Dame
Member
- Joined
- Apr 22, 2010
- Messages
- 3,385
:-/
Case Study: Sun Tzu, III/31
- Thread starter Marauder06
- Start date
:-/
Cpt Faith is lucky they bothered to inform him of the 6 sec count. No one did one my first 47 jump. Worst riser hickeys I've ever had. 
Reed
Reed
After the rehearsals were over, Faith noticed that there seemed to be a lot fewer people in Chalk One than there were in any of the other chalks. He mentioned this to one of his chalkmates, a young, fit-looking captain who was wearing the collar insignia of the Chaplain’s Corps. The man introduced himself as “Jeff,” and Faith noticed that Jeff was sporting a lot of hardware that one didn’t normally find on a chaplain: a CIB and a “combat scroll,” as well as a Ranger Tab above his unit patch.
“Is Chalk One always this small?” Faith asked Jeff.
“It is during pre-jump,” Jeff said with a smile. “All the brass is on Chalk One, they’ll meet us at the airfield. They show up, throw a ‘chute on, and they’re out the plane and off the DZ before you know it. Works out really well that way.”
That made sense to Faith.
When all of the chalks had completed rehearsals, it was time to get on bused to go to the drop zone. But Faith was still without his helmet. “Hey, J.D.,” he asked, “Where’s my helmet?”
“It’s over there on the stage, sir. Go ahead and grab it and get into the van at the head of the convoy,” J.D replied. Faith looked at the stage, but didn’t see his helmet. What he did see were a line of about seven helmets, stripped of their camouflague covers, and painted chalk white. When he got closer, he found that each helmet was adorned with red blotches, which upon closer inspection turned out to be fairly well-rendered facsimiles of…
“Cherries,” Faith said with bemusement as he located his own helmet. It was easy enough to figure out which one was his, being an extra-large helmet it was noticeably larger than the others, and someone had helpfully written, in black Sharpie marker, his last name across the front of the helmet in bold capital letters. His “cherries” were also the largest. When he picked up the helmet, he noticed two things: that other Soldiers had written “helpful” messages on the helmet. These included “DIRT DART,” “Congratulations on your cherry jump!”, “Don’t die,” and “You can do it, sir!” Faith also noticed that the paint was still wet.
Five of the other helmets were similarly adorned. As Faith wiped the wet paint off his hands onto the grass, the rest of the “cherries” claimed their own helmets. They, like Faith, seemed amused. Faith then noticed that the last helmet was decorated a bit differently. It was still white, but instead of cherries it had what were clearly fins attached to the top and sides of the helmet, and the words SKY SHARK and a date about two weeks in the past printed across the front. This individual, an older, SF-qualified individual, did not seem amused as he snatched up his helmet and headed towards the bus. Once Faith’s hands were clean of wet paint, he found his helmet cover, put it in his pocket, and walked over to the van.
“Is Chalk One always this small?” Faith asked Jeff.
“It is during pre-jump,” Jeff said with a smile. “All the brass is on Chalk One, they’ll meet us at the airfield. They show up, throw a ‘chute on, and they’re out the plane and off the DZ before you know it. Works out really well that way.”
That made sense to Faith.
When all of the chalks had completed rehearsals, it was time to get on bused to go to the drop zone. But Faith was still without his helmet. “Hey, J.D.,” he asked, “Where’s my helmet?”
“It’s over there on the stage, sir. Go ahead and grab it and get into the van at the head of the convoy,” J.D replied. Faith looked at the stage, but didn’t see his helmet. What he did see were a line of about seven helmets, stripped of their camouflague covers, and painted chalk white. When he got closer, he found that each helmet was adorned with red blotches, which upon closer inspection turned out to be fairly well-rendered facsimiles of…
“Cherries,” Faith said with bemusement as he located his own helmet. It was easy enough to figure out which one was his, being an extra-large helmet it was noticeably larger than the others, and someone had helpfully written, in black Sharpie marker, his last name across the front of the helmet in bold capital letters. His “cherries” were also the largest. When he picked up the helmet, he noticed two things: that other Soldiers had written “helpful” messages on the helmet. These included “DIRT DART,” “Congratulations on your cherry jump!”, “Don’t die,” and “You can do it, sir!” Faith also noticed that the paint was still wet.
