Seated at a bar in Buffalo, New York, two men were in heated discussion. ‘œHare-brained, that’™s what the idea is, Bill! You’™ve gone off your rocker! Sure we’™ve done crazy things but challenging a tornado beats the lot. No, Bill. I won’™t help you. We’™re more than friends and that’™s exactly why I can’™t go along with such a wild cat scheme – see you get yourself killed. Forget it!’
‘œBut, Jack, see the possibility of success too! It’™s a great challenge. If you’™ll consider my plan in more detail, you’™ll see it’™s no more hare-brained than the climb up the frozen water-fall in Alaska; no crazier than the hundred foot cliff scale and dive into the river. No one has ever tried this before. It can become an opening for others.’  Don’™t you see?’
‘œBill, did you think about the logistics? Maybe you’™re suggesting this stunt just to see my reaction. Well it’™s very negative.’
You know me better than that, Jack.’  Of course I’™ve thought out’  details – for months in fact.’  The idea came to me when I was close to a great one in Oklahoma. It set my adrenaline going. It was fantastic. Listen before you judge. Many things we’™ve done together were just about as crazy.
‘œI’™ll be wearing a steel diver’™s helmet sealed to my shoulders and oxygen. A leather suit tightly sealed to high boots. Of course the forces will be strong but no more than the forces that are on a supersonic pilot ejecting.’  With that in mind maybe it sounds less crazy.’
‘œOkay, so maybe you’™ve got some details worked out but a pilot ejecting doesn’™t have the same gees ‘“ nor subject to a sucking column of crazy swirl that’™s half way to a vacuum!’
‘œListen, Jack. Twister’™s spin speed vary and I’™ve thought about that too. I think a man can cope with forces up to 200 miles per hour. That means that the tornado would be some one hundred to a hundred and fifty yards at the base. The gees and pressure become less the higher up the funnel anyway. I reckon I could reach to about 300 feet. With a bit of luck maybe 500. Enough for a jump with a wide chute. I’™ve thought it out and I think the idea is workable. The big problem, as I see it, is catching the right one. Being at the right place at the right time.’
After an hour of persuasion, Jack finally smiled. ‘œOkay. You win, Bill. Help? Of course I will.
Thanks Jack. I knew I could count on you.’  Lets have another beer on it!’
‘œOkay,’ but’  a worried expression lay on Jack’™s face as they parted.
*
The open-sided Land Rover carrying Bill and Jack batted its way South-West towards Wichita, Kansas. The two men were large and brawny and obviously used to the open. Their skin had a deep tan that the weather had beaten’  into a kind of soft leather.
‘œHow come you chose Wichita?,’™ said Jack. ‘œI would have thought that further south and east you’™d’  have a better chance.’ Jack had tried many a ruse to swerve Bill away from what he had come to regard as a truly mad goal.’  ‘œWhy Wichita?,’ he repeated.
‘œIt’™s tornado country even though no one can be sure. It’™s just a hunch, that’™s all.’ Three days of highways and motels brought them to the’  outskirts of the town.
‘œThe plains of Pratt, that’™s were you should go,’ said Ed, a motel keeper just before the city. ‘œAbout 70 miles west. Known to us Wichitans as the Devil’™s Playground.’  This time of the year you get everything from dust devils to block-busters. Believe me we’™ve had our share of them, too, and real damage. Want a place to stay? Got plenty of room.’
‘œNo thanks, Ed’ returned Bill. We want to get as close to the action as we can. Thanks, you’™ve been a great help Ed.’
‘œAny time. What the hell you want with twisters anyway?’
‘œTaking pictures that’™s all. Just taking pictures.’
‘œBest of luck ‘“ but you better be bloody careful though. They’™re tricky those twisters are ‘“ real tricky and eat anything they can get.’
Their Landrover had been fitted with special tyres for cross-country running. An hour later they were pitching camp at the base of a small hill next a creek.
This was the time of year when’  weather could change within an hour from blazing heat to an black electric sky of thunder, streak-lightening and violent storm.’  Just as suddenly, out of a dark cloud could come a clap of thunder and a twister that would begin sucking up everything in its path.’  A giant vacuum cleaner drawing up live-stock, barns and homes. Dumping bodies of horses, cattle and debris hundreds of yards from where they had been.’  More and more, Jack felt that the whole scheme was mad. It maddened him too that he felt out of it. Just a hanger-on as it were.
Bill’™s excitement, however, rose as the days passed. His eyes were constantly bright as he looked forward to what he called his ultimate challenge. He’  hoped that the next afternoon would bring an answer to his hopes and prayers. Days passed, became a week then ten. For Jack each uneventful day was one day closer to a happy abandoning of this wild cat scheme. With their radio tuned to the local station, they would explore the country-side driving randomly keeping an eye upon the sky and an ear to the hourly weather broadcasts.
