Skydiving with Rummy: A Fever Dream in Prose
“Of course you can do it,” spat the Defence Secretary, “Precision guidance — your crash helmet is equipped with a radio headset, you’ll be directed right down to the target by our spotters. You’ll have the world’s finest technology and expertise along with you. All you have to do is follow instructions. Do as you’re told.”
I looked over at the field I was to land in, ringed in on all four sides by power cables triple-stacked sixty metres high, forming an electric fence criss-crossing with wires throbbing.
Rumsfeld read my mind. “Those lines are a high grade landing hazard, without a doubt,” his voice augmented by reverb-like assurance. “You’d spark up like a Roman candle if you hit one. Don’t be a coward, you have nothing to worry about. I would have thought you possessed some trace of courage.”
I was handed a backpack. It was lighter than I expected.
“I packed it myself” Rumsfeld added, his hands running through his hair in exasperation. “This exact model of parachute is used by our own Special Forces.” His eyes clenched in a squint, “you don’t think we’d endanger the lives of our most valued human assets, do you? Use your brain!” He pointed toward the plane, idling on the runway.
“I’ll do it,” I said, grabbed the pack and walked off on trembling legs, “you just keep your end of the bargain.”
“Don’t concern yourself,” he shouted after me, “I promise that you’ll get exactly what you deserve. You have my word, and thereby that of the Government of the United States of America, the greatest power… under God… in the universe…”
I lost his voice in the growing din of the engines as I got nearer the plane. I climbed up and in the open door, and entered a cargo bay holding a single airman who was reading a comic book through mirrored sunglasses.
Almost instantly we were aloft, and soon the moment had arrived. The airman smiled and nodded at me.
Just then a familiar voice came barking through the headset, “What in tarnation are you waiting for? We can’t guide you down if you’re too chickenshit to jump out of the fucking plane! By golly!”
“OK! OK! I’m jumping!” I yelled back, though I didn’t see a microphone on the helmet.
I had jumped from planes twice before, for fun, and tried to remember the key points as I made my way to the door. I patted myself looking for the ripcord, and finally the airman opened a velcro pocket and pulled it out for me, gently giggling.
Without another thought I was out, the plane quickly disappearing from my sight. I waited a few seconds and gave the cord a yank.
Nothing. The buildings and vehicles on the ground were looking larger.
I heard chuckling on the headset. “Sir, you are a moron,” came that voice again. “Your folly is a victory for natural selection.”
The earth advanced toward me at an alarming rate.