Kate led the way toward the front of the aircraft.
The windows, as I said, had been covered with aluminum skin, so it was darker in the cabin than I expected. A few dim light fixtures were mounted along the sidewalls, which revealed that the interior had been stripped bare to convert this airliner into a cargo plane. Apparently we would be sitting on the floor, like cargo.
The only other light in the cabin was sunlight coming in from the cargo opening and from the cockpit windshield up ahead. I noticed that there was no door leading to the cockpit; just an open passageway through the interior bulkhead. The required anti-hijacking door was not there-and why should it be? If we got hijacked, we could all jump out of the plane.
On the floor I saw cargo rings, which I guess were used to secure pallets but that now secured nylon straps for us to hang on to.
The cabin was only about ten feet wide, which was considered a wide-body aircraft in nineteen-fifty-something. The first four skydivers had already boarded and were sitting abreast on the floor facing us, packed together across the full width of the airliner's cabin.
There were row numbers taped to the walls and we easily found Row 2, which was logically just aft of Row 1.
Kate asked me, "Port or starboard?"
"I'll have a port." I added, "You take the window seat."
She sat near the wall on the left side, and I sat beside her, with my hand on the cargo strap, and said, "Fasten your seat belt."
"Are you done with the stupid remarks?"
"Seat in the full upright position for takeoff."
The two people who had boarded after us-a guy and a girl-sat in their places on the right side of Row 2, and the rows farther aft in the cabin started filling up.
I looked around the cabin. The cargo opening, as I'd noticed when we entered, was very wide, but now I also noticed that there was no door-just that large opening. I brought this to Kate's attention, and she explained that they had to remove the big cargo door for this jump because it couldn't be operated in flight-it was a clamshell that opened outward-and the smaller hinged entry door next to it was only one person wide. She further explained, "The group jumpers need all the space they can get to exit en masse."
I thought about that and said, "It's going to be cold and noisy in here without a door."
"Very noisy." She added cheerily, "I won't be able to hear you."
"Sit closer." I asked, "Hey, what's the name of that Italian guy?"
"What Italian guy?"
"The one whose name we're supposed to yell when we jump."
"John, what-?"
"You know… Ah! Geronimo!"
A few heads turned toward us, and Kate slid closer to the wall and stared at where the window used to be.
The jumpers continued to board. My thirty-five-pound parachute rig was making my back ache in this position, and my butt, which is all muscle and no fat, was starting to feel the hard floor. This totally sucks.
It's like skiing-you know? A long trip to the middle of nowhere, lots of expensive equipment, surrounded by fanatical half-wits who think they're having a great time waiting around forever; then a few minutes of adrenaline rush-or pure terror-and then it's over. Sort of like sex.
My first wife, Robin, who was also a lawyer (I like screwing lawyers for a change), was a skier, but it was a starter marriage of short duration, so I never got beyond the beginner slopes before she skied happily out of my life. Now I'm a friggin' skydiver. I mean, I've spent most of my professional life in dangerous situations-is this any way to relax?
"John?"
"Yes, darling?"
"One jump, then we're going home."
"Sweetheart, I want to log three jumps from a DC-7B today."
"I am spraining my ankle when I land, and you and a paramedic will help me into the car."
I was feeling a wee bit guilty now, so I said, "No, no. I really enjoy this. I'll behave. Let's make this fun."
"You embarrassed me in front of Craig."
"Who's Craig?" Oh, the guy who wants to fuck you. "I'll apologize to Craig when we all go out for drinks tonight." I'll corner him in the men's room. That's my specialty. "Okay? Hey, I'm looking forward to the apres-jump party. Great group of skydivers."
She looked at me closely for signs of insincerity.
I saw Craig coming toward us, walking between the skydivers. He was some sort of officer in the club, and thus he had official responsibilities that included checking to see that everyone was happy, seated properly, and hadn't forgotten their parachute.
I wanted to make amends to Craig-and to Kate-for my uncalled-for remark, so I shouted out to him, "Hey, Craig! Let's get this bird airborne. We're gonna have a helluva jump today, bro!"
Craig gave me a weak smile and continued on into the cockpit.
I looked at Kate, who had her eyes closed. I made a mental note in my logbook: Have Craig followed.Possible terrorist.
The guy with the clipboard came into the cabin to check names and groupings. I mean, what happened to personal responsibility? If you don't know where the hell you belong or who you're supposed to be with, maybe you shouldn't be doing this.
Anyway, the clipboard guy got to the front rows and double-checked our names and positioning.
