NATIONALS
July 1982
A caravan of motor homes and vans carrying Roger’s family and the Freak Brothers 10-way team arrived for Nationals at a former Air Force base near Muskogee, Oklahoma. Hot weather and waves of descending parachutes greeted them as they set up camp in one corner of the huge open space that made Muskogee such a perfect site for a parachute meet. Meanwhile, Jeanie and several team wives and girlfriends headed to town to check in to their hotel.
As others completed the set-up chores, Roger and Kong went to the registration office for the competition paperwork, with multiple delays to chat with friends, and one scouting stop at the concession trailer to hear rumors about the hottest 10-way teams. As usual, they heard about old and new teams from California, which had a reputation for fielding the best 10-way competitors. The Freak Brothers, on the other hand, were viewed as “the rookie team with a string of lucky practice jumps,” which naturally angered Kong.
“The pressure’s all on them,” Roger reminded him cheerfully. “We’re expected to lose, but those guys must win to live up to expectations and their own egos. So, c’mon, now we know the lay of the land. Let’s get to registration.”
Kong was still grumbling when they ran into two Magic team members, Bob the tall, athletic captain, and Mark, one of the team members, built more like a string bean.
“Good afternoon, Roger,” said Bob formally, while looking at Kong as if Roger should have a leash on him. “So this must be the Kong I’ve heard about for years.”
“Kong, this is Bob, Magic’s team captain. Bob, meet Kong,” Roger grinned.
Kong stuck out his hand and shook Bob’s with a bone-crushing squeeze and a smile. When Bob’s face changed from a cocky smile to pale white, Kong released him and held out his hand to Mark, who decided the better part of valor was to wave hello instead.
“So, you guys got a full team together this year?” he asked, trying to ignore his still-hurting hand.
“Yeah,” said Roger, “we don’t need to find somebody here at the last minute.”
“How’s practice been going?”
“We ought to do better than last year, but we’re gonna need every practice dive we can get if we’re gonna give you guys any heat.”
“Well, you guys are from Chicago,” Bob grinned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kong snarled.
“Well, as they say, there’s always next year,” Bob smirked, and he and Mark walked away laughing.
“Should’ve ripped his arm off instead,” Kong muttered. “What an asshole!”
“Nah, just giving us a composure check. He knows darn well we have a practiced team that’s ready to compete. Maybe they’re a little insecure.”
“That wimp looked at me like I was a newbie,” Kong said, “but I’ll bet he remembers me every time he takes a grip for a while.”
Roger laughed and slapped Kong on the back as they walked into an old building that served as the registration office, where a pretty young woman who seemed to know them efficiently and happily took care of their needs.
“Who the hell is she?” Kong asked outside, his interest clear.
“Name’s Kelly,” Roger said. “I’ll introduce you tonight but now let’s focus on our team meeting.”
When they all sat down inside Roger’s big motor home, they told different stories of what they’d heard and who they had seen. Roger also checked out each one to get a feel for how they were handling the competition pressure that was already building. Everybody seemed fine except for Ardis. She sat quietly, hiding it well from everyone except him—he could tell she was feeling the pressure, and didn’t want to let the team down, which of course added to the pressure. He’d have to keep an eye on that.
“I ran into Koska from the East Coast,” Tommy said, “and he told me Magic’s been funneling practice dives! They’ve cranked out some fast ones but they’re not consistent.”
“Word I heard,” added Kimmers, “is that if we’re nailing our exits ‘as rumored,’ we might have a chance and give ’em a run.”
“That’d be great,” rumbled the Buffalo. “People say Magic’s been mocking us.”
“There are a lot of mixed stories out there,” Roger cautioned. “Don’t pay attention to any of it. What counts is how we jump, so our plan remains the same: Stay focused, do our best, and let the judges tell us who won.”
“That explains why Bob was so obnoxious,” Kong snorted. “I really should have ripped his arm off!”
“Kong introduced Bob to his ‘grip’ when I introduced them,” Roger explained, to a chorus of chuckles and mumbled variations of wish-I’d-seen-that, “but Magic is hot, let’s not take that away from them. They wouldn’t be champs if they weren’t. Besides, we want to beat them at their best. It wouldn’t be as good if one of them walked into a ditch or something,” Roger looked over at Kong pointedly, and the team howled at the thought.
“Okay, okay,” Kong said, grinning wolfishly, “but after the meet…”
Roger looked on, content that the session had relaxed his team, although Ardis still seemed a little out of sync with the rest of the mood.
“One more thing,” Roger said. “We’re all Freak Brothers. A lot of those sky gods come out of drop zones where everything’s about them. But that’s not what the Freak Brothers are about. We don’t bump low-timers off loads so our team can get its practice jumps in. We don’t sell them gear then leave them to learn on their own. We build up our low-timers.” Roger made eye contact with Ardis. “We train up our low-timers, so we’ll have more friends to jump with in cool competitions like this. We can win this thing if we keep our heads together is maintaining our vibe, not just our cool. There’s a lot of bad vibes out there, but I want to make sure none of it comes from us. We don’t want to sound like them. We’re better than that. Got it?”
Roger made eye contact with each member of the team and held it until they acknowledged his words.
“Now go out and have some fun. Dinner tonight and dirt dive tomorrow at seven.”
As everyone stood to go, Roger pointed to Jeff.
“One more thing. Be sure you’re in uniform at all times for the duration of 10-way,” he said. “Jeff has them.”
Several howled in protest until Jeff handed out the “uniform”—black-brimmed hats with a Freak Brother patch to go with whatever else each of them wanted to wear. They laughed at the rigid flexibility of it all as they filed out of the motorhome.
Roger stayed in to sort through the paperwork for a few minutes, then he headed out too, but his mission was much different. He needed to get in touch with Ron and Jim from New York to discuss his next venture, so he went looking for them under cover of a casual hi-how-are-you stroll through the various camping areas. While so engaged, he ran into Logan, another jumper he knew was in the business.
“Roger! How’ve you been?” Logan said enthusiastically, and gestured him into his own motor home. “Come on in and grab a beer.”
“Hey man, good to see you here,” Roger replied warmly as they sat down inside and cracked open a pair of cold ones. “We pulled in an hour ago. Just cut my team loose.”
“That’s great. Listen, I’ve heard from a friend you’ve been pretty active lately, so I was hoping to see you here because I may have some business for you.”
“To business and ten-way!” Roger said, holding his beer up for a toast, and to give him time to digest what he just heard—something odd, something a bit out of sync in Logan, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“We have a trip going down soon,” Logan said. “Think you might be interested in working it?”
“What’s cooking?”
“Colombia, I hope. Last trip fell through. We had some problems.”
“Like what?”
“Had to deadhead back,” Logan replied, “When we got there, no product. Pissed me off! At least they had someone meet us with fuel, or we would’ve had to leave the plane.”
