"Terrorist bombers were last night believed responsible for the Air India jumbo jet crash off of the Kerry coast in which 329 people died." -- Irish Independent, June 24, 1985.
The rubber seals on our dry suits squeezed our necks like boa constrictors. When I tried to follow Stan out of the helicopter door to jump into the cold, dark waters of the North Atlantic, there was a loud "chunk" as I was yanked backward by the gunner's safety strap, which I'd forgotten to unhook.
"Nice!" the flight engineer yelled as he shook his head. I handed him the belt and jumped.
In my training to become a U.S. Air Force Pararescueman (otherwise known as a "PJ"), they taught us to time the waves when jumping from a helicopter, so you landed on the crest rather than in the trough. The difference could be 20 feet in heavy seas. Water has the hardness of concrete if you hit it with too much velocity. The pilots would typically try to get us down to 10 or 15 feet above the level of the sea.
I couldn't wait. I had to get out quickly or risk being separated from Stan.
When I hit, the force nearly ripped my fins off. The deep plunge into the 50-degree water took away my breath. I kicked hard to get to the surface.
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