WETSU

An inside look at a Veteran War Fighters and Life Fighters. We are not veterans of writing, but of living, loving, and learning. Aspiring to inspire others veterans and non veterans alike. "We Eat This Shit Up Daily!!"

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Today for #freedomfriday we recognize #chriskyleday ... American Sniper. Navy Seal. Veteran advocate. Lived his life in the WETSU way!! Enjoy your freedom tonight by smashing some Jameson and flying your flag high! . . . 🦅🇺🇸 . . #belegendary #wetsu #army #navy #marines #militarymemes #militarymotivation #armyteam #untilvalhalla #fiddlersgreen #sacrifice #tilvalhala #paratroopersneverdietheyjustslipaway #dropzoneinthesky (at Coronado Beach)

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"Paratroopers never die, they just slip away" . Today, we remember paratrooper Captain David E. Schultz of Blue Island, Illinois, killed Thursday, January 31, 2008 in Iraq. CPT Schultz was a member of Bravo Troop, 3rd Squadron, 73rd Cavalry, 1st BCT, 82nd Airborne Division, when he was killed by a rocket attack in Scania, Iraq. We will never forget the ultimate sacrifice made by Cpt. Schultz. #warriorwednesday . . . 🦅🇺🇸 . . #belegendary #wetsu #army #navy #marines #militarymemes #militarymotivation #armyteam #untilvalhalla #fiddlersgreen #sacrifice #tilvalhala #paratroopersneverdietheyjustslipaway #dropzoneinthesky

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I have seen the people in their last fleeting moments, when the life of a man drifts out into the heaven’s above. As their eyes stare into what I hope and pray is a better place, I feel a pain that I hope no one ever has to feel.  There is nothing that will make you feel more helpless and out of control. From now until I join my brothers, I will do whatever is necessary to help my community. This story isn’t about death, rather this is a story about saving lives, community, and love.

Eight years ago, I started working for an organization called “The Fallen Outdoors.” Fallen outdoors is a veteran and active duty ran non-profit organization with the goal of connecting military veterans and active duty service members through the use of the outdoors hunting and fishing. The Fallen Outdoors had humble beginnings, with no marketing strategy and only 25 members. As an 18-year-old from a small town in Wisconsin it was exactly what I need. The idea that I could connect and build relationships with other veterans through something I loved was a life saver for me. Now our organization operates in 42 states and has over 70,000 members.  The members fund trips for thousands of veterans every year.   As we started to grow, we realized that this was more than just group outings. These were guys who had been in and out of wars for years, fighting and grinding to keep our nation, another country, and their own families together. They had been to hell and back, and yet, here they stood looking to us for guidance.  That’s when I met Matt.

Matt was a Marine Corp veteran who I took trout fishing.  As we were out and about, we talked, told jokes, talked trash to each other. We reminisced about the earlier times in our lives: I thought about my first hunts with my dad, when I was barely over to see the water, while he talked about his first fishing trips.  Then we talked of war, the one item only us veterans will truly understand. An item on any docket that is taboo for person who have never walked that thin red line. We told tales of our fallen brothers and where we had been their final moments. Finally, after hours of being together, Matt said something that I’ll never forget. Before he had decided to come on this trip, two of his veteran brothers had decided to end their lives. He wanted nothing more to join them, tears started crawling down his face, head drooping in shame. He had contemplated taking his own life, leaving his wife and kids behind. He broke down completely to me, letting it all go.  Years of hard times and faking his smiles, now out in the open as we cut up our catch. This trip, that his wife had forced him on, had saved his life. This one moment where we talked to each other like we had known each other since birth. This connection only forged in the fires of warfighting, had been what he needed. He needed us.  He needed me.