Roger was surprised to hear that a group with Logan’s rumored experience and connections would have the kind of trouble that usually happened only to amateurs.
“How did that happen?” he asked, without revealing how fishy this was all starting to sound. Logan’s eyes didn’t hold the scammer’s conspiratorial sparkle, he didn’t seem to want to make eye contact, and he looked uncomfortable.
“Well, from what I understand, our main man got popped for not paying the army. We always sent the money down, but apparently he was pocketing it and apparently the Major nabbed him. We haven’t heard from him since—I think one of his underlings screwed everything up.”
“That really sucks,” said Roger sympathetically, but inside he was debating whether Logan was acting like this because he was embarrassed, or his confidence was shaken—or something else.
“I was curious,” Logan said suddenly, “if you had something going I could work into?”
Something else! Roger concluded. Red flag time—first this guy wants me to turn a load for him, and now he wants to work on one of mine. Roger still didn’t know for sure what was up, but he knew one thing for sure.
“Things have been pretty dry on my end,” he lied, then added truthfully for good measure: “Besides, I’ve been way more interested in winning ten-way. But who knows? Nationals’ll be over in a week, so I’ll ask around then to see if something’s happening, and in the meantime, keep me up on Colombia.”
With that, Roger drained his beer and left, so paranoid about the encounter that he headed straight to his motorhome to think things over—where he discovered that the people he’d been looking for had already found him. Several backslaps, bear hugs and fresh beers later, they got down to business, starting with Logan.
“Watch out for him, man,” said Ron after Roger had recounted their meeting. “He got popped about a month ago. Saw his plane on the news, but they never IDed the people, then suddenly the story disappears with no record of arrest or court hearings.”
“One of my friends,” Jim added, “told me he tried to introduce some Fed-lookin’ guy as his ‘cousin’.”
“So for now I think we should just assume old Logan crossed to the dark side and steer clear of him. Glad to hear your antennas were working.”
“Amen,” added Jim.
“Thanks,” said Roger, “me too, and along those same lines, this place is a bit too busy to talk about the stuff we mentioned on the phone, so why don’t we get together tonight at your hotel?”
“Room three-four-eight,” Ron said, and both New Yorkers stood up to go. “Nine p.m. work?”
Roger nodded.
Later that night, the team and it supporters met for dinner at a local restaurant. Roger liked getting the team together as often as possible for meetings and meals to keep up the team spirit and communications. Food and drink seemed especially to help the atmosphere by making it seem to be more fun than obligation.
“Now, listen,” Roger said after the appetizers were about half gone. “This is competition. This is where the weak are separated from the strong, so let’s be strong. This is also not a time where we try ‘new’ things. We stick with what we know because that is how we practiced.”
“Yeah, and let’s make sure,” Kimmers added, “we keep our lines of communication open about anything that’s happening in the line-up, exit or freefall.”
“And one last thing,” Roger said. “You can do what you want, but I highly recommend that to go out there and be at our best to perform, we need to lay low during competition. Keep cool around others, and get enough sleep.”
“Aw, man!” cried Tommy.
“Kong, that goes for you too!” laughed Dave, as everyone left the table and went their separate ways. Only Ardis lingered.
“I’m not sure I’ll sleep much even if I go to bed right now,” she confided to Roger and Jeanie. “The anticipation is really buzzing me.” Jeanie smiled at her warmly and Roger laid a hand on her arm.
“Noticing is the first step toward calming yourself,” he said, “and remember that going to sleep’s like going out the door—center yourself with some deep breaths and relax.” Ardis smiled at the analogy.
“Interesting way to look at it,” she said as she got up. “I’ll give it a try. Thanks and see you in the morning.”
Finally alone at the table, Roger turned to Jeanie.
“Thank you so much for being here to support me through all of this. It means so much to me.”
“I know you’ve been restless,” Jeanie said, “about the team, about Mr. Douglas, about the business. I just hope that you’re making the right decisions out there. You don’t want—”
“Hey, El Presidente!” came a sudden growling intrusion.
Roger turned to see Kong returning to the table, gesturing over his shoulder towards the lounge entrance at Kelly, the pretty girl from the registration office. Roger laughed.
“Go. Go do your thing,” sighed Jeanie, resigned to yet another interruption.
“Sorry, honey,” Roger said, and kissed her. “Team business.”
Roger went into the bar with Kong and directly to the young lady’s table.
“Mind if we join you, Kelly?” he asked.
“Sure, Roger,” she said. Kong sat down and Roger introduced him, then excused himself to buy a round of drinks.
“Bring those two a screwdriver and a Long Island ice tea,” Roger said to the waitress as he handed her a Grant, “and keep them coming until this is gone.” Then he handed her a $10 tip and slid unnoticed out of the noisy bar to Ron’s hotel.
He entered a room drenched in pot smoke, with MTV playing loudly on the television.
“You wouldn’t believe the run we just finished,” Ron said after they finished some small talk. “Everything had gone down like a cold beer. I had a tailwind going each way and scattered thunderstorms all the way from Colombia to the Texas coast. We broke the ADIZ below the oil rigs at sunrise and stayed there cruising about two eight zero following the contour of the land. The old Howard was singing and then Jim taps me on the shoulder and casually points out the window.”
“Man, you should’ve seen his face!” said Jim as he exhaled a cloud of smoke and laughed.
“I look out and see the nose of a Phantom and the smiling face of some young National Guard kid,” Ron continued. “Scared the shit out of me! He snapped the mask back on his face and suddenly two more Phantoms descended and stacked a formation above him. Then they broke off and each took a side on us!”
Jim shook his head in wonder as Ron took a hit off a joint.
“The guy first waved at me and dropped his gear,” Ron continued. I waved back and shook my head ‘no’—I wasn’t gonna land!”
“He turned to me and said, ‘I haven’t flown three thousand miles to give up now,’” Jim interjected, “and then he dropped her down so low he was kicking up dust.”
“I look over at the kid,” Ron continued, “and he comes down with me. Then he gives me this big smile and flips his thumb up—he wants me to lead the formation up and over the trees. I think if he hadn’t been smiling I would’ve shit. So I just keep going and about forty-five minutes later—”
“A long forty-five minutes later!” Ron added.
“The Phantoms form back up alongside of us, and the leader looks at me and points to himself and then the ground, and then each one fucking salutes us and then they roar off!”
“We spent the rest of the trip trying to guess what happened,” Jim said, “and expecting them or some others to reappear. I think we ran them out of fuel down low like that, but it also seems like they liked us.”
“Spooked the hell out of me, though!” said Ron, “so I made a couple of extra diversions as precaution and flew to the LZ paranoid as hell. I certainly would have felt a lot better if it was dark. Anyway, it went off without another hitch.”
“Man, what a rush!” Roger exclaimed. “Don’t you think they IDed you?”
