally Yuval let me know why it was so funny, they found it hilarious but I just felt isolated. To make things even better Mark found me while I was on my way to the vending machine when everyone was supposed to be asleep. He wordlessly bid that I follow him to the tent housing our equipment, he took my M4 carbine from me and handed me a MAG machine gun. "This is your personal weapon now Marc, you take it with you everywhere when you sleep, eat and shit." That was the end of the conversation, I took my punishment silently and trudged through the mud back to my diarrhoea stained sleeping bag.
There was a plus side to having to carry the MAG around with me, the short British guy carrying around a gun that was as big as him made me a minor celebrity amongst all the other fighters. People would stop me to talk about what a ball breaker of a commander I had for making me carry the weapon around with me everywhere, I got the nickname 'plus' because I looked like a plus sign with the weapon on a strap across my waist and the guys stopped their teasing, even promoting me to the others as their friend with the MAG. So this was the first week of jump school, the second beckoned and so did those all important silver jump wings and all I had to do to get them was jump from the sky.
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