That was three years ago, and since then we have taken over 10,000 veterans on trips nationwide.  We can only imagine the lives we have saved, the families we have enriched, and the meaning we have brought back to each other. Like I said, this is a story about saving lives.  Saving a life does not mean you need to jump over walls, run through gunfire, and perform mouth-to-mouth.  Sometimes the simple kindness from one vet to another, one sympathetic ear, and some good old fishing will remind someone that they have so much.  That as a community, we need them.

VISIT: www.thefallenoutdoors.com to join OUR community and make a difference. 

#wetsuco #wetsu #belegendary #thefallenoutdoors #communityservice #military #community #veterans #hunting #fishing #veteranshelpingveterans #airborne #rangers #marinecorps #usarmy #nogreaterlove #family #militaryfamily # bandofbrothers #untilvalhalla

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“We don’t look down upon those of you who haven’t served,” said Kelly, whose son, 2nd Lt. Robert Kelly, died in combat in 2010 in Afghanistan. “In fact, in a way, we’re a little bit sorry because you’ll never have experienced the wonderful joy you get in your heart when you do the kind of things our servicemen and women do. Not for any other reason than they love this country.” . . 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸 . . . #usarmy #usarmyranger #usarmyparatrooper #war #paratrooper #fortbragg #military #militarymotivation #militarypictures #inspiration #hero #service #community #militarywriters #wetsuco (at Fort Bragg, North Carolina)

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To my wife and son,

If you are reading this, I have closed my eyes for the last time.  I know it probably hurts, more than dying itself.  I promise I kept fighting. I promise I kept trying to breathe. I promise I tried to get back to you. This time though it wasn’t my choice, fate or God or Valhalla has taken me for something greater.  I wasn’t alone though and I wasn’t afraid.  I held my brothers hand as I went. He kept telling me it would be ok, though the fear on his face told me otherwise. I watched the medic try until tears came out of his eyes. I pulled your picture out of my helmet and smiled, even as my lungs collapsed. I am happy.

I was never alone.

I know you must feel alone but you are not.  I’ll always be there for you. When times get tough, I’ll be whispering into your ear. When you find love again I’ll be there, smiling to see you happy again.  I’ll never forget you and everything we have been through. I have never been happier… from the moment I mumbled through tear filled speech “I do,” to this last fleeting moment. I am laughing because I will remember the fights, the jokes, the late-night snacks, and the tears. I love you more than life itself and would give my life everyday if it meant you never had to witness this evil. I love you enough to let you go, to let you fly, so fly and be happy. Remember our life together and make every day worth it.

My son. I will never see your first steps or your first date. I won’t be there to take you to prom or deal with your first break up. Life isn’t going to be easy son. Life will be a struggle. Embrace that struggle like it is yours to crush.  Never shy away from a challenge, even if it means you may not make it back. That’s the way of the warrior. This time I did not make it. I would not change it though. I regret nothing.  I sang my song as I went. I fought hard, loved hard, and lived hard. At the end of the day, put living a meaningful life as your top priority, because there is only one shot at this life. Tom Petty once said, “you can stand me up at the gates of hell but I won’t back down.” I challenge you to live your life like that. Show this world that my death was not in vein. That my life at least made a positive impact in your life. Be me, but better.

Take care of your mother. She is the greatest woman you will ever know. She was the inspiration to every dream I ever had. I will never forget either of you. Please do not forget about me.

Until we meet again.

Love,

Rufio

 #wetsu #wetsuco #soldierslastletter #militarywriters #veterans #army #navy #marines #airforce #usmilitary #letterwriting #deathsong #heaven #untilvalhalla #airborne #airbornerangers #specialforces #operationiraqifreedom #operationenduringfreedom #oif #oef #veterans #warfighters #armywife #militarywife

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The Functional Veteran

Fifty thousand homeless on a given night; twenty-two suicides a day; 3% unemployment rate (national average 4%)

What do all these statements have in common?

Glopping descriptions of the veteran population that only applies to a facet of us. For too long we’ve aloud the narrative of the dysfunctional veteran to rule the airways. It’s time we show we have value in this world outside it’s bullet riddled houses and bombed out roads.

