JUMP PARATROOPER, JUMP!
Turnbull jumps and the racing slipstream shoves him into the void. Parachuting is not gentle.
A howling wind deafens Turnbull as he zooms back, arms folded and legs crossed to prevent broken bones. He is ready when his static line violently yanks out his parachute.
Air fills and slows Turnbull's canopy and he relaxes slightly, confident in his equipment. He tests his risers - the levers that help him control his descent - and sees no tangles or foul ups. The jump itself is going well.
Jumping, though, is just the step before landing, so Turnbull scans about to see if he is in the right place.
It's dark, but he feels other parachutes in the air as 3rd Squad slowly arcs behind him.
Several paratroopers drop directly on to a flaming town to Turnbull's south as German rifles crack away at the descending Americans.
Turnbull cannot absorb that horror. The ground rushes up and he unhooks his leg bag, letting the extra explosives sack drop.
The heavy leg bag slams into the ground as Turnbull braces himself for his own impact.
His heels strike the deck and he lets his body loosen and absorb the landing shock.
Quickly, the Lieutenant hops up and grabs his billowing parachute, now landing on and around him. He cuts himself free and unslings the rifle strapped across his chest.
Turnbull has made a textbook landing in a small field enclosed by high hedgerows all around him.
Then a dark shape moves about 100 yards away and Turnbull freezes.
It looks like a couple of Germans walking in the moonlight.