“I taped on a set of fake tail numbers” said Jim, “but how many Howard 500s are flying anyway?”
“My baby never had such a good cleaning,” Ron added. “We steamed the whole trip off the belly and shampooed every stitch of the interior. I just knew we would be getting a visit, but nothing happened. I can’t help thinking the kid in the Phantom wanted us to get in and was just checking us out. I’ve heard stories that the military only cares about foreign invasion. As fast as we were going, we had to look like some type of fighter on radar. I hope we never know. I can tell you one thing for sure, we’ll never go back to that unloading site again!”
Roger laughed and then they got down to new business.
“Belize? I heard that place is unorganized,” Jim said after Roger briefed them on the situation there. “What about fuel? What about an airstrip? To lift a good load we gotta have at least forty-five clear.”
“We got the green one-thirty octane we were pulling from Mexico.”
“Now you’re talking,” Ron said. “That’ll give us another thirty or forty horse.”
“As for the strip,” Roger continued, “there’s a couple of places you’ll be happy with.” Ron and Jim grinned at each other.
“Figures,” Ron said to Roger. “If anyone could get things coordinated there, I would have to say it would be you.”
“So, when do we go?” asked Jim.
“Couple of months.”
“Damn,” Ron groaned. “We’re ready to rock and roll.”
“Sorry, don’t have all the pieces yet,” Roger explained. “Besides, this trip’ll be one for the record books.”
“Growing, packaging, hauling and selling a Three load of quality sinsemilla,” Jim said admiringly. “Yeah, I should say so!”
“So it’s cool,” said Ron. “We were just hoping you’re ready now because, well, you know we’re ready!”
“Then can I count on you?”
“In a heartbeat!” they said in unison.
“One more piece of the puzzle done,” Roger said as he shook both their hands to bind the agreement.
“Keep in touch, though, man,” Ron said. “We might have something happen in front of yours. Nothing for sure. Since we lost our landing spot, we were thinking about doing a kickout. But hey, enough about that? How’s that rookie team of yours gonna do?”
“Pretty impressive for rookies,” said Roger.
“Rookies, my ass,” laughed Jim. “Wish we could stay and watch, but we’re outta here in the morning.”
“What? And miss all the excitement?”
“Those Phantoms were enough excitement for a while,” Ron chuckled. “We just came to see you and find out what’s up.”
“And what’s up sounds fucking epic,” Jim exclaimed. “Just thinking about it’s excitement enough for me.”
“So you go kick some ass up there for us,” said Ron. “We’ll be in touch.”
Jeanie and the kids were already asleep when he got back to his room. He took a moment to savor the scene. Jeanie lay on her side, back to the door, breathing slowly and steadily, exhausted from the day. His daughter, not yet in pre-school, slept sprawled across the matching double bed next to the window and humming air conditioner, looking small, innocent and perfect with big blond curls framing her soft face. Roger quietly put down his keys and walked over to brush her cheek gently with his kiss, ashamed that the smell of pot might invade her sweet dreams. His son, just turned two, slept fitfully on a nest of blankets at the bottom of his portable playpen between the beds. He’d long since learned how to escape its confines, but it comforted Jeanie to put him there at night when away from home. Roger lay across his bed and fell asleep still dressed.
In another room, Pirate plotted. Like Roger, he knew Ardis was not handling the pressure of the Nationals stage well and he worried that all their hard work would go down the tubes if she flailed in the air too, so he was taking steps to fix the situation he was certain would arise by doing the only thing that made sense to him—find somebody better and steadier. The solution now sat before him, a young, talented and currently unattached skydiver named Michigan.
“So what’s going on?” Michigan asked as they each nursed a cold one. “Rumor is you have all ten.”
“Yes, yes we do,” Pirate said, “but there’s this girl on the team and, well, she could make it or break it for us.”
“Has it always been that way with her? I hear you guys are pulling some really good times.”
“We are, and she’s been solid all summer, but she’s been all tensed up since we got here. We’ll see how the practice jumps go, but I think I already know—and here’s the thing: If everyone’s solid, we can win, and I know you could replace her without skipping a beat, and we could at least add you as our alternate.”
“What does Roger think about all this?”
“Haven’t spoken to him yet—wanted to see if you were interested first, then feel it out with some of the guys before I went to Roger and the rest of the team.”
“You really think the gold’s in reach, huh?”
“I’m feeling pretty good about this team. I just have my doubts about Ardis.”
“I’d be up for playing for a gold medal.”
“So you’re in?”
“Yeah, man. If Roger and the team agree, I’m in.”
When the Freak Brothers began dirt diving next to Sugar Alpha the next morning at 7 a.m., they discovered that Paul had stenciled “Freak Brother Express” in large black letters above the plane’s door. The gesture helped boost their pride and even their confidence as they boarded for their first on-site jump, but true to Pirate’s expectations, Ardis flailed. Roger shrugged it off as pre-competition nervousness. When it happened again on the second jump, only worse, Roger walked in with her from the landing area.
“Something bothering you?” he asked gently.
“No,” she said, “I just choked.”
Roger put his arm around her shoulders, and smiled supportively.
“Ardis, I have faith in you, so have faith in yourself. You just gotta go out there and believe you can do it.”
“I don’t know what’s going on up there, Roger. Really I don’t.”
“It’s okay. Don’t let all this hype get to you. Shake it off and just do the same thing you’ve done all summer—kick ass up there, girl and don’t let today get the best of you!”
“I’ll do my best.”
But she didn’t. On the last practice jump of the day, she flailed on the ride to altitude, her confidence faltering so much she couldn’t bring herself to even look out the door, then followed that with her worst jump of the summer. Pirate had been right, but he kept quiet and let the team’s concern reveal itself at their post-practice meeting, which took place in a circle of lawn chairs between the team motor homes.
“There’s no doubt things could have gone better,” Roger said, setting the tone, “but there’s nothing to worry about. That’s what practice is for. It’s always a little difficult getting adjusted to a new environment; tomorrow’s another day. Don’t forget, we want to do our best jumping during the meet, not in practice. The best dive is reserved for the last dive, right?”
The Freak Brothers nodded, though not with a lot of enthusiasm.
“And the most important thing is to not freak out and start making a bunch of changes,” added Dave. “Stay with what we know.”
The nods now were more emphatic in their agreement.
“If Roger’s not worried, neither am I,” said Barboni, “and we all coulda done better today, not just one or two of us.” Kimmers jumped on that remark and looked pointedly at Ardis.
“And that means you, girlfriend,” he said warm, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t feel bad about today because, you know what, you helped me by taking the heat. I mean, I was afraid I’d be the one to screw up!”
“So was I,” said Dave.
“Me too,” rumbled the Buffalo.
“Man, we sure got those other teams fooled now!” Tommy chirped, and the dour mood was broken—the Freak Brother vibe was in full flower again—well, almost.
