“The Moment Between Boy and Soldier”
***
The plane shakes.
Loud.
Metal belly full of lads
trying not to throw up their nerves.
I grip the straps.
Check my chute.
Again.
Again.
Because once I jump,
there’s no second chance.
The red-light glows.
We wait.
No one talks.
Just breathing and blinking,
and maybe a prayer
tucked behind someone’s teeth.
Green.
Go.
I step out into nothing.
Cold air grabs me—
a slap, a scream, a silence.
Then the chute snaps open
like a fist unclenching.
Floating now.
But not for long.
Visioning—
a world on fire—
tracers, flak,
trees that don’t care
who lands in them.
I hit the ground hard.
Roll.
Mud in my mouth.
Gun in my hand.
And just like that,
I’m not a boy anymore.
The realisation of what could be—
yet I climb aboard
for my next training jump.
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 3:47 AM UTC
“The Moment Between Boy and Soldier”
***
The plane shakes.
Loud.
Metal belly full of lads
trying not to throw up their nerves.
I grip the straps.
Check my chute.
Again.
Again.
Because once I jump,
there’s no second chance.
The red-light glows.
We wait.
No one talks.
Just breathing and blinking,
and maybe a prayer
tucked behind someone’s teeth.
Green.
Go.
I step out into nothing.
Cold air grabs me—
a slap, a scream, a silence.
Then the chute snaps open
like a fist unclenching.
Floating now.
But not for long.
Visioning—
a world on fire—
tracers, flak,
trees that don’t care
who lands in them.
I hit the ground hard.
Roll.
Mud in my mouth.
Gun in my hand.
And just like that,
I’m not a boy anymore.
The realisation of what could be—
yet I climb aboard
for my next training jump.
I wrote this piece during my time in service over 50 years ago. I’ve tried to capture soldiers in training, suspended between routine and reality. As the aircraft rattles and the jump light changes, imagination blurs with possibility—training becomes a vision of real conflict, of fear and survival. Each descent marks a quiet transformation, yet after every landing, the cycle begins again—as we practise shaping the soldier within us.
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