“You’re mocking me,” the old mechanic bellowed at the engine as if it could hear him. “You’re hell bent on making me look like a fool in front of the colonel, aren’t you?”

The two mechanics on the ground said nothing. They didn’t even smirk at their supervisor’s angry taunts. Both knew how their sergeant worked. Both understood the deep and uncompromising pride he took in keeping the great, lumbering, iron beasts running. And both shared his frustration when they were unable to. So the two men stood by in silence and patiently waited for their master sergeant to make his next move.

Unsure himself whether it was wiser at this point to admit defeat and catch a few hours’ sleep or keep plugging away, Sours turned away from his tormenter and looked up at the early morning sky. Off to the southwest, now clearly visible in the faint predawn light, an aircraft came into his field of vision. Seeking to clear his mind the tired old non-commissioned officer watched the plane as it made its way to the east.

Feeling every ache and pain that his forty-eight year old body could generate and not thinking about anything, Sours didn’t recognize the parachutes he saw for what they were. At first he thought his eyes, too tired to focus properly, were playing tricks on him. Blinking as he shook his head, Sours craned his neck forward and forced himself to focus on the plane and the tiny mushrooming dots that it was leaving in its wake. When it came to him what those strange images actually were, his eyes popped wide open, like the olive green canopies of the paratroopers he was watching.

Snapping his head about, he looked down at his two companions. Expecting him either to say they were going to throw in the towel or announce triumphantly that he knew what to do, they were confused by the stream of orders he spewed out without pausing for a breath. “Tim,” he screamed to the taller of the two, “grab your rifle, beat feet to the tank we finished up on earlier, and crank it up. Harry, get on the phone to the duty officer and alert him, NOW!”

Not at all sure what those actions would do to resolve the mechanical problem with the vehicle they were currently working on, the two men stayed where they were, looked at each other, and then up at Sours.

Only after seeing the perplexed looks on their faces did Sours bother to point to the sky. “PARATROOPERS!” he shouted. “They’re coming after us!”

For a moment the two younger mechanics stood rooted to the spot. With jaws agape, they watched as dark images of men and parachutes filled the southern sky. For a second time, Sours shouted down at them. “Move you idiots. We need to get over there before they’re assembled.”