Craig came out of the cockpit and asked clipboard guy, "How's it look, Joe?"
Joe replied, "We have two dropouts and one last-minute sign-on for a total of sixty-three jumpers."
"Okay," said Craig, "we'll probably lose a few for the second jump."
What?
Craig continued, "The pilot is ready when we are."
Joe, I noticed, wasn't wearing a jumpsuit or a parachute, so I deduced that he was staying on the ground with the manifest, just in case something not good happened. I pictured him crossing off sixty-three names as the aircraft plummeted to the ground. Bad luck for that last-minute sign-on. Meanwhile, one of the no-shows shows up out of breath and says, "I got stuck in traffic. Am I too late?" Fate.
Joe was off the plane now, and Craig started for his place among the group jumpers, but then turned to me and said, "I assume you will be making all three jumps today, John."
I replied enthusiastically, "Hey, Craig, I'm here to jump!" I informed him, "I'm buying you a beer tonight."
Craig glanced at Kate, then turned and found his place on the floor near the cargo opening. He wasn't wearing his helmet, and I noticed he had a big bald spot on the back of his head.
In fact, most people weren't wearing their helmets at this point, though a few people had put them on. One guy had boarded with his helmet on, and instead of goggles, which most skydivers wear, he had a tinted helmet shield that was pulled down. As a cop, things like motorcycle helmets with tinted face shields or ski masks automatically grab my attention. But I wasn't in full cop mode and I made little note of it.
There was an undercurrent of babble in the cabin, punctuated by occasional laughter. I noticed that Craig was chatting up a very pretty lady sitting next to him. The pig probably made up the jump order so he could hold her hand on the way down.
I had been a bachelor most of my adult life, and I really didn't miss it-well… sometimes maybe just a little-but I certainly didn't envy Craig, who I'm sure was lonely, and who probably couldn't get laid in a cathouse with a fistful of fifties. Kate has really made my life… more… very… incredibly… totally…
"John."
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"I love you."
"And I love you." I squeezed her hand.
Kate had never been married, so she had no way of knowing if I was a normal husband. This has been good for our marriage.
I heard one of the engines firing up, then another, then the last two. I pictured Cindy in the cockpit saying to Ralph, "So, like, all those propeller things are spinning round and round."
And Ralph replies, "Very good, sweetie. Now we have to taxi to the runway. Take your feet off the brakes, sweetheart."
And sure enough, we began moving. The noise of the engines was deafening, and the aircraft seemed to be squeaking and squealing as it turned toward the taxiway.
I was close enough to the cockpit to hear Cindy asking, "Ralph, can I take off from here?"
"No, darling, wait until we get to the runway."
Maybe I was imagining that.
We taxied for a minute or two, then turned and stopped at the end of the runway. Cindy ran up the engines (remembering to keep her feet on the brakes), and the old plane vibrated and strained forward like a sprinter, ready to make the dash down the long stretch of blacktop.
Was that a miss in one of the engines? Did I hear a backfire? Cliff, turn up your hearing aid.
I could hear some radio traffic coming from the cockpit, and Cindy replied, "Hi, Tower. Can I, like, use the whole runway?"
Okay, just kidding.
The aircraft began to roll, gathering momentum, and I could feel it lighten as it approached takeoff speed.
Before I knew it, the aircraft nosed up and we were airborne.
Cindy shouted, "Ralph! I did it! I did it! What do I do now?"
The aircraft nosed up and we held on to the strap. Then Kate put her arm around my shoulder, drew me close, and said in my ear, "I like sharing things with you."
Right. Next time we'll share one of my cigars.
The DC-7B banked to the right, gaining altitude as it began a wide corkscrew turn. The drop zone, which was a big, hopefully bear-free meadow, was not far from the west side of the airport, so most of this thirty-minute flight would be vertical until we reached 14,000 feet.
I noticed that the loadmaster was sitting near the open cargo door with some kind of intercom phone in his hand, which I assumed he used to communicate with the cockpit, so he could let them know when everyone had jumped.
I wondered if Cindy knew this was a skydive. I mean, I could imagine her coming into the cabin and being startled to see that everyone was gone, then running back into the cockpit shouting, "Ralph! Cliff! Everyone fell out of the plane!"
Kate put her lips to my ear and said, "It's nice to see you smiling." Then she gave me a wet willy.
I squeezed her hand and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Now that I was up here, I was actually looking forward to the free fall and the nice easy parachute float to the ground. It really is spectacular, and statistically less dangerous than doing what I did for a living.