Free Shrapnel by William Wharton

what I’m supposed to do. See, I’ve taken the door off on your side. With all that equipment and the jump suit you could never get out on your own.’
    I wonder why I don’t just call it off right there. I’m scared enough. But that’s all past now. I’m in for it.
    At half past two, I’m dressed, strapped up and in the plane. Herb’s in the pilot’s seat. A soldier, who came out of the depth of the dark hangar,twists the propeller, and on the third twist, it starts. Pat has a little half steering wheel to guide the plane and a joystick between his legs.
    As a kid I’d sent in some box tops and received a small booklet from Little Orphan Annie or Bobby Benson, I forget which, that was supposed to show me how to fly an airplane. I’d practise down in the cellar using the top of a broom as my ‘joystick’. Mom came down and asked me what I was doing. I told her I was playing with my ‘joystick’, learning how to fly. She was mad at first, but when she saw the directions for flying I was reading she went upstairs.
    It’s great to see a real joystick. Pat has his hand on it, but mostly he’s pushing pedals with his feet and steering. We speed down the runway and rock a little when we leave the ground. I look out that open door. We’re going fast and the ground seems to be sliding away under us. I decide not to look. We take off out over the water. I can just pick out the small flecks of waves as we go over them. We’ve steadied some and I’m not so afraid of falling out but I hold onto what looks like the dashboard of a car.
    I don’t know how long it is we fly, and Pat’s concentrating to keep us in the air and not in the water. Sometimes there are bumps of some kindand he needs to adjust for them. The water is getting rougher and it’s cold. I’m glad for the jump suit and gloves.
    When we see the French coast he turns toward me.
    â€˜I’m going up a bit to fly over the German defensive positions. They can’t see us soon enough, or fast enough, to ever hit us but it’s best to be safe.’
    I can pick out what look like concrete houses. Pat tells me these are built in bunkers. Then we come to what look like empty space. There are no lights. Pat turns to me.
    â€˜I’m going to go up as steep as I can until I almost stall, then I’ll tilt your way and you’ll slide out. Don’t forget to hold onto and pull that ripcord. Try to land on your feet and fall backward keeping your arms ahead of you wrapped around that radio.’
    Quickly, the plane is going almost straight up and is slowing. He tilts, and, before I know it, I’m out and in the air! I pull the ripcord, and it seems forever before the chute opens. Then I’m swinging back and forth and the land is coming up to me fast. I bunch myself over forward. It isn’t two minutes later when I hit. My legs almost fold under me but I go backwards, holding onto theradio. Then I black out in the dark.
    I have the wind knocked out of me and can’t get my breath. I slowly roll over onto my knees. The chute is catching air and pulling me toward it. It pulls me over on my side. I’m still trying to get some air in my lungs, at the same time pulling with the guidelines of the chute to bring it toward me. It takes all the strength I have left. When I finally feel the black chute in the dark, I flop out on it to hold it down. I lie there listening and trying to breathe. I don’t hear anything but my own hard breathing. From the ground, I can just pick out the roots of that big twisted tree against the sky.
    Crawling on my knees, I pull the rest of the chute and pack it close against my chest, over the radio. I stand and start running toward the tree.
    The hole is deep enough and I slide down the muddy side. It’s about there I remember the box with the rations. I’m not exactly hungry, but if somebody finds it out in this