Injured warriors go sky-diving in Suffolk

SUFFOLK

Jumping out of an airplane 13,000 feet above the earth would be pretty dramatic for most folks: a full minute of free fall, worry about parachutes opening properly, concern about hard landings.

But dozens of jumpers who climbed into the boxy turboprop plane at the Suffolk Municipal Airport on Sunday were actually leaving their drama – and trauma – behind.

Wounded Wear, a nonprofit clothing company founded by a Navy SEAL injured in Iraq, helped sponsor an event called “Jumping for a Purpose,” giving more than 30 wounded warriors a chance to sky-dive.

Some came from Walter Reed Army Medical Center and Portsmouth Naval Medical Center; others were from local military bases. A few have jumped before and returned for another dose.

“It’s peaceful,” said Brian Doyne, a former Army explosive disposal technician who lost his left arm and left eye in a 2005 explosion in Iraq. “It’s my Zen time.”

Now working for a defense contractor and living in Fredericksburg, the 32-year-old Doyne was preparing to make his 28th jump on Sunday. A licensed sky diver, he didn’t have to jump tandem, harnessed to an instructor in a parachute built for two.

“It’s the only time I’m not in pain,” he said of sky diving. “It’s the only time my body doesn’t hurt.”

Doyne often gets comments about how his life must have been spared for a reason.

For now, it’s enough to focus on himself after years dedicated to his nation.

“I’ve come to the realization that the reason I’m still here could be to live my life, for the first time in my life.”

His goal now is to live as hard as he can for as long as he can.

“These people are all alive,” he said, gesturing at hundreds of people gathered in the noisy hangar. “The question is, how many are actually living?”

Jill Dalla Betta was plenty alive on Sunday. The mother of Justin Gaertner was a nervous wreck thinking about her son’s jump.

She was so anxious, she said, she decided to sip on a beer to calm down.

Gaertner, 22, lost both legs above the knee while patrolling on foot in Afghanistan in November. The Marine lance corporal was leading a unit detecting and detonating homemade bombs, or improvised explosive devices.

His left arm was shredded by the blast, and doctors harvested abdominal muscles and fat to refashion part of his forearm.

Waiting for the sixth wave of jumpers to be called to the plane, Gaertner talked about all the things he’s done since his he lost his legs: surfing, waterskiing, monoskiing – similar to snowboarding, but with your feet pointing forward – now this.

“I’ve done more since I’ve gotten hit than I’ve done in my whole life,” Gaertner said. “That’s the crazy truth.”

He displayed typical Marine calm along with a deadpan sense of humor common to young amputees.

“Jumping out of a plane is one weird thing,” Gaertner said. “But jumping out of a plane without legs is a whole different story.”

He was relieved to have been paired up with an instructor named Gabby, he said, because he wouldn’t want to spoon with a male sky diver. Tandem jumps require close contact with the instructor, with the novice’s back against the instructor’s front. Jumpers are told to arch forward and put their feet on the instructor’s butt. Gaertner thought the instructions were humorous: What do you do if you don’t have feet?

Gabby – who turned out to be a strapping man named Greg Gabbard – came by to rig Gaertner’s harness and explain the jump procedures. To keep Gaertner’s stumps from slipping out of the lower part of the harness, another experienced diver connected the straps with a length of cord and some tape.

Soon the heavy whine of the plane’s propellers filled the hangar. Gaertner swung himself onto the ramp and “walked” onto the plan using his hands.

His mother retrieved his wheelchair, then headed to the edge of the drop zone to wait.

His legs will be fine, Gaertner’s girlfriend told her reassuringly, while they waited for the plane to get to altitude. Didn’t she hear the instructor as they rigged up? His legs were strapped in tight.

“I’m not worried about his legs,” Dalla Betta snapped. “He’s already lost them.”

She worried about his injured arm slamming into the grass. She worried about him.

A few minutes later, a handful of seeds scattered across the clouds. The seeds became small blooms – first silhouettes, then tiny blots of color. Dalla Betta squinted into the sun, searching for the blue and white parachute Gabbard had told her to look for.

It came into view a few minutes into their seven-minute ride, Gaertner and Gabbard gliding across the sky like a raptor riding a thermal. Then they were on the ground, Gabbard’s long legs absorbing the landing.

The free fall felt like forever, the young Marine said, and at first, as they dropped through the clouds at 120 miles per hour, it was hard to breathe.

Her worry already a distant memory, Dalla Betta’s face broadcast relief.

Gaertner’s radiated joy.

“Incredible,” he said. “For the rest of the afternoon, that’s all I want to do.”

Kate Wiltrout, (757) 446-2629, kate.wiltrout@pilotonline.com