Pirate smiled to hide his true feelings—he no longer had any confidence in Ardis and thought Roger’s idea that she’d be the first woman to win a gold medal in 10-way was a pipe dream that would cost all of them the win. But he knew better than to buck the team mood at the moment.
The next day, the team made two more sub-par practice jumps before breaking for lunch. Ardis had done better, but she was still not up to speed and her confidence remained fragile.
During the break, the event organizers called all team captains to a meeting, so Pirate seized that moment to start politicking with the more experienced and respected teammates. When they agreed with his concerns and proposed solution, he invited the whole team to Roger’s motor home to talk about it.
“Ardis, I’m sure you understand why we called this meeting,” Pirate began. “Clearly, our inconsistency has put our competitiveness into doubt.”
“Nice way to put it,” she said glumly, then looked steadily at her teammates, “but he’s right. I’m sorry, guys. I’m just not feeling it, and it’s screwing up the team.”
“You understand then,” said Jeff in a compassionate whisper, “that we need to make a decision now.” He glanced at Pirate, who nodded his thanks for the assist.
“Yeah,” she said in a small voice, and hung her head, “I do.”
Every other team member took a deep breath; it was time to start the execution.
Then Roger walked in, smiling and holding more competition paperwork, and wearing a newly-issued wide-brimmed blue and white hat with the word “Captain” on it. But the smile died as he looked at Ardis and instantly knew what was going on. He wondered who the ringleader was, so he ended that speculation with a question.
“Anyone care to fill me in on what’s going on?”
Everyone looked at Pirate, including Roger, who waited patiently to hear what he had to say.
“We all know practice hasn’t gone well,” added Kong, “and we all agree something should be done—and now that you’re back, Ardis wants to address the team.” Roger nodded and sat down, surprised not at what was happening but that Pirate was leading. He took off his sunglasses.
“You all know that I’m one hundred percent behind the team,” Ardis said softly, “and would do whatever it takes to see us win—and after the last couple of jumps, I don’t think I can handle the pressure.” She bowed her head, wiped her tears, took a deep breath and went on. “We all know that there are more talented jumpers than me here looking for a team, guys who won’t let the pressure get them, who can do a better job, so… for the good of the team… I… I am resigning, so Michigan can fill my slot.”
Ardis handed her team hat to Roger, then stared at the floor and tried to wipe her tears, but they came too fast. Roger deliberately made eye contact with each member; everyone looked unhappy, uncomfortable, and unsure—except for Pirate, who looked steadily at Roger, certain that he was right. Roger soaked it all up and then he took a deep breath, knowing the team’s future depended on how well he did his job during the next three minutes.
“Well, Ardis,” he started, “no one can doubt your loyalty to the team, or the sincerity of what you say, but as far as I’m concerned there isn’t a more qualified person in the country, let me correct myself, the world, who can do a better job in your slot. To replace you now with anyone would be a disaster.”
“But Roger,” interrupted Pirate, “we all talked it over and we all think she’s right. We aren’t gonna have a chance if—”
“All?” Roger challenged. “Do I or do I not count as part of this ‘all’ you’re speaking about?”
“Well, of course you—”
“And I had no part in this so-called agreement, and as long as I’m the captain—”
“Enough with this diplomatic shit!” Pirate spat. “We can’t win with her, and she agrees—it was her decision to quit!”
The two Freak Brothers stared each other down for a long moment.
“I find it hard to imagine that she came up with this decision all by herself in the time that I’ve been gone,” Roger said icily. “As far as I’m concerned, Ardis is as much a part of this effort as any of us.”
“Forget it man, we came here to win,” Pirate shot back.
“Kong?” Roger asked sternly of his old friend. “Kimmers? Tommy? Buffalo? Dave? Anyone?” Torn between team loyalty and their desire for gold, they felt ashamed and looked towards the floor, refusing to look Roger in the eye.
Roger let the silence soak in, then calmly removed his new “Captain” hat and tossed it into Pirate’s lap.
“Well, if that’s the way it’s gonna be, and Ardis is no longer a part of this team, then I pass the captain’s position to you. I’m resigning so I can jump with Ardis.”
There was a collective gasp. Everyone knew that without Roger, the team had no chance for gold. Pirate frowned and stared at the hat in his lap like it was a cobra. Ardis stared at it, too, in open-mouthed shock.
“Yeah,” said Kimmers, his eyes going from dead to twinkling, “you know, we’re a family as much as a team, and things wouldn’t be right if it wasn’t whole.” He took off his team hat and tossed it in Pirate’s lap. “Hey Ardis, can I jump with you and Roger?”
Ardis’s lower lip quivered at his gesture.
A moment later, six more hats landed on Pirate’s lap or in his face or fell on the floor at his feet. Only Jeff still wore his. Jeff looked at Pirate with the same compassion in his eyes that he’d had earlier for Ardis in his voice.
“Every team I’ve ever jumped with were brothers,” he said quietly, “and this team has been the strongest brotherhood I’ve ever felt until this meeting started.” He paused and respectfully handed his own hat to Pirate. “And now that it’s ending, I feel that brotherhood again. Ardis, you need a diver?”
Pirate sat buried in Freak Brothers hats, his plan in ruins, but his fierce team loyalty intact. He fished Roger’s hat from the bottom of the pile and flipped it back to him.
“You’re the captain and the team has spoken,” he said firmly. “It’s all or none and if you’ll still have me, then let’s get this done.”
“Can’t you fucking count?” Kong growled as he snatched his hat from the floor. “All or none means you too, dickhead.”
The motor home exploded in laughter as foes became friends and family again. Everyone retrieved their hats and then Roger handed Ardis hers. Everyone quieted as she stuck it on her head and wiped her last tears away.
“Fuck all of you!” she said in true Freak Sister fashion. “I’m gonna leave you in the dirt, so you better get your act together. Like Barboni said yesterday, we all need to get better. There ain’t gonna be no prisoners!”
The Freak Brothers were astonished for a moment by this hard-core outburst from their most genteel teammate, then delighted.
“Holy Jesus,” T.J. laughed. “There ain’t no keepin’ her down now!”
Then they all converged on Ardis, kissing, hugging and backslapping her until she almost fell down. Only Pirate stood back, uncertain, looking alone.
Ardis, of course, saw it, and dragged Pirate into her arms.
“I love you man,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear. “You did what you thought was best for the team.”
“That’s right,” Roger said, “and now we’re stronger for it, so thanks man!”
“That deserves a hymn!” Kimmers announced. Everyone nodded and raised their middle fingers to Pirate.
“Hymn, hymn!” they howled. “Fuck him!”
Then they converged on Pirate and repeated the group therapy, though with rougher hugs and backslaps and no kisses.
This time Roger held back, watching, satisfied as the team re-made itself before his eyes into an even stronger, more focused unit than it had been when they got here. Now he was more certain than ever: they really could win. He put his sunglasses back on.