How do we reshape society’s perception of a group of individuals that were once viewed as the fittest, sharpest, and most resilient collection of people this country could assemble; a breed who doesn’t know failure, even when the deck is stacked against them and the odds seem insurmountable?

WE TRAIN.

Just like you were preparing for a physical war, you must prepare yourself for a war of perception and stigmas. Range time becomes class time. Utilize the tools that you have been given: Post 9/11 GI Bill, Tuition Assistance (Active Duty), therapists, counselors, etc. The time to be prideful has passed, the previously mentioned things are your battlefield multipliers.

Don’t wait till you’re out of the military to start either. Will going to class after COB versus hanging in the “B’s” be the most popular choice, more than likely not, but being a leader isn’t about popularity. It’s about showing others what is possible, removing yourself from the equation so that others may grow and prosper, shepherding the flock with what you have learned to make them better. 

The first rule of any static position is to constantly develop and improve your defenses.

You are your static position, what are you doing to develop and improve yourself?

Let’s change the narrative #functionalveteran

- Shepard

For a list of successful veteran businesses by Forbes™, click here

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My life began the moment I saw the other side. My life began when another’s ended, when the world slowly drifted out his eyes, I felt it pass into mine. What meaning I had now found through my brother.  His death had taught me to live like there isn’t another tomorrow. I am living for two now. Every morning I awake to a new day, the sun shines, the birds chirp, and I move rapidly towards life. I am not a morning person but then I see the pictures of us on the wall. I will never fail my brother, not again.

I joined the Army as a Combat Medic. I learned my craft, certified as a Medic, saved a few lives, and saw a lot of dicks. Too many dicks. When I left the Army, I realized my life’s work was not in medicine but in helping people.  I will never know if that was something I had before or if it was character attribute that I had picked up while in. I pride myself in knowing that the actions I am taking are helping others live fruitful lives and I pray that they pass it forward. In honesty, I have learned that they probably do not. Fuck it though, because for every 25 people I help, maybe one will pass it forward. My faith keeps me engaged. How can you curse and be a man of faith? Easy. “I am therefore I am.” Deal with it.

           After the service, I attended Texas A&M receiving a degree in Business. Who cares though? Why is there so much focus on what degree you get if you do not do anything meaningful with it? There are famous porn stars with Masters Degrees.  I am not saying that their degrees did not help them in any way. Just seems like they could have done the same thing and not spent money on the degree. A man of faith watched pornography? I was in the Army for 5 years, so yes, I may have strayed a little from the path.

           After school, I started working for a non-profit organization that helped deliver medical supplies to third world countries. I am also involved in the American Legion, Veterans of Foreign Wars, and Habitat for Humanity.  It is a lot and the pay sucks. The thing that really keeps me going is that last look. The stare into what seems like nothingness that my brother had on his face. I hope that every day he looks down upon me and smiles, drinks a shot of Jameson, and says “Fuck yeah Preach, just take one more step and we will be there.” I’ll keep stepping brother if you just sit on that observation post in the sky and watch my six.  Until we regroup my brothers. Cheers.

