He was a "Jump-Master," a man who lived for the adrenaline of the (free fall). But this wasn't a planned jump over the Swiss Alps. This was Flight 174, and the left wing had just vanished into a cloud of orange fire.
With a roar of effort, he yanked the secondary handle. A snap like a gunshot echoed through his bones as the white silk bloomed above him. The violent jerk nearly knocked him unconscious, but then, the world went quiet again. The screaming wind became a gentle hiss. Freier Fall
He checked his altimeter: 12,000 feet. The air was getting thicker, warmer. He could see the green patchwork of fields below, looking like a miniature train set. He was a "Jump-Master," a man who lived