“Ain’t gonna be no prisoners,” he heard Kong roar over the other voices. “We’re gonna take ’em out!”
An hour later, the Freak Brothers boarded a DC-3 for their first practice jump since the meeting. Minutes later, Ardis performed as promised and burned into her position well before everyone else, wearing a fierce warrior face, eyes spitting fire as she focused on Roger’s count. Her performance had put pressure on the others, and they’d turned in their best jump so far—and the fastest jump of the day.
Their accomplishment did not go unnoticed. Many other teams and observers has seen it, including Bob and the rest of Magic, who were amazed by what they saw through their binoculars. Bob was concerned enough that he found Roger afterward and asked if he could lurk their next jump.
“Team decision,” Roger said. “Let me get back to you after debrief.”
After repacking, debriefing and prepping for their last practice jump of the season, Roger brought up Bob’s request. Several team members shifted uncomfortably, others looked thoughtful.
“What do you think?” Kimmers asked.
“I don’t want to say no because it certainly seems like we got their attention,” Roger said. “If we decline, they might see it as a lack of confidence and it’ll boost their morale.”
“So you think giving Bob a first-hand look at the rookies,” said Dave, “might do the opposite?” Roger nodded, and several guys nodded with him, grinning wolfishly.
“Let him come,” said Ardis quietly, then added more loudly, “but tell him to bring his sunglasses ’cause we’re gonna be blazing!”
The team laughed and agreed, and Roger felt another piece fall into place. Not only could watching them in the air shake up Bob, the added pressure of having him along would be a great way to make this last training jump more intense and help them prove to themselves that they were ready for the upcoming battle.
“We’re gonna take ’em out!” the team roared as they split up to ready.
When Roger stopped at the Magic camp and invited Bob along on his way to the plane, he could feel the team’s cocky attitude and he saw Bob flash an evil grin at them as he shouldered his gear and followed Roger.
When they boarded, Roger turned a matter-of-fact gaze on his adversary.
“Don’t push me on the exit,” he instructed. “The tail of the line-up is fragile, so stay off my back and give us a couple of seconds, then don’t enter until we’re complete.”
“Will do,” Bob agreed and they shook hands. Roger knew there was no way Bob could follow him in the air, but he hoped to build some false confidence in his adversary and at the same time make it even harder for him to get to the formation.
On jump run, Roger took his place at the end of the lineup and felt Bob hugging his backpack despite his agreement not to—so with confidence in the team’s performance and in his own, he decided to protect the exit by leaving space between him and Kong in case Bob tripped him accidentally or on purpose.
The team blasted out the door and the first nine completed an incredibly fast circle just as Roger docked, leaving Bob far behind.
Roger had counted to three when Bob crashed into the formation and blew it—and whether by accident or design, he had hit Kong directly, then spun off below everyone. Roger quickly scanned the carnage make sure everyone was conscious and okay, then watched Kong dive after Bob and, like a hawk swooping a rabbit, grab the Magic leader by his backpack, spin him around, and wrap his legs around Bob’s head.
Kong squeezed Bob’s head as they burned through opening altitude and the rest of the team deployed their parachutes until Bob bit Kong hard on his inner thigh. Kong screamed and released him. Bob pulled instantly; Kong deployed two seconds later.
Bob had opened high enough to fly his canopy back to his camp. Kong landed well short, much to Bob’s advantage. Kong stripped off his gear and tore towards the Magic camp as soon as he landed. From the air, Roger saw Kong’s equipment lying in a pile still partially inflated, so he landed between the Magic camp and his raging teammate.
“What the hell?” shouted Roger.
“I’m gonna kill him!”
“Gonna take on the whole team?”
“That asshole did it on purpose! We cranked one, and he tried to take me out.”
“Relax, man, where’s the team gonna be if you get yourself thrown in jail?”
Kong settled down and grimaced as he rubbed his leg.
“Bastard bit me.”
“No kidding?” Roger chuckled. “Where?”
Kong peeled off his jumpsuit and they inspected the damage. On his thigh was the perfect imprint of Bob’s teeth and a trickle of blood. Roger knew Kong was getting mad again.
“C’mon, let’s get your gear and get packed up.” Roger ordered.
T.J. met them back at team area, grinning from ear to ear.
“Man, you scared the shit out of him!” he exulted. “He’s locked in his motor home looking out the window. What the hell happened?”
“Look!” Kong said and showed T.J. the bite mark on his thigh. Kong was still raging and Roger knew he could infect the team with his mood, so he had to stop Kong cold to keep the Freak Brother vibe intact. He stepped between Kong and T.J. and eyed his friend sternly as several other teammates gathered around.
“In order to get you to forget this and get it behind you,” he said, “we’re marching over there to make peace.” Kong’s eyes bulged in shock.
“Are you kidding? He bit me and wrecked our jump, so now I’m gonna wreck him!” With that he went in his camper. When he came out a moment later, he was wearing his shoulder holster and jacking a round into the chamber of his .45. Then he put it into the holster and grinned fiercely at Roger.
“Okay, let’s go,” he rumbled.
“Well, that certainly looks silly!” Ardis giggled. “Could you please get your act together?”
His teammate’s giggle bit Kong harder than Bob had. His rage evaporated.
“At least let me scare him,” he almost whimpered to her.
“You’ve scared him enough for one day,” she said gently but firmly.
“Here, wear this,” Jeff threw an Army field jacket at Kong to cover his hardware, then Roger and Kong walked off through the maze of campsites, Ardis trailing. The team filtered in several directions so they could watch Magic’s humiliation without pressing the issue by being too close.
When Roger, Kong and Ardis got to the Magic camp, they met team member Alan outside Bob’s motorhome. He looked quizzically at Kong, who looked odd wearing a heavy jacket in the Oklahoma heat.
“We came to make peace,” Roger said, Kong next to him, Ardis discreetly behind.
Alan’s eyebrows arched, but without hesitation he knocked on the motorhome door and went inside. Moments later, Bob emerged cautiously, keeping his eyes locked on Kong.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Bob blurted out earnestly. “I didn’t mean to hit it like that but you guys were falling much slower than I’m used to, I just couldn’t stop.” Roger extended his hand.
“Apology accepted,” he said, and they shook hands. Kong still glared.
“I’ll give you a pass for the moment and trust Roger’s judgment, but you got some more persuading to do for me.” Roger smiled inwardly at Kong’s natural flair for keeping people off balance with his fierceness.
“I guess the next thing is for you to apologize to the team,” Roger said, moving the discussion along. Bob hesitated.
“But you better get moving while I’m still willing to accept it,” added Kong. He turned his back on Bob and stalked away, the bulge under his jacket showing clearly. Ardis saw Bob’s eyes widen as he noticed it and stepped close to him.
“Thanks, Bob,” she said kindly. “It’s best not to let him stew about it.”