  -Preach

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Honoring our fallen heroes: SGT. 1ST CLASS KRISTOFFER BRYAN DOMEIJ Killed in action on Oct. 22, 2011 Operation Enduring Freedom Sgt. 1st Class Kristoffer B. Domeij, 29, was killed during combat operations in Kandahar Province, Afghanistan when the assault force triggered an improvised explosive device. Domeij was a Ranger Joint Terminal Attack Controller assigned to Headquarters and Headquarters Company, 2nd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment at Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Wash. He was on his 14th combat deployment to Afghanistan in support of the War on Terror. Following graduation from the Ranger Assessment and Selection Program, Domeij was assigned to C Co., 2nd Bn., 75th Ranger Reg. in 2002 where he served as a forward observer. He also served in Headquarters and Headquarters Co. as a Reconnaissance Joint Terminal Attack Controller; in B Co. as the Fire Support Noncommissioned Officer; and again in HHC as the Battalion Fires Support Noncommissioned Officer. Domeij was also a Joint Terminal Attack Controller - Evaluator and was one of the first Army qualified JTAC’s, training which is usually reserved for members of the Air Force. His awards and decorations include the Ranger Tab, Combat Action Badge, Expert Infantry Badge, Senior Parachutist Badge, the Pathfinder Badge and the U.S. Army Expert Rifle Marksmanship Qualification Badge. He has also been awarded two Bronze Star Medals, the Joint Commendation Medal, Meritorious Service Medal, and the Purple Heart. #rltw⚡️⚡️♠️ #wetsuco #wetsu #usarmyranger #usarmyfister #forwardobserver #jtac #sotac

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Stop trying to fit in...

As veterans, we come into the service as normal people and are taught a whole new reality. We are taught a depth and perspective on life that 99% will not or care not to understand. As a veterans of two wars, we have seen the best and worst of humankind. We have loved our platoon like they were our own brothers, actually probably even more than our own brothers. We have cried. We have slept in the dirt. We have hurt like no other.  We have partied like no other. We are different now. 

Stop trying to fit in with the other 99%. We never will. By trying to fit in with this other group of people, we are limiting ourselves to the outstanding possibilities we have. Why are 36% of all management positions in America held by 1.7% of the population? Why are 52% of Presidencies held by 1.7% of the population? Why do 40% of the 1.7% of the population hold College Degrees? Because we don't fit in.

We Excel.

We use the skills taught to us and the dedication and motivation instilled in us to be better than the rest. We use our appreciation for the small things in life to remind us to live well. We use our years of military leadership to hold together the fabric of American businesses. We use our ingenuity and teamwork to create and start new business. We use experiences to drive our decisions that only 1.7% of the population have. 

So why fit in? 

#wetsuco #wetsu #belegendary #militarywriters #successfulwarfighters

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WHEN THE BAG ZIPS PART 2 ...Two more heroes remained.  

As we finished recovering the final paratrooper, the sound of the extraction helicopter not only signaled to our unit that they needed to be ready to extract; it also marked the beginning of a well-placed ambush by the enemy. Purple smoke filled the air like a fog in a horror story.  As it bellowed, a transmission came over the radio.

The words jabbed into my ears through the headset, “Marked by smoke, 150 meters southeast, over,” followed by the crackled reply “Confirmed visual purple smoke, coming in from the North, 2 minutes, over”

As the helicopter landed, the enemy machine gun fire started as if it was in synchronization with the helicopter pilot.  As we moved the football field and a half of open terrain to the helicopter, I could feel the machine gun sights pressing against my back. Three times we made this run to the helicopter, relying on our brothers to lay down accurate and overwhelming fire on our enemy.  Every step waiting for the hard slam of an enemy bullet to put us to sleep, to end our fight, to finally rest.  

After we put the third hero in the helicopter, the door slammed shut me trapped inside.   The helicopter chief pointed to my bloody leg.  I had not realized that I had blood on his leg and boot.  Had I been shot and the adrenaline made it so I did not feel it? As machine gun fire hit the windows, the helicopter started to lift off.  The ground started to become smaller as I was contemplating just leaving the battle regardless if I was injured or not.

“No, I am good, let me get back out there!” I screamed to the helicopter chief.  “Are you sure?” the helicopter chief replied.  

My thumb went up, like an old 80’s movie, in a gesture that told him yes, but my mind was saying no.  As the helicopter landed and the doors swung open, bullets snapped all around me.  I stepped off into the dirt that smelled of death, weaponless and alone; I ran.  I did a movement called the serpentine, and I laughed.  There that smile returned, the smile that will always be there when the going gets tough.  I imagined Will Ferrell, from the movie Land of the Lost, yelling “ Serpentine Pattern! Serpentine Pattern!”  After crossing through the barrage of machine gun fire and I was home with my family in the hot, dirty, and smelly desert.  We fought until the sun went down. For some of us, the sun would never rise again.     