Five of the other helmets were similarly adorned. As Faith wiped the wet paint off his hands onto the grass, the rest of the “cherries” claimed their own helmets. They, like Faith, seemed amused. Faith then noticed that the last helmet was decorated a bit differently. It was still white, but instead of cherries it had what were clearly fins attached to the top and sides of the helmet, and the words SKY SHARK and a date about two weeks in the past printed across the front. This individual, an older, SF-qualified individual, did not seem amused as he snatched up his helmet and headed towards the bus. Once Faith’s hands were clean of wet paint, he found his helmet cover, put it in his pocket, and walked over to the van.
Dame
Member
- Joined
- Apr 22, 2010
- Messages
- 3,385
Aaahhh.
OK, Aspy moment. I thought Dirt Dart was someone else whose first name was Marion. Was so confused when I looked him up and saw his name was Steve. Tracking now though.
http://dirtdart.com/about.p
- Joined
- Dec 22, 2006
- Messages
- 1,911
It is funny you should mention that...
But Faith's father is still very much alive, as you will see below.
/////
[Case Study]
I've been wondering about this for a while, and had - like Deathy - assumed that Faith's father was no longer with us due to lack of contact. If someone mentioned they knew my dad, I'd definitely be asking him (my dad) about it... and if that person was exceptionally interesting (like an SF CW5), that would speed up my dialing significantly. I'm surprised it took this long and dad initiating for the conversation to happen...
This new rash of updates is making me enjoy this story all over again!
I've been wondering about this for a while, and had - like Deathy - assumed that Faith's father was no longer with us due to lack of contact. If someone mentioned they knew my dad, I'd definitely be asking him (my dad) about it... and if that person was exceptionally interesting (like an SF CW5), that would speed up my dialing significantly. I'm surprised it took this long and dad initiating for the conversation to happen...
Hmmm... I guess that's what happens when one writes stream-of-consciousness and not with an outline. In the revision I'll move that up to occur right after Faith finds out about the connection between Michaels and Faith's father. Thanks guys.
My wife also says I should work the family angle in a little better, since family is such an important component of the SOF lifestyle.
On the way to the drop zone, Faith gingerly held his helmet in his lap, so as not to get any paint on his BDUs. He hoped the paint would be dry before it was time to put it on his head, otherwise the jumpmaster might get a surprise during JMPI. Most of the rest of the people in the van were senior members of the Group staff, a couple of people wearing SOCOM patches, and J.D., Paul, Razor, and a couple of other people Faith recognized as men Faith had met when Chief Rollins brought over ODA 225. The discussion quickly devolved into the kind of raucous banter that exists between Soldiers who knew each other well.
Faith, not knowing these men well and not knowing the inside jokes that they all seemed to be laughing about, was relieved to be sitting beside Jeff, the chaplain with whom he had spoken earlier. As before, Jeff was engaging and quite talkative, which Faith appreciated.
“So, are you nervous?” Jeff asked Faith shortly after the van started moving.
“A little, yeah,” Faith answered, honesty.
“Do you have anything that helps you deal with the anxiety?” Jeff inquired.
“Not really,” Faith said, “I just think through all the steps that I have to go through, and I just do it.”
“I see,” replied Jeff.
“What about you? Do you have anything you do before a jump?”
“Well,” Jeff began, “I’ve been doing this a long time. I’ve got well over a hundred jumps, so it doesn’t really scare me anymore. In fact, I think it just makes me closer to God. But…” he continued, “… there is something I say just before I get on the plane, it’s something I have committed to memory and say before I do anything that might be dangerous.”
“What is it?” Faith inquired enthusiastically.
“It goes like this: ‘
“I think I’ve heard that before,” Faith said, trying to place it.
“Probably so,” replied Jeff.
“Oh!” said Faith. “I know, was it in the Old Testament?”
That question brought a chorus of laughs from the men seated around Faith.
“Not exactly,” Jeff said, smiling gently.
“Hey padre, maybe Faith here needs to spend a little more time in your company on Sundays, to actually learn what’s in the bible and what isn’t,” someone joked.
“I’m thinking ‘Faith’ is mis-named a bit,” someone else said.
Faith was confused.
“It’s from the movie Dune,” Jeff said, helpfully. Faith felt a bit embarrassed.
“1000 hours, Sunday mornings, Old Post Chapel,” someone called out for Faith’s benefit.
“So you don’t say a prayer to God or anything, to help you through the jump?” Faith asked incredulously.
“Nope,” said Jeff firmly, “It is not for me to question God’s will. If it is God’s will that everything goes well on the jump, then it will go well. If it’s God’s will that something happens on the jump, then no amount of pleading will change it. It’s best to put yourself in God’s hands.”