She smiled sweetly and then, with Roger alongside, followed after Kong. When they were out of Magic earshot, Roger looked approvingly at his genteel teammate.
“That’s the best good cop-bad cop routine I’ve seen in a long time.”
Ardis winked and gave him a Kong-like snarl.
“No prisoners,” she said quietly.
Bob’s apology to the team was formal, gracious and even good-humored and ended with him wishing them luck in the morning’s competition. Bob departed to approving nods and as Roger watched him walk away, he knew he’d made multiple good decisions in how he’s handled the whole affair. His own confidence rose too; after all the bad decisions he’d been making lately, it seemed as if he had his mojo back.
At seven the following morning, the judges drew the jump order and the Freak Brothers were delighted: they were first. They eagerly headed off for round one, where they were joined on the tarmac by three other teams. As first to exit, they boarded last and sat near the door, then lounged silently as the DC-3 climbed toward the 8,000-foot exit altitude, though Roger could see competition jitters infecting even his most experienced teammates. He felt it himself, and it was a feeling he loved. He smiled at his teammates, then nodded at Kong to commence their psychological warfare routine.
They started making eye contact with everyone around them, flashing relaxed, friendly, confident smiles that contrasted sharply with the many inwardly-focused faces around them, some who clearly struggled with their composure.
When they finished that, Roger glanced at his altimeter and, with the whole team’s eyes on him, gave a head nod. Per the well-established routine they had sharpened all summer, they all stood simultaneously. This unexpected team discipline caught the eye of the other competitors, just as it was designed to do. The Freak Brothers formed their circle of linked thumbs, and awaited Roger’s final words to psych them up. Unnoticed behind them, the other teams straggled to their feet to get ready too.
“Just another skydive,” he said. “Don’t over amp. Go slow. Be smooth. All we want to do is stay in it. We set the pace for the others to beat. We put the pressure on them. We are ready. We earned the right to perform respectably. Now let’s go out there and show them who we are. God be with us.”
With that, their fists all squeezed tighter and they sang out the exit count in perfect rhythm, then took their places in line as they had so many times before. Roger looked toward the cockpit and saw the copilot hold up a bright red dustpan—the “stand-by” signal.
“Stand by!” he shouted to the team.
The co-pilot flipped the dustpan; the other side displayed two black “Xs.”
“Exit, Exit, Exit!” chanted the other teams. The signal charged each Freak Brother with a burst of adrenaline. The adrenaline gave them tunnel vision, and their bodies automatically followed the familiar routine. As Video Bob took his position outside the aircraft door, they tightened up, belly to back across the fuselage.
Next, Roger slapped Kong’s shoulder.
“Hot! roared Kong.
“Ready!” roared Ardis.
“. . . GO!” sang the Freak Brothers and in one second they vanished out the door. As Roger dove out after them, the other teams rushed over to watch. They saw a smooth dive, though not their fastest.
With whoops of excitement, the Freak Brothers descended under canopy as the DC-3 circled around for another pass to drop the next team. Friends and family greeted them on the ground with cheers and hugs.
At camp, Roger felt relieved to get past the first round. With five more jumps to go, Roger needed to bring the team back down a bit. He called them into the motorhome to debrief.
“Magic’s on jump run!” someone shouted from outside before he could start—and several team members started to leave to watch.
“Hey, let’s finish our debriefing,” Roger said, stopping them cold. “Let them take care of themselves. We’ve got five more rounds to concentrate on before what they do makes any difference.” The team settled back into their places, but their minds were eight thousand feet above no matter what Roger said.
In the plane, Magic burst out into its victory chant, then lined up and rolled out the door. Things went wrong right away. Several team members were sucked into the vortex that follows each skydiver as they blast through the air at more than 100 miles per hour and the formation funneled. The Californians found themselves in a scrambled mess that doubled their normal build time—and after their first round of competition, Magic’s reign as the country’s undisputed 10-way speed star champions had already ended.
“Funneled!” shouted the helpful outside voice, and Roger heard the Freak Brothers family cheering Magic’s agony.
“Okay,” he conceded. “We’re not gonna be able to concentrate until we know for sure. Let’s go!”
With the efficiency of a team well rehearsed in rapid exits, they flew out the motorhome door in time to see the team open their parachutes—and hear silence instead of the screams of delight. They landed near their team area and walked to their camp with their heads hanging.
Except for two, who landed near the Freak Brothers camp and walked over to them.
“We want to apologize for the things that were said and the hard feelings between our teams,” said one.
“It did not reflect all of Magic,” said the other. “We had no part of it. You guys are real good, and we’re rooting for you all to win.”
The Freak Brothers appreciated this display of class and everyone exchanged handshakes and pledged friendship. Then the Magic men began the long walk back to their camp, their heads hanging low now, too.
“One down, several more to go,” Kimmers said quietly, and the rest of the team nodded. They knew that Magic might be out of it, but the quest for gold had just started.
As each round continued, the race for victory tightened until only three teams remained as medal contenders: “Visions,” another well-respected team from California; the “Beerhunters,” also posting great scores; and the Freak Brothers.
As expected after their first-round funnel, Magic was out of it; their new exit technique had failed. The “podium” teams, however, were turning faster times each round, and pushing each other closer to the edge of the envelope. The Freak Brothers remained in the lead, and the pressure that came with it concerned Roger.
“Don’t let the fact we’re in first change our battle plan,” he told the team during their fifth jump debrief. “It still takes six dives to win, and we still have one to go. Now is the time to go slow and take advantage of the slight lead we hold. Don’t make any mistakes. The reason we’re still in the running is because we’ve just gone up and done our skydive every time. Let’s not beat ourselves!”
Visions was a few seconds back, almost assured of bronze, and not likely to win either gold or silver. The Beer Hunters, a pick-up team that included most of Synergy’s former members as well as a few former world champions, trailed by a bit more than one second. The Freak Brothers just needed a clean, smooth final round to win. The Beer Hunters needed a record time to overtake them—or they needed the Freak Brothers to choke. And lurking in the minds of both teams was the fact that a minor mistake could drop either team out of gold contention clear down to third.
As the Freak Brothers anxiously awaited the call for their final jump, the judges postponed the meet due to a strong haze that would have obscured their view of the action from the ground. This left the teams to stew overnight and broke their jumping rhythm.
Roger sat alone with his wife while his kids stayed at their hotel room with a babysitter from town. He knew he could always bounce his ideas off his wife or just share his feelings. Just as she had a knack of comforting nervous students, she had a knack for building Roger’s confidence, too.
“Ah, Jeanie. Why couldn’t we get this over with today? All the momentum is with us. This could really hurt.”
“Yes, you’re frustrated,” honey,” she said firmly, “but so are the other teams. They have to deal with this too, so don’t you even think about losing your drive here. It’s not just the team that’s come this far and gotten so close. You got a whole family of people who are a part of this effort, wives and girlfriends and the whole drop zone. It’s been months of preparation and sacrifice for us too! We keep the whole show running while you guys are off practicing each weekend. What’s another day?”