_Rufio

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The Paratrooper’s Arrogance Paratroopers have a pride and arrogance that most Americans don’t understand and don’t like. Even soldiers who aren’t Paratroopers don’t understand. The pride doesn’t exist because we have a job that’s physically impressive. It certainly doesn’t exist because it takes a higher level of intelligence to perform our duties. It’s sad and I hate to admit it, but any college student or high school grad can physically do what we do. It’s not THAT demanding and doesn’t take a physical anomaly. Nobody will ever be able to compare us to professional athletes or fitness models. And it doesn’t take a very high IQ to read off serial numbers, pack bags according to a packing list, or know that incoming bullets have the right of way. The pride of the Paratrooper comes not from knowing that he’s doing a job that others can’t, but that he’s doing a job that others simply won’t. Some Paratroopers haven’t seen a lot of combat. While that may sound ideal to the civilian or non-paratrooper soldier, it pains the Paratrooper. We signed up to spit in the face of danger. To walk the line between life and death and live to do it again – or not. To come to terms with our own mortality and let others try to take our life instead of yours. We have raised our hands and said, “Take me, America. I am willing to kill for you. I am willing to sacrifice my limbs for you. I will come back to America scarred and disfigured for you. I will be the first to die for you.” That’s why the Paratrooper carries himself with pride and arrogance. He’s aware that America has lost respect for him. To many he’s a bloodthirsty animal. To others he’s too uneducated and stupid to get a regular job or go to college. Only he knows the truth. While there are few in America who claim to have respect for him, the Paratrooper returns from war with less fanfare than a first down in a high school football game. Yes, people say "Thank you for your service," but people say it to make themselves feel better. Good. Sleep tight America. Paratroopers can be anywhere in the world in 18 hours. -Anonymous

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My life began in a small suburb.  I had a loving father and a caring mother who always pushed me to always achieve my goals.  My parents both worked hard and had decent careers, which allowed me to have the opportunities that every young boy should have.  I played sports and went to church; I even was an altar boy.  It’s almost laughable that I was an altar boy and now I sit in these cold streets.  Where is the church now?  I have laughed about this before, but maybe the real question is why did I push the church out my life?  As smoke filled the air around me in the mountains of Afghanistan I am reminded of the incense the priest would motion for me to swing around.  The incense would penetrate your nose, make your eyes water and make you sweat, beads dripping down onto the white robe.  I grew up playing sports, but there is no training for carrying a litter down a mountain.  The Soldier on the litter was lying lifeless, yet still breathing; “he will live,” I had told everyone.  I always said that.  Honestly I didn’t know, but for now his body became weight, not helping us as we weaved down a mountain that would constantly become animated by sporadic rocks exploding and the occasional volley of bullets.  “I will never quit, I will never leave a fallen comrade,” our warrior ethos, repeats in the head as the muscles start to fail.  My arms feel like a soft putty, slowly being pulled apart by the weight.  I want to stop.  I want to put him down.  He is my brother though and so continue to step, knowing that each could be my last. It wasn’t always this difficult.  The smoke that covers the journey reminded me of a simpler time, “I was an altar boy once, and I bet no one here would believe that.”  I smiled, a grin that touched both of my ears.  I have always been in disbelief of how much strength the smile can provide you. Any Soldier will say that the smile is an extremely important tool, that without it, many operations would not have been successful.  I can’t remember a time when an infantryman wouldn’t at one point, in a direct engagement with the enemy, make a slide and witty remark.  Not realizing that I had spoken out loud, I had let my secret out, and for the rest of the time I was in Afghanistan they called me “preach.”  I never once said anything about a higher power but I cherished having a nickname.  Nicknames in that community is a form of acceptance, jokingly similar to knighthood, and I will always cherish the title.  I miss that camaraderie.  Like I said, I grew up in a good household.  The misconception of the U.S. Army is that we are the poor kids on the block with estranged parents and no future.   Many of us join by choice.  We feel something with the profession.  My feeling came to me on September 11, 2001.