An eleventh day began as most others with a clear morning which became hell-like at noon. Bill and Jack took refuge under a solitary, large pine next to a creek.
Over the hills, heavy thunder clouds’  appeared almost suddenly just after midday. Bill and Jack began running to the car.’  Then, as if in answer to Bill’™s prayer, a deafening crack of thunder sent a twister not a mile from where they stood. A funnel reached down with a sound like an express train in a tunnel. Clear and indistinguishable at first, its swirling, crazy dance began drawing up dirt and anything loose,’  becoming quickly a dark funnel of’  fury making its slow way eastward.’  It was an awesome sight and just about the size that Bill wanted ‘“ about a hundred yards wide at its base.
‘œC’™mon, Jack, help me into my gear! Fast!’ Springing into action, Jack helped Bill on with his leather jacket then with the steel diver’™s helmet securing it firmly under Bill’™s arms. A tight’  seal of leather lined with rubber fitted about his chest while two belts passed around his groin and upper hips. The chute harness went on next then the oxygen cylinder, snugly held by the back straps. The chute pack was low -‘  below the cylinder.
The rugged vehicle made fast progress over the rough plain,’  the sound of the tornado becoming more and more fearsome. Two hundred yards from the screaming jet made even the tough adventurers feel feeble and insignificant although the air around them was remarkably calm. Again Jack thought that to place oneself into the path of such a monster was an act of sheer madness.
Jack wanted to communicate to Bill but couldn’™t. He shook him by the shoulder but Bill did not move his gaze from the storm cloud head. It was as if he had become hypnotised by the sight. Jack realised that Bill would not have been able to hear anything he’™d say anyway.
When they came within 150 yards of the column , it veered slightly. If it continued its new direction, it would cross their travel path some one hundred yards ahead.
Jack slammed on the brakes. Fascinated, he could do nothing but watch Bill as he sprang over the side of the Landrover and start at a clumsy, heavy run designed to cut off the spiralling, violent, black column.
Jack backed up some three hundred yards his mind storming no less violently than the tornado ahead. He placed earphones on his head and over them jammed on the direction-finding antenna. He grabbed the video camera, placed Bill in its frame and kept it there. Bill covering the rough ground in a slow, clumsy trot looked like something from another world. Jack prayed that he just may fall before reaching the mad fury as it moved. Like a slow heart beat, the beeps from the tiny broadcaster Bill was wearing came steady every second.
In the camera’™s viewfinder Jack could not see the dark column of the tornado but knew that it was very close and coming. Then its edge appeared.’  It was now only some ten meters from Bill.
Jack jumped as if struck when Bill, overpowered by the forces was flung to the ground. It was as if a giant hand had hit him. Jack winced as the maelstrom covered Bill’™s prone body and blotted it from view.’  The blips, loud and clear in the earphones were the only sign that Bill was somewhere in the storm.
Suddenly the blips began rising. Still filming, jack moved his shoulders to follow the sound. Soon they began coming from some one hundred feet up’  the swirling funnel. They kept getting higher every second. He now let the camera go and held the two slim shafts one in each hand as if each was a life-line to Bill. He held his breath. Two hundred… two hundred and fifty … and all of a sudden a puff of white mushroomed and became the canopy of a parachute! Again Jack grabbed the camera and cried aloud laughing in excitement,’  ‘œYou did it! You son of a gun. You fuckin’™ did it!’
Then he immediately realised that Bill didn’™t have enough height for a soft landing, particularly with the heavy helmet and cylinder. The storm had moved on some fifty yards. Then Jack ripped off the antennae and drove like fury towards the place Bill would land. With a crunch that Jack actually heard, Bill landed.
By the time Jack reached his friend, the tornado was some one hundred yards off. Jack began frantically struggling with the helmet. Removing it seemed to take an eternity. He finally drew it off and threw it aside. Bill lay unmoving.
Pulling off one of Bill’™s heavy gloves, Jack felt for a pulse. It was very weak. He slapped Bill’™s cheek. Removing his canteen from his belt he poured the contents over his friend’™s face. ‘œYou there?’  Do you read me?’
Bill half opened his eyes as if even this effort was almost too much. The sound of the tornado was receding. Jack placed an ear close to his friend’™s mouth to catch any whisper. ‘œBill. Say something, for God’™s sake, say something!’
Then, as if the effort was supreme, Bill spoke softly. ‘œGreat Jack . . . the uttimate . . .’  geez!’  . . . and with a smile Jack would never forget, he sank limply back into his friend’™s arms.