It's 1968, and we're flying in a C-130 towards the coast of Vietnam. The colonel stands up and announces in a loud voice, "We're headed for Camp Evans. I want parachutes on. This will probably be the last time any one of you will make a paradrop. so enjoy! I should tell you that we'll be jumping at 500 feet. Any questions?"
A squeaky voice sounds off, "But sir, we need at least 1000 feet for our chutes to open."
The colonel replied, "We'll be going in at 200 knots, so your chutes will have at least 1000 feet to open in a nice parabolic curve. Don't go too far north of Evans, though. The jungle is full of Charlie."
Charlie, eh? And here we were without any ammo ...
At the appointed time, the ramp dropped we were ordered to, "Move! Move! Move!", and so on.
My chute opened about 15 feet above the ground, thankfully. No one was hurt that night, and no one got shot. And the colonel was right. No more parachutes ... just helos.
I did get awfully close to that jungle, though.