December 20 1989, in flight at approximately 0205 hours local time and about to penetrate Panamanian airspace, uninvited: “The Drop Zone is hot! Make your mommas proud!”
Karl Johnson (USMA 1972) announced those words over the loudspeaker of the C-141 carrying 120 of us paratroopers. I really was going to be a member of a combat parachute assault force directed against a hostile enemy, something I had not imagined only thirty-five hours before, let alone in my career.
This would be my first-ever direct involvement in combat, after over twenty years on active duty. It was also to be my first parachute jump in just two weeks shy of twenty years, as well as my first true night jump.
I had started my career as a platoon leader in the Second Cavalry Regiment doing border patrols on the Iron Curtain opposite Communist nations East Germany and Czechoslovakia, then serving for a year as Regimental Plans Officer in Regimental Headquarters.
I transferred to the Medical Department in 1971 to enter medical school under sponsorship by the Surgeon General’s Office, remaining in the Medical Corps thereafter as a fully trained general surgeon.
For me the lead-up to that December morning began the previous August when I reported to Womack Army Hospital at Fort Bragg NC, as Chief of Surgery.
During that autumn, busy as I was with affairs in the hospital, I was not aware of activity occurring on post. One of my surgeons working with the 44th Medical Brigade once commented on how uptight people were there, more so than usual, that “something was going on”. I didn’t give it much thought.
In early December the hospital commander called me into his office. After asking me about the Professional Filler (PROFIS) assignments of my surgeons, he asked me if I would agree to change my own PROFIS assignment from the 44th Medical Brigade instead to the 307th Medical Battalion of the 82nd Airborne Division. The 307th Med was to provide needed medical support for any division missions or exercises. I knew he would not be asking me to volunteer unless it was important, so I said yes without knowing all it might entail. Being parachute-qualified already, I did not see a problem. Shortly after that I met the Battalion Commanding Officer (CO), was issued my field equipment, and waited to participate in a refresher parachute jump to be officially placed on parachute status. I thought that the jump would be a gut check rather than an operational requirement, and that medical assets would be flown in.
Silly me.
Later that month events in Panama approached a climax. US Southern Command (SOUTHCOM) had prepared a plan to invade Panama in January 1990. On Sunday December 17th, however, the assault was ordered ASAP by President Bush in response to even more elevated and now deadly hostility directed by Panamanian Defense Forces (PDF) against Americans. Operation JUST CAUSE now moved forward to execution.
On Monday at about 1 PM I was called by the 307th’s Executive Officer: “Be at Battalion at 1500 hours (3 PM) with your rucksack.” I went home to pack up my gear. My wife was visiting her ailing father in Charlotte NC. The only family at home was my 11-year-old daughter, just out of school. She showed that day the toughness and resilience typical of Army Brats and has proven to be a tough individual as she has grown. I hugged her tightly, as she did me. “I don’t know where I am going or for how long,” I told her. “Just tell your mom to keep an eye on CNN”.
At 1505 hours, the CO announced, “We’re jumping into Panama tomorrow night.” My initial reaction was shock, followed immediately by awareness that this deployment was to be a combat mission. My advice to self: Be calm, be alert, listen to wisdom from experienced field medics and other soldiers.
The barracks had been locked down at 1500 hours, all communication to the outside cut. There would be no time for a refresher jump. I was issued my sidearm (a 9mm pistol), and we moved to the holding area beside Green Ramp, the staging area for Army airborne operations at next-door Pope Air Force Base.
The 82nd Airborne’s part of JUST CAUSE fell to the Division Ready Brigade (DRB). In January that would have been the 2nd Brigade Combat Team, but with the new timetable the current DRB, the 1st Brigade Combat Team based on the 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment (504th PIR) got the call. I was now to see firsthand why constant training by Rapid Deployment Forces would prove critical.
As the brigade made final preparations for the jump, a mission unexpectedly thrust upon them, I marveled at how smoothly so much preparation went into the short time before departure. Much was standard procedure to prepare for a parachute jump, giving time to the DRB to prepare the details of this specific mission. At the operations Quonset Hut in the holding area, I met the brigade commander. This would be his second combat jump, the first as a Ranger into Grenada in 1983. He was a calm leader, setting a tone of confidence for the brigade.