When I was in sixth grade, my friends and I were playing hacky sack when one of the eighth graders came and ripped it from my friend’s hands.  He stared in disbelief, tears slowly starting to well in his eyes.  Then, the nefarious eighth grader pushed my friend down.  He was the smallest of our group and extremely nerdy.  His glasses were always askew and his parents still dressed him.  I am almost positive he was wearing a shirt that had “Tigger” the tiger on it.  He was funny though and we liked having him around.  We all immediately jumped on the goliath; he was strong since he had hit puberty already.  Our voices squeaked at him while our small fists pummeled him.  I think at one point he was bitten.  Did we have a zombie in the group?  The teacher’s came running and screaming.  They grabbed us up swiftly because in their eyes we were murdering him; our small fists like the hammers of Thor raining down on him.  We were marched to the principal’s office like convicts; I had tears running down my face.  The experience at the time felt like we were headed to prison.  The words: “dead men walking” were figuratively written across our heads, which hung low with shame.  After the principal talked to us all, our parents were called, which is probably the scariest thing that can happen to a sixth grader from the suburbs.  At that point in my world was ending; or was it just beginning? I sat on the bench and when my father arrived I cried.  Through my tears I managed to squeal, “I was protecting my friend from the 8th grader! He was bigger!  My friend didn’t deserve to be picked on!”  He just looked at me, deep into my soul, and engrained an ideal that never left me. He said, “I know,” then he hugged me.  We got lunch, and never spoke of it to my mom.  I knew I had done the right thing.  That people who can’t defend themselves need people like me.  My stomach filled with pride as I ate my taco bell, I must always do what’s right, and I must be selfless.  A few years later, I watched the twin towers fall.  I winced as the people jumped to their death, people who still hung onto the hope that there was a chance.  There was a chance, hold on to hope, because I am coming for you.  I found myself in the U.S. Army Recruiting Center the following year, ready to make a difference in the world.

I can’t remember my friend’s name.  Seems like as you grow in an organization like the Army, you kind of lose your old friends and develop brothers.  Brothers, who are irreplaceable, held by something more than zip codes and school colors.  I miss them like crazy.  As I lay here under the only material thing that came with me from the Army, my army issued blanket aka “whoobie.”  I try to fall asleep thinking about the warmth of having my brothers around me again.  I imagine the crisp glow of a fire.  My eyes close, but my mind wanders into the same questions it goes every night.  It’s a trail well beaten by my thoughts and insecurities.  Where have they gone?

-Preach

[wetsuco-blog]

"When the bag zips" 🚨 PART 1 As I zipped the bag up, the life we had shared together came flooding back into my mind. A few zips up; I remembered the times we had on a long reconnaissance mission, him getting lost and needing assistance to find his location. As I hounded him about his ability to always be lost, he cursed at me in a slight whisper, so the enemy wouldn’t hear him. Half way closed; I recalled all the times he would burn his mouth stealing meat off the barbeque. How many times did I have to tell him that it wasn’t ready? Him cursing at me for letting him it too soon, like I had to guard the wings. As the last bit of light hit his dead face, when my best friend was sealed into the darkness that was the bag, I can’t help but remember joking with my fallen brother that we would name first-born sons after each other if either of us were killed-in-action. Ill probably never have a child though. I hope he understands. With my three teammates, we lifted his lifeless body now carrying him out into the open. He was not this heavy before. The fallen were placed in a safe location, like they were still in the fight. As the paratrooper looked in the direction of the enemy, all was silent. The three surrounding cities turned into an old Western ghost town. It was as if they were giving us time to recover their fallen. Two more heroes remained.... -Rufio

