Stories

Broken Knife

I made Sergeant First Class in 1984 while in Turkey, assigned to NATO. Kady gave me a beautiful display knife, an Ek Commando, etched in gold and engraved with my new rank and name, honoring Airborne Forces. I loved it.

In the infantry, we always carry a knife. I have gone through quite a few trying to find that perfect combat knife. I've tested Buck, Gerber, and various other knives, settling on the tried and true Ka-Bar that I have carried most of my career up to this point. 

When I saw the EK, I recognized it as a great tool and bought a field version. It was perfect, double-edged, razor-sharp, hard as nails, and kept its edge. It went everywhere with me.

In 1994, my Battalion jumped into Andrews AFB for Armed Forces Day. I'd jumped there twice before; it was always a great time. Once on the ground, assembled, chutes turned in, and accountability at 100%, we watched the rest of the show and mingled with the crowd. We were always a hit with the people there, strolling around in our maroon berets, which said to every pretty girl there, "Yes, Ma'am, I Parachuted in."

This time, it would be slightly different for me. 

As the First Sergeant of Charlie Company, I was responsible for the accountability of my jumpers. Instead of being the Jump Master, I was jumping with my company. We would land in the same vicinity on the Drop Zone (DZ).

When I jumped from the aircraft, I noticed two things that would make this landing less than ideal.  

Our lateral drift across the ground was very rapid. The wind was howling, not at the maximum safety level of 12 knots, but much higher.

I am an experienced static-line jumper with over 200 jumps, and I can tell when a Drop Zone Safety officer has buckled under the pressure to "Put on a good show, no matter what."

To make matters worse, I was drifting toward the concrete taxiway.Andrews is like a big "H" with a taxiway connecting the two main runways. The concrete and a building just inside the leading left edge of DZ were the only obstacles for the day.

I was headed straight for a hard landing.

It was decision time. I could try to slip over the concrete, which would increase my lateral momentum, or I could try to pull an opposite slip to land on my side of the concrete.

A Slip is a way of directing your parachute in a direction by pulling down on the nylon straps, called Risers. Pulling down on your risers, pulls down the side of your chute and spills air from the opposite side of your canopy.

To land where I wanted, I had to judge my drift across the ground with my rate-of-descent. 

Indecision took over. I was drifting to my Right, so I first reached for my left risers to try to stay on this side of the taxiway. I changed my mind. I reached up for my right risers, then left, and then right.

And then, it was too late.

It was time to prepare to land, and I had better make a damn good landing because I was going to hit the concrete. I reached up high on my left risers, pulled them deep into my chest, tucked my chin into my chest, put my feet and knees together, presented the balls of my feet to the ground, and set my eyes on the horizon. 

Thankfully, this was going to be a right-side landing fall, my best, but this was going to hurt.

True to my training, I rolled, hitting the balls of my feet, my right calf, thigh, and pushup muscle. Though I tucked my chin tightly into my chest, my helmet crashed into the concrete. I attempted to roll to my feet but the wind took over, spinning me around. It began dragging my carcass across the taxiway like Hector behind Achilles' chariot. I popped one of my canopy releases, separating me from that side of my chute, but not before the "twelve knots or below" winds had had its way with me.

Checking all my body parts and shaking the sense back into my head, I stood up and began my battle damage assessment. My arms and legs were OK. My hip was sore as hell. My back was good, no blood was coming from my ears, and my eye focus was OK.

I noticed my right canteen dangling by its dummy cord down by my leg. My canteen cover had a hole large enough for my right canteen to fall out of the bottom. I had holes in my uniform on my right hip, right shoulder, and the right rear of my helmet.

Paratroopers say, "Any landing from which you can walk away is a Good Landing." Well, Good Landing 1SG Neel.

After recovering my chute, I moved to the designated Charlie Company Rally Point, set up the Assembly Aid, and began taking roll calls as the troopers of Charlie Rock arrived. During this process, one of my troopers asked, "1SG. What happened to your knife?" I looked down and noticed that my EK Commando was snapped perfectly at the hilt. I had landed on it so hard that I had broken steel. So, this is why my hip was so sore.

I pouted over the loss of my knife for a few days, replaced it with my trusty Ka-Bar, and got over it. I sent Ek the broken knife and a note telling them their "Toughest Knife in the World" was not as tough as the Toughest US Paratrooper. To their credit, they replaced my knife and sent my broken knife back to me with a nice note telling me I should keep it as a great story.

It has been.

Note: As my retirement present, the VMI Commandant's Staff gave me a new Ek Bowie.