Roger sighed and grinned at his wife.
“I’ll tell you, sweetheart, just because you don’t say much doesn’t mean you’re not a badass supporter. I know you put in a lot more effort than words and there’s never a day that I don’t remember it and appreciate it.”
“Really,” she said, a touch of skepticism coloring her tone.
Really,” he said, and pulled her close and embraced her tightly. Closing his eyes, he let the tremendous load on his mind escape for a moment and for a moment there were no thoughts of Mickey’s status, the boys in Belize, Hanoi, the Blairsville investigation, the crash on Grand Bahama, the missing pieces yet to be resolved with Ron and Jim and most of all, the temporary delay in the 10-way championship. At that moment, there was just Jeanie and her loving touch easing his pain and reenergizing him for the fight.
He felt the tension leave his body and mind, and the timeless moment ended the instant he regained his clarity. He released his hold on Jeanie and walked out of the motorhome and called a team meeting.
“We’re scheduled for seven a.m. takeoff,” he said after they’d assembled in their lawn-chair circle. There was some grumbling but not much, and Roger waited patiently for it to dissipate.
“The judges made it clear that if anyone’s late, it’s a forfeit,” he continued, “so I have three things to ask of the team. First, don’t get arrested! Second, get some sleep, and make sure everyone staying in a hotel has a ride to the DZ. I want no one coming in alone. Third, be sober and as ready as you’ve ever been in your life and tomorrow we win gold.”
He stuck out a fist with thumb extended and they did a pre-jump circle. Roger nodded at Kong.
“Hot!” roared Kong.
“Ready!” roared Ardis.
“. . . GO!” roared the Freak Brothers, and with that they went their separate ways, both anxious and confident about what the morning would bring.
That night before Roger turned in, he paid a visit to Dave. His question was answered when the door opened to reveal Mike sitting with Dave, both grinning broadly.
“Found a sweet spot, man,” Mike said by way of greeting.
“All right, I could use some good news.”
“Here’s some more,” Dave said. “Mickey left a message telling me to say ‘Hi,’ and he’ll see you soon.”
Roger smiled at the news and gave both men their customary slapping handshake, all of them relieved to know that Mickey and Billy had completed a successful run.
“And don’t forget, man,” Dave reminded Roger, “you’re the one who said things were turning for the better.”
“So what do you think’ll happen tomorrow?” Mike asked.
“We’re gonna take ’em out!” Roger said fiercely.
At seven the next morning, the three top contending teams boarded the plane ahead of a team that would place no higher than fourth no matter how well it did, but which could still plummet in the rankings if they flailed. So each of the contenders high-fived them as they passed by and climbed aboard, offering encouragement and kind words as they went. After they got aboard, they had kind words and good vibes for each other too. They had all been humbled by Magic’s surprise downfall, and their respect for each other had increased as their times had dropped.
The ride to altitude was quiet and calm. Right before jump run, the Freak Brothers all stood and created their traditional circle and waited for Roger’s final pep talk.
“One more jump,” Roger said, “one more where we take our time. No one rushes except the last person to enter. Everyone else lays a perfect target. We’re in the lead because we’ve made the fewest and smallest mistakes, so let’s keep it that way, and let me be the one to stop the clock. And whatever happens, I’ve never been more proud of any team as I am of you.” As he spoke, he could read the sincere smiles of confidence and pride they shared. The pressure grew steadily in the circle of hands as they built up for the final performance. Roger knew in his heart they were ready. “Now let’s show the world who we are and give them one to remember.”
They aggressively chanted their exit count and broke the circle. They formed their line, the co-pilot signaled Roger and Roger tapped Kong.
“Hot!” roared Kong.
“Ready!” roared Ardis.
“. . . GO!” roared the team and a second later they vanished out the door.
Roger hit the air with an intense natural high and stretched out bigger than he ever had before. He caught all the energy he could from the prop blast, then rotated his body in line with the forming circle. As he caught sight of the others, he saw each member converging rapidly from every direction—and realized he was closer to the formation than he’d ever been before and was closing much too fast. He instantly extended his arms and legs and cupped as much air as he could with his body to slow down before he smashed into the star. Out of the corner of his eyes, Roger saw Jeff and Kong close in on each side and an eyeblink later he docked, completing the fastest star the Freak Brothers had ever made. An emotional wave went through the group and excitement built as Roger counted off three seconds in what seemed to be slow motion. When Roger hit five just to make sure, they all kicked their legs for joy and screamed so loudly they could actually hear each other in freefall. Their victory seemed assured.
After they opened, they flew their canopies in a pre-planned formation, each jumper landing in turn in the pea gravel target, emphasizing for everyone the obvious pride they had in their achievement.
Alerted ahead of time, ABC’s Wide World of Sports filmed the team’s reactions as supporters swarmed the landing area. In the frenzy of congratulations, one of Roger’s staunchest allies from Connecticut poured a magnum of Dom Perignon over his head on national television. As Roger cleared the bubbly from his eyes, he saw Jeanie standing a few feet away so, grinning from ear to ear, they ran to each other and embraced.
For a few seconds, Roger stood oblivious to the hysteria surrounding them. The moment lasted only a few seconds, but he knew the feeling would last forever—and the network got its money shot.
The ecstatic team worked its way back to camp, loudly recalling the precious moments of the jump.
“Man you should have seen it!” glowed Kimmers. “It was magical man! Magical!”
“Did you see Roger, man?” enthused Kong, grinning for once instead of growling. “He came in like a fucking rocket! I thought he was gonna take us out!”
“I can’t believe that skydive!” Tommy shouted, goose bumps pimpling his skin. “It was the best ever!”
“This is the best team ever!” Ardis mumbled, barely able to speak, her eyes spraying a shower of tears.
Then came the familiar overhead sound of a DC-3 on jump run, and the crowd quieted as everyone looked skyward or headed to a nearby tent with TV monitors. The Beer Hunters were next, the only team with even an outside chance to spoil the Freak Brothers victory party.
In the plane, the Beer Hunters had watched the Freak Brothers’ exceptional jump and knew they had to go all out to win. They psyched themselves up, tapped into their hidden reserves, and blasted out the door.
In the tent watching TV or outside watching the sky, supporters for both teams waited intently. Roger held a half-uncorked bottle of champagne while waiting for this jump to confirm their victory. He heard the judges start the clock the instant the team appeared onscreen.
With amazing speed, the Beer Hunters formed their star with just one left to dock. As the spectators sat on the edge of their seats, the final man sailed into the picture and hit the formation with tremendous speed, deforming the circle almost to the point of tearing it apart.
“Seven-point-five seconds!” someone called out as, somehow, the jumpers absorbed the impact and kept the star together as their man broke into the circle to complete it and hold it for the required time before breaking off and tracking away.