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Just one week before Chris Harris’s Aug. 2 death at the age of 25 due to an improvised explosive device (IED), Britt Harris told her husband she was expecting their first child. “When I told him, it was the happiest I’d ever seen him,” said Britt Harris, 26, of Southern Pines, North Carolina. "He was so excited." Britt, who is due in March, decorated a onesie to show her husband when she told him the news via FaceTime. Though she now faces a future of raising their child on her own, Britt Harris said she is more concerned with the soldiers who served alongside her husband in Afghanistan. “I asked if they’d like to be the first to know the gender and they were really excited,” she said. “I told them I would ship confetti poppers or something and they could be the first to know and feel included.” The soldiers filmed themselves opening the poppers in Afghanistan in front of an American flag. One of them, Joel Crunk, posted the video on YouTube. “I probably watched it 100 times myself,” she said of the video. “I was crying but smiling because their reaction was so wonderful.” - via @abcnews. Photo courtesy of Britt Harris.

[wetsuco-blog]

We eat this shit up! We crush life daily! We live for our brothers that fell before us! #tilvalhalla #wetsu #belegendary #militarycommunity #newworldorder

[wetsuco-blog]

My upper body had gone limp, while my legs felt like tree trunks firmly rooted in the ground.  I was staring from the top of the tower, not looking down and not looking up. Not really staring at anything really. This was fear. This was doubt. Both emotions had me frozen in time. The hot screams from behind me burned into my skull as the Drill Sergeant spit fire. The cold Oklahoma wind beat on my face with that winter suck. What the hell was I doing here? I knew I was scared of heights when I signed up. I also knew that Soldiers do a lot of things with heights.  I was eighteen years old and I was ready to conquer the world up until this point. Then, I hear them. From the ants on the ground I hear, “You can do it brother,” “Battle you got this,” “Stop being a wimp! ”  I realized at that very moment that everyone had been scared, and that was the intent. This course was called the “confidence course.” It was made to help you overcome fears. So I stepped off the platform. I rappelled for my family that was waiting for me at the bottom.  It was really quite simple, three quick jumps and I am on the ground.  I walked over to my best friends and we slapped hands. From this day forward, I would never be scared of anything else. With my brothers by my side I can do anything. -Rufio

[wetsuco-blog]

The cold hit me in the face like a MMA fighter. A swift left from Conner Mcgregor as the doors opened. Night and Darkness surrounded me. As I stared out into that cold night, lightless and dim, but beautiful. I instantly remembered my fear of heights. 30 seconds. Now, I looked open the vastness of night, high in the air, with man made wings upon my back. My life as a paratrooper would begin that night. Would I jump? Would I run? The jumpmaster screaming commands behind me, I am so terrified that all I can hear is my teeth chattering. I thought of my grandparents, like I had done many times before when I was scared. How proud they would be seeing me be apart of the greatest military unit ever created. The 82nd Airborne Division. I would be a paratrooper but first I needed to jump. Would my legs even move when the command came? Then this green light blared across my face. This green light that I am supposed to do something when it turns on. I am so confused. I hear screaming. I look back. “Go, Go, GO!” screams the jumpmaster. Then I feel this swift kick that propels me forward. I guess I am going! The wind pulls me out the door., I yell, “1 thousand, 2 thousand, 3 thousand, 4…” The pull of the parachute stops me mid count. Then the wind settles. My eyes open. I made it. I conquered my worst fear, though I had a little help. From that day forward, I embraced every jump like it was my last. A prayer to St. Michael, patron saint of paratroops, like a good catholic. I am and forever will be a paratroop. I will fight, think, and live that paratrooper mentality. I will always jump, I will always hit the ground running, and I will always conquer my fears. Airborne. ATW!

-Rufio