Finally the day had come. For months we had fainted, poked, and surveyed the area, now it was time to clear. President Obama had ordered a troop surge the previous November and the whole world waited for the operation to kick off. Some hoping it would be drastic failure, others excited for results, and most weary at what may be ahead of us. But see that is the key difference between the passive onlooker and the soldier in combat. There was only one option for the men of Dog Company: Win.
0445- Its still dark at this point, but you can feel the sun coming soon. All the men were lined in two columns at the exit to the staging area. We had bought a couple of donkey's at the local market and strapped ammo, water, and food to their backs. They were located at the end of the column, and did not enjoy the massive amount of weight we had placed on them. We exited, and started walking south towards the "green zone", the heart of Taliban operations. As we walked down our new desert road that the British engineers so kindly plowed for us, I remember looking out over the landscape. The sun was now coming up just over the trees, it was a comfortable 75 degrees, not a cloud in the sky. I was brought back to a story my grandfather used to tell me. It was the final day of the Korean war, and he lay in a trenchline looking up to the sky. He recalls it being a gorgeous night and thinking to himself, "No one should have to die on a night like this." This same thought raced through my mind and I shook it off as fast as I could.
0730- 2nd platoon is in a firefight off to our southwest but adequately kicking the enemies ass and in no need of our support at this time. So my platoon continued to clear houses searching for insurgents and or evidence of insurgents. Call out on the loud speaker, give a ten minute warning, 2,1,30 seconds, then shoot a grenade in the entrance to the house, bomb dog clears the house, Afghan national army clears the house, then the US soldiers go in to exploit evidence. We repeated this process a couple of times as we worked our way down the row of houses. Kneeling next to my 203 gunner, SPC G-rat, we were about to repeat this process when a round flew way to close to our face for comfort, impacting the dirt just passed us. We were getting shot at from our flank, never a good situation. I spoke with some of the small unit leaders and decided to reposition our 240b, the platoons heaviest dismounted weapon aka machine gun.
0745- I walked with the machine gun team, mine detector out front and radio jammer on one the soldiers backs. We crawled into a ditch and gathered around each other. I said, "Bear (one of my section leaders), I want you to put it in right there." I pointed to a low wall. He said, "Rahjer." They crawled up to their position and turned back to say set. The only two people in the ditch now were my radio operator and myself. We started taking some small pot shots from that flank again, but this time we were ready. There is no way I could let my gun team sit there getting shot at and not be there with them. I got up to move to their position, turned to my radio operator and said, "You stay here, no reason for us both to get fucked up." I crawled up to where they were but there was not enough space for me to be protected. I looked left...Damn nothing but thick overgrowth and no good angle, I looked right..."woah" I thought. The wall had been destroyed from where my gun team was to about 15 meters down the tiny foot trail. 15 meters to my right was a wall, about chest high, perfect cover. I said, "Hey bear, im going for that wall so I can help you guys spot." I popped up and ran the basic training phrase through my head, "Im up...they see me.." I never made it to the "Im down."
-0800- Dust was everywhere. I felt like a firefighter must feel, trapped in smoke, not sure which direction is up or down. I felt as though my right leg was on fire and I had no sensation or feeling below my right knee. I couldn't hear anything, just a high pitched ringing as my conscious slipped in and out. And in an instant I snapped back, the first sound I heard still brings me chills. My section leader Bear was screaming, "Fuck....Fuck....no no no, Fuck....medic, get the fucking medic, I think he's dead. Sir? Fuck, Sir?"
I screamed back, "Im here, i'm here. My leg is fucked up, but im here."
He screamed back, "Thank you god, sit tight were coming to get you."
At this point I remember slipping in and out of shock, I reached down to feel my leg and make sure it was still there. It was. Thank you god. I was screaming profanities at the top of my lungs from the shock and the pain. I began to crawl back to my gun position by arching my back and kicking with my left leg. I got about half way there when Bear saw me and ran over, pissed that I had tried to come back on my own. He dragged me into the ditch where the medic was waiting. I pounded the ground in anger, sadness and fear. Angry that I had run down a path that wasn't cleared, sadness because I knew I was about to leave my men for a long time, and fear because I thought I was going to lose my leg.
I was transported back the Battalion aid station where one of my best friends Bryson met me and held my hand as the doctors loaded me onto the helicopter. They gave me a shot of ketamine and I woke up four hours later in Kandahar Airfield's ICU. Earlier that morning, I was a healthy 24 year old. Doing what I had dreamed of doing for so long, leading men in combat. Now seven hours later my life was forever changed. See if there is one thing I have learned from this its that life changes very fast. There is no speed pedal or brake where you can control the pace at what it moves at. It lives and breathes on its own accord. The best thing you can do is maintain who you are, who you surround yourself with and what you stand for.
As always, thank you for listening and I apologize for the language.
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