Normally, Faith would find this type of reasoning to be “Bible thumping.” But it was so rational, and delivered with such enthusiasm, that Faith was honestly impressed.
“But,” Jeff continued, “After I’m on the ground, I do say a prayer of gratitude for it being God’s will that I lived through the jump,” he added with a wink.
Faith, not knowing these men well and not knowing the inside jokes that they all seemed to be laughing about, was relieved to be sitting beside Jeff, the chaplain with whom he had spoken earlier. As before, Jeff was engaging and quite talkative, which Faith appreciated.
“So, are you nervous?” Jeff asked Faith shortly after the van started moving.
“A little, yeah,” Faith answered, honesty.
“Do you have anything that helps you deal with the anxiety?” Jeff inquired.
“Not really,” Faith said, “I just think through all the steps that I have to go through, and I just do it.”
“I see,” replied Jeff.
“What about you? Do you have anything you do before a jump?”
“Well,” Jeff began, “I’ve been doing this a long time. I’ve got well over a hundred jumps, so it doesn’t really scare me anymore. In fact, I think it just makes me closer to God. But…” he continued, “… there is something I say just before I get on the plane, it’s something I have committed to memory and say before I do anything that might be dangerous.”
“What is it?” Faith inquired enthusiastically.
“It goes like this: ‘
’”
“I think I’ve heard that before,” Faith said, trying to place it.
“Probably so,” replied Jeff.
“Oh!” said Faith. “I know, was it in the Old Testament?”
That question brought a chorus of laughs from the men seated around Faith.
“Not exactly,” Jeff said, smiling gently.
“Hey padre, maybe Faith here needs to spend a little more time in your company on Sundays, to actually learn what’s in the bible and what isn’t,” someone joked.
“I’m thinking ‘Faith’ is mis-named a bit,” someone else said.
Faith was confused.
“It’s from the movie Dune,” Jeff said, helpfully. Faith felt a bit embarrassed.
“1000 hours, Sunday mornings, Old Post Chapel,” someone called out for Faith’s benefit.
“So you don’t say a prayer to God or anything, to help you through the jump?” Faith asked incredulously.
“Nope,” said Jeff firmly, “It is not for me to question God’s will. If it is God’s will that everything goes well on the jump, then it will go well. If it’s God’s will that something happens on the jump, then no amount of pleading will change it. It’s best to put yourself in God’s hands.”
Normally, Faith would find this type of reasoning to be “Bible thumping.” But it was so rational, and delivered with such enthusiasm, that Faith was honestly impressed.
“But,” Jeff continued, “After I’m on the ground, I do say a prayer of gratitude for it being God’s will that I lived through the jump,” he added with a wink.
Just for you
well, you and The Troll.I do think it is a bad-ass little mantra though, it gave me a chill the first time I read it. Kind of like the little Viking pre-battle chant in "The 13th Warrior."
- Joined
- Oct 24, 2006
- Messages
- 2,766
That's it. I think that might have to make an appearance in a later case study.
104TN
Verified Military
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2006
- Messages
- 921
That implies this one ends. I'm not sure how I feel about that. ;)
Welcome back wiseass! Whatcha up to?
I'm getting there, it's only been six months (+/-), sheesh!
The talk then turned to a discussion of nicknames. It appeared that the “junior bravo,” which Faith knew meant the weapons sergeant with the least amount of time on ODA 225, was about to find out what his nickname was going to be. While the other members of the team seemed greatly amused by the whole thing, the junior bravo (whose name Faith didn’t know and decided to mentally call “JB”), seemed concerned. He had good reason, as the van got closer to the drop zone, Jeff explained that within SF, one’s nickname was how he would be referred forevermore within the Special Forces community.
“You don’t get to pick it yourself?” Faith inquired.
“Hey, J.D.,” Jeff unexpectedly shouted to the driver, “Captain Faith here wants to know if you get to pick your own nickname.” From the way the van erupted in laughter, Faith knew that the answer was no.
“Hey sir, they guys on the team pick your name for you,” explained Paul, turning around in his seat to face Faith. It’s usually some unusual or unnatural physical attribute, or something the Soldier did.”
“Or didn’t do!” said Razor, reaching across two seats to smack JB, not gently, in the back of the head.
