Turner was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with pride. He was always on the front of the line, ready to hear whatever his drill Sargent had for him, no fear!
He checked off his equipment and ensured his pack was tight. He had to sit there and listen to those awful engines roar as they flew over the beaches along with his comrades and brothers in arms.
He glanced over at his pal "Gordo". Gordo was a good, close friend of his. They met at highschool in '31 when they were just 15. Now, it's June 6th, 1944, and they were about to plunge themselves headfirst into Europe's most devastating global conflict. The meat grinder of war was hungry, and it demanded the sustenance of soldiers. It ached and throbbed for blood. Its maw were hungry, and the only thing that could quench the thirst of the mighty war machine, was the blood of young, naive soldiers like Him and Gordo.
They exchanged a few words together, probably words of encouragement, maybe even the occasional "when this war is over, I'm gonna go propose to her!"
We're so sorry you never got to see her...
The jump master was standing next to the open door, holding onto an overhead line of metal.
"On my mark, I want all of you ladies off my goddamn plane! Remember your Training and recall your briefing, and you will get through this!"
Everyone in the plane watched the red light on the jump indicator module with a mix of apprehension, trepidation, fear, and excitement. Excitement that they were about to make their mothers proud, yet fear of the unknown. Do these men even know how what they're about to get themselves into? The true horrors of war we're still largely hidden, and just like cigarettes, they were both advertised as "the manly thing to do"
There was a loud buzz, and the indicator turned green
"Go go go! I want all of you off my damn plane now, ladies!" The jump master shouts, urging everyone out one by one. He put his hands on their backs and pushed them before they had time to hesitate or second guess themselves.
Gordo was thrown out, and Turner followed suit, jumping out and joining him in the fall.
he ain't gonna jump no more
The time to pull our chords was set, and Gordo did so without hesitation. He took his time now while slowly gliding to survey the war-torn world around him. Artillery and flak explosions littered the sky, and you'd find yourself falling through the clouds of smoke. The air was freezing cold, and the sky above us was a grieving gray, only to be punctured by the brutal booming of flak guns that tore through the air like a knife going through butter
Below Gordo's feet, he could see the ground below him, see how it was riddled with carefully laid out nests of anti air, machine guns, and the fortifications that pointed to the beach ahead. Below, you could subtly make out the men on the ground running around like little ants. They looked so small and insignificant in comparison to Gordo, who was gliding amongst the heavens, safe with god's hand. Meanwhile his buddy was busy fighting with his own parachute, wrestling for survival as he plunges from the sky.
Turner suddenly zooms past Gordo, his parachute tangled and ultimately having failed to deploy properly. He screamed and cried for help, grunting as he wrestled with the risers to try and force his parachute into submission, but to no avail.
He fell like how Lucifer fell from heaven. Like a bolt of lighting.
He counted long, he counted long, he waited for the shock. He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop. The silk from his reserves spilled out and wrapped around his legs. The risers swung around his neck, connectors cracked his dome. Suspension lines were tied in knots around his skinny bones. The canopy became his shroud, he hurtled to the ground
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
Turners's screams were reduced to a gurgle as he feebly wrestled with the entangled risers that have started to choke him, his fall still like that of a lighting bolt. Never had anyone seen a man so desperate to not die, and never had anyone seen a man about to suffer a fate as gut-wrenchingly awful as this one.
The days he'd lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind. He thought about the girl back home, the one he'd left behind. He thought about the medic corps and wondered what they'd find of him, wondered what would be left of him to scavange, to fit into a casket and show to his grieving mother. He thought about her... Her slumped against the door, crying Infront of the officers thst would come and present her with a trifold American flag, a picture of him on top of it, and a medal sitting next to it. How she'd cry Infront of them, how his father would grieve next to her, their world shattered just as his bones were about to be.
He hit the ground, the sound was "splat," his blood went spurting high. His comrades, they were heard to say, "A hell of a way to die". He lay there, rolling 'round in the welter of his gore
And he ain't gonna jump no more
Gordo flinched at the sound, his face covered in a spray of blood like someone sprayed red paint all over him. Gordo reached to touch his blood-stained face, feeling the liquid warmth of his comrade's blood all over him. It make it cringe and stutter, because now he was staring into the remains of his jump buddy, his comrade in arms. Turner
The canopy became his shroud, a bloody casket that no one dared to lift. It became his sarcophagus, a tomb. The sight of it is enough to permanently entomb itself into the minds of all who dared witness this terrible accident in eternal memory.
There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the 'chute. Intestines were a-dangling from his paratroopers suit. He was a mess, they picked him up and poured him from his boots
And he ain't gonna jump no more...