I was grateful for that – as I entered the hut, I passed 504th PIR company commanders giving orders to their platoon leaders. I was struck when I heard “The use of deadly force has been authorized” spoken by what appeared to be high school seniors speaking to their assembled teams of freshmen. I realized that this forty-three-year-old was going into combat with men barely out of their teens, some even still there. It has been ever so that nations put their youth at the tip of the spear when they go to war.
Other images still come to mind: We periodically retreated into tents in the holding area, to avoid detection by Soviet satellites passing overhead, that might provide actionable intelligence to the PDF. We placed glint tape straps around our left arms and a glint patch on the top of our Kevlar helmets. The PDF wore the same BDUs as we, so after we were on the ground the tapes would reflect projected infrared light to identify us to Special Operations air assets as “friendlies” to help avoid friendly fire incidents. The use of the word help as a non-inclusive term didn’t give me too much comfort.
Nearing departure time, we moved to Green Ramp to draw and don parachutes, and await take-off. My first question upon receiving my parachute was “Where’s the punch button on the harness?” The jumpmaster asked me when was the last time I jumped, and slowly shook his head when I answered almost twenty years. The Army fortunately had updated the harness to a safer one since then.
There I met Karl Johnson, the Brigade S-3. We both recognized each other from cadet days in company D-4. I commented “I hope I didn’t haze you so much then that you’re going to get back at me now.” He laughed and assured me that wouldn’t happen. Who was I to argue?
We took off in the first of several echelons rather than as a single sortie, at about 2000 hours (8 pm) on December 19th. North Carolina was caught in a sleet and ice storm. Commercial de-icing equipment was brought in to prepare aircraft for flight but limited the number ready to take off at any one time. We flew cramped together, fully rigged up in our parachutes and combat gear for six hours before the jump.
Karl’s warning at 0205 was a definite call to be alert. The airport was not yet secured, and a firefight in the airport terminal was ongoing. The Green light signal to begin jumping went on at 0211. I was at the center of the line of paratroopers to be dropped down the civilian runway of Torrijos-Tocumen International Airport. …. Well, that was the plan. Ground fire led the line of aircraft to be diverted several hundred meters east. We were dropped at an exit altitude under 500 feet into the swamp beyond the end of the runway.
The sight that greeted me after my parachute’s full canopy deployment made me think a terrible mistake had been made: the trailing aircraft were flying BELOW the aircraft leading them! A quick mental calculation led me to conclude I would be colliding with the plane I saw. But as I looked on in horror and watched the C-141 appear to hit paratroopers who jumped before me, I saw they continued floating downward as if nothing had happened. I soon realized my mistake – I was only viewing the moonlit shadows of trailing aircraft on a wispy cloud layer below jump height, a layer so slight that it could only be seen when near or descending through it. One of the vagaries of night parachute jumping they had not told me about ….
After landing I focused on my mission to care for casualties. I heard gunfire to the southwest at the civilian airport terminal. Our medical team was to set up the Casualty Collection Point in it or right next to it.
So … march to the sound of the guns! I joined other paratroopers doing the same. We separated once we reached the airport runway, to seek the assembly areas of our respective units.
In those thirty-five hours before the jump and in the several days afterward I experienced firsthand a well-trained and well-led combat unit. I am reminded of the Jewish-Roman historian Josephus’ observation of the Roman legions: “Their drills were bloodless combat and their combat bloody drills”. Our success was a tribute to our training, to our motivation and to our loyalty to each other.
I can well summarize my thoughts and my experience in 1989 under our West Point motto:
Duty – Take care of soldiers, wherever they need care. Twenty years of training, eighteen in the medical field, had prepared me for that moment.
Honor – I had been preaching for many years the message that the AMEDD needs to pay more attention to taking care of soldiers in the field. I was suddenly given just that opportunity. To back away from my outspoken commitment to field medical care would have been more than hypocritical, it would have been cowardly.
Country – I was a soldier before I was a surgeon. I saw how I had internalized the soldier’s ethic: I will go where I am sent. Where I go, I will accomplish my mission.
I was privileged to be part of the 82nd Airborne Division for Operation Just Cause.
I was gratified that all my training and work had prepared me for that moment.
I was humbled that people far wiser than I had put in place regimens, training and drills that allowed me to step up and perform in a manner that had become ingrained.
