The Chronicles of Dean.
This story is based on true events, only the names, location and events have been changed.
Chapter One - D is for Dean
Folklore has it that the first 9 D license holders back in the 70's went on a worldwide rampage mercifully lead by a man that is so respected that he is the forefounder of being known only by a single name, many people have tried to be known by a single name such as Madonna, Seal and Brazilian footballers- but neither of these have the power and prowess of the legend that we all simply know as 'Dean'.
In 1979, Dean and his 8 disciples split up into groups of 3 and selected the very pinnacle of skydiving aircraft ready for the conquest. All missionaries loaded into a major fleet of state of the art Cessna 182's and 206's armed with nothing but Paracommanders, B-12 containers, belly mount reserves and chunky mutton chops the men set off on their odyssey .
They left Ashford Eagle Parachute Centre to blaze a white-hot trail across the skies above Europe and locations further afield. Observers compared it to the times of World War II, when daring men with ‘taches the size of bull elephant seals did battle in the azure heights. It is well established amongst intellectual circles that when they first landed in France, the natives thought that the Normandy landings were happening all over again.
Legend has it that it was Dean himself who first stepped down onto Continental soil – but only after ripping out a mighty 750-foot swoop on his Paracommander, flaring with the help of his front risers and all the power resident in his burns. Some say that a degree of flatulence was involved, sparked off by some dodgy fajitas the night before – but this has never been confirmed, and the last person who asked Dean this question was never found…
Their mighty tracking skills inspired fear and awe in equal measure, it’s plain to see where the French love of “wingsuiting” or pussy tracking comes from..
From France, it is but a short step to a plethora of other Continental countries – Spain, Germany, Belgium, and Holland.. Naturally Dean and the boys chose to visit the gleaming spires of Amsterdam as an immediate priority. Rumour has it that 6 weeks passed until the locally nicknamed 'parastoners' stumbled out of the Grasshopper coffee shop; much to the amazement of local bystanders consisting of prostitutes and dooby rolling fans. Dean tried to claim that the men had merely been having a 'safety meeting' about the future gayness of Spectre canopies and more importantly the dangers of flaring with toggles instead of front risers, which as any one that doesn’t jump a Wings container knows would lead to a devastatingly slow and boring landing that has a minimal chance of femur rowing and therefore minimal chance of chicks digging their scars and associated fellatio.
Nevertheless, Deans UN worthy negotiating skills coupled with his meaty burners meant the crowd bought this story with ease and even rolled him another fatty for his troubles. This fatty was not immediately consumed and was added to Deans ever growing inventory of the Paracommander, b-12 container, belly mount reserve, frappe hat and ever increasing mutton chops.
The following day, the troopers did a jump over Texel out of a 1950 AN-2. All the boys were astonished at the immense altitude of the plane, (legend has it that the Soviet Annushka maxed out at a record breaking 8,500 AGL with an approximate climb rate of 11 ft/second - today’s equivalent of a Dornier G92 being ragged to 15,000 AGL in 13 minutes). Dean decided to spark up the fatty, and at altitude there were many go-arounds as Dean wasn’t happy with the spot; many sources have revealed that he doesn’t give a sh*t about spotting and wanted to have just 'one more toke' on the bifta.
Finally, after many blow-backs the doob was almost gone and the last words uttered by Dean before exiting second to last was 'pass the roach to the pilot before you jump'.
During this now legendary skydive, Dean whipped out a cheeky backflip on his way down to the formation – a tracking dive designed to look from the ground like a hefty pair of whiskers, modelled in the Classical style... He effortlessly came down to the head of the formation, where the prime gurn spot is always located. Grinning away at the rabbit like a Cheshire cat on some particularly good gear, Dean flicked the Vs at the rest of the formation as an order to tighten up and close in.
Each member of the 9-man dive flexed their hairy side-pieces and de-arched like it had gone out of fashion big time (arching has never actually been in fashion, many argue). The formation attained a phenomenal forward speed and L/D ratio, resembling a whiskery rocket burning across the skies of Texel. This caused serious alarm in NATO’s then primitive early warning stations – the radar appeared to be showing some new Russian menace. Luckily, the Commander of NATO East – Air Field Marshal Montgomery Fortescue-Fyffe-Smythe VC KVCO GMG called the finger off the red button – “don’t worry chaps, it’s only Dean – I learnt from him as a Rapper”.
At 1500 feet, there was time to burn…Dean actually appeared to be skinning one up, using his mighty whiskers as a windshield.
At 1000 feet, the doob was passed.
800 feet came, and with a nonchalant grin, Dean waved off. The formation spread out across the sky in an explosion of righteous skydiver, and deployed as one.
After an epic, epoch-spanning 10 seconds of canopy time, those Paracommanders ripped up the Dutch field – the team very kindly put 600-foot furrows in the fields for the next crop of tulips.
Dean turned to the gang, his whiskers bristling mightily: “Righto, lets nip on down to Spain... Cessnas to the ferry port !”
...to be continued