Beer Hunter supporters erupted into the same frenzy Roger’s team had experienced just a few minutes ago. If anybody had doubted that these people weren’t poised, veteran competitors, no one doubted now.
Unsure of the exact time, Roger pushed the cork farther into the champagne bottle with his people and waited quietly, wondering if the dream they held in their hands had just slipped away, and their summer of joy shattered before their eyes. They had witnessed an awesome performance, but had that spectator shout of “7.5 seconds” been an accurate call by a disinterested party or been wishful thinking by a partisan?
Roger looked over his team and their supporters and saw the pain on their faces that he felt in his soul.
“Hey, keep your chins up,” he said. “We got much to be proud of and nothing to be ashamed of. We performed to the best of our ability and peaked on our last jump. We followed our plan perfectly.”
“They sure did fucking crank one, though,” rumbled Kong.
“That’s right, but it ain’t over yet! They had to do more than crank one to beat us, though—they had to be blazing! So I’m going to the scoreboard to wait for the posting and I’m taking the champagne with me. If any of you want to drink it with me when we get the good news, then come on.”
Every Freak Brother wanted to drink it with him, so, united, they walked over to the small office, guessing at all the possible outcomes.
“Well, second place wouldn’t be that bad,” Jeff said out loud to himself.
“Are you kidding?” chided Pirate. “Second place means you’re the first place losers!”
“And it’s like Roger said,” Tommy added. “It ain’t over yet.”
“Okay, okay,” said Jeff. “We concede nothing until the final results are in!”
Roger smiled at the banter. He knew the unofficial times meant nothing, but he also knew the meet was close, and he knew that the Beer Hunters had in fact cranked one. All that remained was to see if they’d blazed their way to victory.
Shortly after they arrived at the scoreboard, they watched their official score get posted—8.3 seconds, confirming what they’d all felt in the sky; their last jump had been their fastest jump ever and the fastest jump of the competition.
“Roger was right,” shouted Pirate. “We peaked on our last jump!”
The team regained some enthusiasm and high-fived each other for their final showing, all of them also hoping that it would be enough. Roger felt better, too, and asked someone to calculate what time the other team needed to beat them.
“They need 7.6 or better to win,” said Paul. “If it’s 7.7, we tie.”
Relieved to know it would indeed take a blazing, record-shattering jump to beat them, Roger still fretted about the unofficial 7.5-second call, and also wondered when the judges would credit the last jumper’s entry into the formation. Would they count as they should, from the moment the jumper broke grips and completed the circle—or call it from the moment of impact?
Roger watched a runner for the Beer Hunters take off to report the Freak Brothers’ record time. Soon, the rival members themselves arrived and joined the waiting crowd, some of them carrying champagne, too. The teams respectfully congratulated each other, but both wanted so badly to win that they couldn’t bear to mingle.
Roger looked around. One team would leave the tent walking on air; the other would leave crushed. Some of his closest friends would celebrate for days; some of his other close friends would cry in their beer for weeks. He already knew the agony of defeat. He wanted this time to feel the thrill of victory.
He saw the scorekeeper appear, working her way through the traffic with a big smile to post the last time of the meet on the board. Kong was the first to see it.
“Seven-point-nine!” he bellowed, and Roger felt his hand reaching for the champagne cork even as his mind recalculated the number one more time just to make sure—and it came out the same as before.
“We won!” screamed the Buffalo in Roger’s ear as he popped the champagne cork and then the noise became so deafening he could no longer hear individual voices.
Some moments later, the Beer Hunters captain approached Roger and congratulated him with the dignity of a real gentleman. He thanked Roger for the fine competition and sadly departed. Then it really hit Roger; his dream of a lifetime had been realized; they had won the meet. Then he smiled and looked for the most genteel member of the Freak Brothers. Ardis would have her gold medal.
That night, scores of people gathered for the awards ceremony under a big circus tent. Banquet tables and folding chairs filled the area. A stage occupied one end, a podium front and center on it. The meet director and a few judges lined up along the front of the stage preparing for the ceremony. Roger sat with Jeanie and his team, savoring it all and enjoying the happiness of his friends and teammates far more than winning it for himself.
The chief judge took the stage with microphone in hand.
“First, we’d like to thank everyone for attending,” she said, and the room started quieting. She waited a few moments and then went on. “The teams showed some real competition, and it was a pleasure and exciting to judge. So, without further adieu, let’s get on with the awards ceremony. In third place, Visions!”
The Californians walked up on the stage and took the third-place podium step. One by one, the judges placed a bronze medal around the neck of each team member. The crowd cheered after the final medal placement, and the chief judge waited patiently until they quieted again.
“In second place, and owners of a new U.S. Nationals record for fastest ten-way star, the Beer Hunters!” The crowd, which had witnessed the fastest-ever ten-way speed star in competition, let loose a wild cheer. “In case you haven’t heard,” the chief judge continued with a smile, their time was seven-point-nine seconds, almost half a second faster than the old record.”
The Beer Hunters smiled and casually took the second-place podium step. Although they hadn’t won, they glowed with pride in setting a new record.
When the judges finished placing the silver medals around the team’s necks, there was another sustained round of cheers and applause, then the chief judge grinned at the crowd.
“And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. In first place, and our new national ten-way champions, the Freak Brothers!”
Everyone jumped to their feet and cheered in appreciation of the achievement they had all seen. The Freak Brothers had a few old hands but were in fact comprised of mostly rookie skydivers, especially when compared to the jump numbers and meet experience on the teams they had just challenged and beaten. On top of that, they were from the Midwest and they had whipped the vaunted Californians at their own event.
As soon as the crowd’s screams and whistles dissipated and all the gold medals were handed out, the chief judge made a final announcement.
“As most of you already know, the Freak Brothers briefly held the Nationals record for the fastest star—eight-point-three seconds, a record that lasted all of six minutes, if I recall correctly.” Cheers and laughter interrupted her for a moment, then she continued. “But what not all of you may know is that one member of the Freak Brothers also made history today, so we would like to specifically recognize Ardis for being the first woman to win a gold medal in ten-way speed star competition.”
More cheers and whistles and howls of delight greeted Ardis as she stepped down from the first-place podium step and stood alone at the front of the stage as the chief judge presented her with a beautiful flower arrangement. Wearing a summer dress, with her hair down and sporting a touch of makeup, Ardis looked more like the cute girl next door than a world class skydiver, and she played that part too, alternately crying and laughing in joy at the fun and wonder of it all. Then she led the three teams off the stage in a final shower of applause.
The team started partying in earnest, and Roger wanted so much to join in and lose himself for the night, but his mind had already shifted to Belize. Mickey was back, Ron and Jim were committed, and it was time to move onward. The dream-of-a-lifetime victory of that day already seemed like ancient history.