Several men in uniform were standing near a desk at
the far side of the room. A uniformed officer was seated behind the
desk. In the middle of the room lay several packed parachutes were in a
heap on the floor.
When the officer behind the desk noticed me he stood, came round, and
walked to and crouched next to the parachutes. He motioned me down
beside him. On each of his shoulder tabs he wore a Major General's two
stars.
'OK, son,' he said, 'show me the problem.'
My reports had received attention.
I stared at the parachutes. Did any among them include the damage I
had reported? I checked an inspection log in a pocket attached to one of
the parachutes. Directives required that the date of last inspection and
packing be entered by the technician who had done the work. The log
showed that the parachute had been recently inspected and packed at a
stateside Air Corps base.
I stood, bent forward over the parachute, and grasped one of its 'risers.'
The life of the jumper would depend on the strength of the webbing. I
jerked the riser straight up as hard as I could I shook it repeatedly
against the twenty-five pound weight of the packed parachute.
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