On several occasions, I had seen the Golden Knights gliding into football stadiums under their gold and black canopies, delivering the game ball. And I always marvelled at their precision landings in the face of the unpredictable thermos or wind patterns that develop in those stadiums. And so, with great respect and confidence, I checked in at their
headquarters in Fort Bragg, NC on a beautiful sunny Friday in late May.

Ft. Bragg is a very large Army base nine miles northwest of Fayetteville, NC stretching over 161,000 acres. It is the home of the XVIII Airborne Corps, the 82nd Airborne Division, Army Special Operations Command, the Joint Special Operations Command, and the 1st Corps Support Command. The Golden Knights are the smallest unit on the base. Six barracks house their administration, supply, parachute rigging, and maintenance operations. The team members, 89 men and women, live off-base. While Ft. Bragg has two large drop areas where Army airborne troops and Special Operations Forces make training jumps from transports or helicopters, the Golden Knights practice at a small civil airport off base.

Before heading in that direction, I view a video that enumerates the possible dangers of what I am about to do, sign waivers, and watch the master rigger packing a chute. I meet my tandem master, Staff Sergeant Bryan Woolard. Like the other team members, he is in top physical shape.

Lt. Col. David Stahl, the commander of the Golden Knights, explains some important safety features of their chutes. Among them is a little built-in sensor that measures speed and altitude. In case a soldier becomes unconscious or falls too fast, the chute will open automatically; it will also open when not activated at 4,500 feet. On the way to the jump area, we stop at Pope Air Force Base to inspect the aircraft fleet of the Golden Knights. It consists of six aircraft--two F-27 Fokkers, two Twin Otters, and two Pilatus--all painted in the team's colors, a brilliant yellow and black.

One of the Golden Knights' two demonstration teams is about to depart for Texas in one of the two Fokkers that will also double as their jump platform. The teams' performances are scheduled over a year in advance and keep them travelling about 250 days a year (from March through November) to air shows, state fairs, and sporting events in the US and abroad. The Golden Knights have logged more than 8,100 aerial demonstrations since their formation in 1959.

In addition to the two demonstration teams, dubbed the Black and Gold, there are two competition teams, one for Style and Accuracy and the other for Free-Fall Formations. Both teams have won numerous national, international, and world championships.

Accuracy practice jumps are in progress as we arrive at the Raeford Drop Zone. Style and Accuracy competition jumps are generally conducted from altitudes between 2,500 and 4,000 feet. The jumper deploys the parachute upon exiting the aircraft and attempts to land on a three-centimeter-wide disk inside a five-meter-wide circular pad. A small computer records the jumper's contact point.

Although not mandatory, all Golden Knights pilots have made jumps. I meet the latest pilot earning that distinction, Chief Warrant Officer Rowell, as he lands on his second assisted jump. His next will be solo.

Now Bryan and I go to work. He demonstrates two positions that I must remember for our tandem jump. Position one: a reverse tuck or arch, with arms close to the body, hands under the shoulder straps, and legs bent backwards. The goal is to stay completely in the shadow of the jump master's body to give him full aerial control upon exiting the aircraft. Position two: a reverse tuck again, but this time with arms spread out like an eagle, for aerial maneuvers. Pushing down a shoulder and moving the hand on that side will turn one in the direction of the lowered shoulder.

We will exit the aircraft at 12,500 feet and free fall for 8,000 feet before the canopy is deployed. During our free fall, we will travel at 120 miles per hour and attempt to complete two 360-degree turns, one to each side. Compare this goal with free-fall competitions, in which four or eight skydivers exit the airplane simultaneously at either 9,000 or 11,000 feet to complete five sequential formations in 35 or 50 seconds, respectively. In the 10-person speed competion, 10 skydivers jump from an altitude of 7,500 feet and form a star in the fastest time possible.

It was now time to change into a bright yellow jumpsuit and to step into the black harness that will hook my back onto the front of my tandem master's body at four points. Altimeter, gloves, leather cap, and goggles complete the outfit. Bryan has slipped into his black jumpsuit. Before donning the parachute gear, he and I rehearse the positions one more time. Then comes the safety check. Lt. Col. Stahl is our safety master and will join us on the airplane ride. Two other jumpers, dressed in Batman-like jumpsuits and helmets with mounted cameras, will accompany us. They are the photographers, Major Renee Jewett and Corporal Sean Capogreco, who will photograph and videotape my jump.

As I glance back at the drop area, I see Warrant Officer Rowell making a beautiful touchdown to complete his solo jump. Everybody applauds and congratulates him. And then we are off in the Hawk, with one pilot up front and the safety master, three experienced skydivers, and one novice in the back.

As we climb to our 12,500-foot jump altitude, I watch people, buildings, and trees become smaller and smaller. The weather is beautiful, the air is smooth, and the visibility is excellent. What a perfect flying day, I marvel to myself. Bryan motions to me to unbuckle my seatbelt, don the leather cap and goggles, and sit on his lap. He hooks me up to his body. Lt. Col Stahl checks everyone's gear one last time and motions his okay. Everybody is good to go.

Sean rolls up the door and signals to the pilot to circle into position. Surprisingly, the open door makes me uncomfortable. The idea of possibly being sucked out rather than jumping creates some anxiety. But I quickly remind myself that this could not occur, because the pressure inside and outside of the aircraft are equal. Sean then climbs out of the aircraft and hangs on its side, aiming his helmet and camera toward us. Bryan and I move near the open door. We will exit the aircraft facing toward its wing. He will rock three times and, on the third rock, we will jump. I assume Position One. As I hang on Bryan, I feel the oncoming air rushing by my face. As he rocks and says, "Are you ready to skydive?," I throw my weight forward and out we fly.

My thrill ride briefly becomes a wonderful dream, but rushing air hitting my face and its deafening noise bring me back to reality. I remember to tuck up my legs and to stay arched. When I feel Bryan's tap on my head, I stretch out my arms. We are soaring--no, speeding--through the sky in a horizontal position. This is unlike anything I've ever experienced. It is exciting, exhiliarating, and so much fun.

As I look around, I see Sean on his back, photographing us from below. His Batman-like wings help him perform complicated aerobatic maneuvers that enable him to catch the action. I'm in awe and then smile at his camera. The air that enters my mouth almost chokes me, quickly reminding me of the pre-flight caution to smile only with my teeth clinched. Moving my shoulder down rewards me with the 360-degree turn as promised and I try another one in the opposite direction.

Bryan's waving arms signal that he is about to deploy the canopy. A quick glance at my altimeter confirms that we are at 4,500 feet. We've fallen 8,000 feet! His pull on a strap immediately snaps us into a vertical position and seems to stop us in midair. What happens next tops all my excitement of a few seconds ago. The environment suddenly becomes absolutely still. There is no noise, no pushing air, no apparent motion, only golden
silence, a tranquility I never imagined could exist.

We can now talk to each other. Bryan unhooks the two lower points so that I can loosen up the harness around my legs. While he unfolds two additional pockets in the canopy to further slow our descent, I have sole control over the chute. Gentle turns to the left or right bring back some feeling of motion and the whistling noise of air.

People and objects below us become bigger as we descend toward the drop area. Sean is already on the ground and will record our landing. We are flying a perfect pattern--downwind, base, and final into the wind. My knees stay up as Bryan touches down and we both glide gently to a stop.

The jump is over and my feet are back on solid ground, but my mind, heart, and emotions are still back in the sky reliving this unforgettable experience over and over again. *