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It happens every cycle at Airborne School, right after a first jump. Rugged American fighting men and women lose their senses. They slap their backs and shake hands and give high-fives and low-fives and behind-the-back-fives. They trade forearm bashes and helmet smashes. They yell, but not the typical "hooh-ahs!" barked by most level-headed, right-thinking soldiers. They are more like the noises kids make after the best roller coaster rides of their lives; the shouts of 12-year-olds watching from the side of the pool as some kid lands the afternoon's biggest cannonball. They are like a bunch of hyperactive kids on a sugar high. Not even rock-steady "Sergeant Airborne," standing in their faces, screaming at them to shut up and get their stuff together, can spoil that first-jump high. It was a beautiful day at Fort Benning, Ga.; we were the soldiers of Company B, 1st Battalion, 507th Infantry Training Regiment, we made our first jump: bright blue sky, light-to-no wind, temperatures in the mid-60s. By day's end, many of us were still not airborne-qualified - it takes five school jumps to earn the Army's silver wings but you'd never know it from listening to us. We were all old pros after that first one, and each of us had an airbo