Several names were tossed out by the other members of the ODA, many amusing, most degrading. Eventually, they appeared to come to a consensus. Razor conferred briefly with another man who was sitting in the passenger seat of the vehicle. The other man, who Faith later learned was the officer team leader of the ODA, nodded. So the name was settled.
“Welcome to the team, Deadweight!” Razor announced as the van once again erupted with laughter. Faith got the sense that the name was some kind of inside joke that he didn’t get, but pieced together that it had something to do with JB/Deadweight’s role in the now-infamous SCIF safe incident, as well as the opinion that the rest of the ODA had of Deadweight’s value to the team. Deadweight did not seem pleased with his new nickname.
“Do us support types get nicknames too?” Faith wondered aloud.
“Red-hats don’t rate nicknames,” Deadweight scoffed. “They get to make my breakfast.” <author note: red hats refer to the color of the berets that support personnel wear while assigned to an SF unit. This is contrast with the garrison headgear of a Special Forces-qualified Soldier, which is of course green. The term can be, but is not necessarily, a derogatory one. Here, the intention is clearly derogatory.>
Faith, unsure what that was supposed to mean, said nothing.
“Shut the fuck up, Deadweight,” Razor said, again smacking the younger man in the back of the head. After that was done, he turned to face Faith. “That’s up to you and yours, sir,” he explained, “but normally I don’t think the enablers give each other nicknames unless it’s something pretty memorable.”
“I see,” Faith said.
Faith greatly admired the way 2nd Group ran airborne operations, compared to what he remembered from Fort Benning and Airborne School. When the van arrived, it pulled up a short distance away from the Casa, which had already landed on the dirt strip of Suckchon DZ. The truck containing the parachutes pulled up next, followed by a van containing the riggers, and then the trucks containing the jumpers began disgorging their occupants. Had this been back at Benning, there would have been a five-mile run, in uniform, to the airfield where they would have ‘chuted up, and sat around on the ramp, in the uncomfortable and heavy parachutes and combat equipment, for at least three hours before they even got on the plane. Then there was the flight to the airfield, probably a couple of “racetracks” while everything got situated, and then several passes to unload all the jumpers. But here, you showed up, you ‘chuted up immediately before it was your turn to board the aircraft, you walked up the ramp of the Casa, and soon after you jumped off the ramp. No, you walked off the ramp, not jumped off, Faith corrected himself.
“Red-hats don’t rate nicknames,” Deadweight scoffed. “They get to make my breakfast.” <author note: red hats refer to the color of the berets that support personnel wear while assigned to an SF unit. This is contrast with the garrison headgear of a Special Forces-qualified Soldier, which is of course green. The term can be, but is not necessarily, a derogatory one. Here, the intention is clearly derogatory.>
Faith, unsure what that was supposed to mean, said nothing.
“Shut the fuck up, Deadweight,” Razor said, again smacking the younger man in the back of the head. After that was done, he turned to face Faith. “That’s up to you and yours, sir,” he explained, “but normally I don’t think the enablers give each other nicknames unless it’s something pretty memorable.”
“I see,” Faith said.
Faith greatly admired the way 2nd Group ran airborne operations, compared to what he remembered from Fort Benning and Airborne School. When the van arrived, it pulled up a short distance away from the Casa, which had already landed on the dirt strip of Suckchon DZ. The truck containing the parachutes pulled up next, followed by a van containing the riggers, and then the trucks containing the jumpers began disgorging their occupants. Had this been back at Benning, there would have been a five-mile run, in uniform, to the airfield where they would have ‘chuted up, and sat around on the ramp, in the uncomfortable and heavy parachutes and combat equipment, for at least three hours before they even got on the plane. Then there was the flight to the airfield, probably a couple of “racetracks” while everything got situated, and then several passes to unload all the jumpers. But here, you showed up, you ‘chuted up immediately before it was your turn to board the aircraft, you walked up the ramp of the Casa, and soon after you jumped off the ramp. No, you walked off the ramp, not jumped off, Faith corrected himself.
Faith is doomed, will probably get a cheezy call sign like Marauder 6
I'm going with "Ironhead" or "Dumbass" myself.Faith is doomed, will probably get a cheezy call sign like Marauder 6
Reed
He'll probably get some nickname like "Doctor Heinz Doofenshmirtz", "Mojo Jojo", "Mandark" or some other cartoon based mad scientist/evil protagonist...
Or just something like "Deuce".
Every intel officer is Deuce.
Every intel officer is Deuce.
Similar threads
