The euphoria did not last long. Typically, one strives to exit the aircraft and form an L-shape upon descent. Then, one begins to count to five and wait for the chute to release. On the other hand, I over-packed my ruck sack, and the weight flipped my body head first and upside down instead of upright. I tumbled downward in some twisted Z shape. As I struggled to regain my L-shape, my chute deployed. My risers were twisted beyond recognition. This mishap would speed up my descent and could prove potentially fatal. I began engage rigorously in a bicycle kick to unwind my chute.

Despite the difficulties, I could not help but notice the calm darkness of this night. Engaging in a massive tactical night jump is an amazing endeavor to participate in. You saw it in Band of Brothers, but Hollywood cannot capture the serenity of nature juxtaposed with the violence of action contained with paratroopers descending into enemy territory.

As I un-assed myself, I was descending rapidly. I fixed my parachute, but my boots were getting closer and closer to touching the ground. My ruck and weapon remained strapped to my body. Not good. I unfastened the quick release on my weapon and ruck, pulled my risers to slow down, and closed my eyes. This was going to hurt.

So how did yours truly end up in such a predicament? The real story began long before the attacks of 9/11. It begins long ago with a young Egyptian named Sayyid Qutb. Historians and sociologist will debate for decades over what happened to him, but I think it is a fairly simple answer. Sayyid’s mother did not hug him enough. All he needed was a hug!!!