Minutes later, the CASEVAC bird arrived. The injured commandos were loaded first, and the aircrew then unloaded the kickout bundle the team packed earlier. I then asked the crew to take Chief ’s body, but the aircrew chief flat-out refused, nearly sending me into a rage. I explained that I realized Chief was deceased and this bird was designated to evacuate living casualties, but that didn’t matter to any of us. He was our teammate and needed to receive the dignity his honorable service deserved. Few men ever reach the level of service this man had, and I wasn’t about to let the plane take off without him.
Vic saw me arguing with the aircrew and quickly jogged over. He guided me away, then turned around and walked directly into the pilot’s line of sight at the front of the bird. They spoke quickly by radio. Vic was an Air Force Combat Control officer with a legendary reputation, and he knew what to say to the pilot, and it worked like magic. A minute later, the aircrew chief was apologizing to me and loading our teammate’s body onto the helo. Vic returned to the CCP without comment.
Soon after the bird lifted off, Muscle Tom returned with his patrol. He pointed toward the battlefield, where he’d placed commandos on watch.
“I put two guys up there and over there with PKMs to provide some overwatch for perimeter security. The rest are in teams of two in a perimeter around our position.”
“Good call,” Vic answered before updating us. “Chris radioed that he reached the entrance to the pass. They’re bringing four up-armors and two soft skins loaded to the hilt.” Vic paused before continuing. “Doc, we need to fix the vehicles that can be fixed and have everyone ready to move out soon after the QRF arrives.”
“I’m on it.” The QRF was an hour out. The vehicles were seriously damaged, and I had to get them up and running within that hour.
“What’s the status on the east side of the mountain?” Vic asked.
“The rock face on this side is clear. The birds crushed everything along the eastern ridgeline, but it looks like some of the ambushers got away. We found a blood trail heading toward the east and followed it for a while, but there’s a lot of ground to cover out there.” He paused for a swig of water. “Steep cliffs, rock formations, and a wadi that seems to go on forever. Basically, plenty of places for bad guys to hide.”
Once Tom finished his assessment, Vic told us how he directed aircraft to take out an enemy Hilux loaded with men, as well as a foot patrol approaching from the southeast. Not only was Vic saving our lives, he was falling back on his CCT expertise and taking the fight directly to the enemy.
“Tom, I’ll need you to come up with a plan to sweep the area when Chris arrives with 10th Mountain.” It was a wise decision to let Tom formulate the plan since he was the only one out of the three of us who’d seen the whole battlefield. “Doc, be sure to check on the men, and when you get the chance try to take a break yourself. You look worn out.” Vic returned to his Humvee, then assumed his position on his perch overlooking the area. Tom returned to his commandos and assigned several to ready the convoy for the trip back to Shkin. I checked on Dogface and the front three vehicles. Miraculously they were able to get my vehicle moving and had stripped out everything from the lead Hilux.
It seemed the threat had subsided, at least for the time being. I grabbed an empty rucksack and filled it with water, spare ammo, and AK magazines and headed out to each of the sentry positions. I started with the overwatch positions, taking an extra two-hundred-round PKM ammo box to ensure they had plenty. I also wanted to get a full view of the battlefield. Each time I reached the men I’d get a count of their magazines to make sure everyone was fully loaded while they drank up. If they had been wounded, I’d do a quick reassessment, fix what needed to be fixed, and move on. I returned to the staging area two more times to restock my pack and stopped only when I felt the men were ready. After the final run, I sat with Vic and shared an energy bar and water. I realized I was exhausted. We quietly sat together, our silence speaking volumes about the loss of so many lives while we waited for our reaction force to arrive.
15
QRF
The tragedy of war is that it uses man’s best to do man’s worst.
—HARRY EMERSON FOSDICK
Chris arrived with a platoon from 10th Mountain including an air force tactical air controller assigned to the company and a medical team made up of the battalion surgeon and additional medics. Chris was in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, and we saw his blond hair from a mile out. Vic immediately called a meeting with Tom, Chris, and me along with the officers and senior enlisted from the 10th Mountain. We gathered at the spot where my vehicle sat just hours earlier and briefly explained to Chris and the others what happened. After Vic was through he turned the floor over to Tom. It had been over an hour since we received enemy fire, so we assumed the onslaught of air support that Vic wielded on the enemy ended any desire to continue the assault.
“Captain, I know we all would like to get out of here, but we’d like to sweep the area and gather what intel we could off the enemy dead if you’ll allow it,” Tom said to the officer in charge of the QRF. The captain’s sergeant major nodded in support. Tom suggested the 10th Mountain platoon leader take a couple of armored vehicles and head toward the southern ridge while another squad joined up with a group of our ANA and followed the blood trail on foot.
“Doc, you’re the only other American familiar with the layout of the battlefield. Why don’t you take Hamadullah’s fighters and the staff sergeant’s men and push out toward the east. Chris, grab a couple soldiers”—he paused to see if he had approval from the captain—“and check the bodies on the ridgeline for intel. I’ll take some of my men and cover the flank.” I could see that Chris was annoyed with his assignment, and when everyone moved away he asked to speak with Tom and me.
“What’s up?” Tom asked.
Chris removed his ballistic sunglasses. “I didn’t come out here to scour the dead. Frankly, these are my men, and I’m a little pissed I couldn’t be here with you all when this happened.” I could see both the pain and intensity in his eyes. He was right, he knew these men far better than I. He’d trained them from the beginning and led them under fire on numerous other occasions, and I knew exactly what he was feeling. I had to stay behind on previous operations when insertion platforms or other parameters changed at the last minute. It wasn’t a good feeling, especially when the team took casualties. Each special operations warrior has something inside him that screams, “I can be the difference.” It’s not arrogance or ego; it’s simply an unwavering belief in ourselves. It’s part of the internal drive that gets us through training and those times when the odds are stacked against us. Unfortunately, it’s also what haunts us when our teammates fall. Tom looked at me as if the decision were mine to make. Chris was a top warrior, and the mission had completely changed, so missing the rehearsals was a moot point. I had no problem with Chris taking the patrol.
“I’ll do the assessments,” I said firmly. “I could use a breather.”
With the plans in place, we regrouped and listened as Vic addressed everyone. “Doc’s doing the assessment. Chris and Tom will lead the patrols, and Lieutenant, you’ll continue as planned. I’ll move up to that point and direct traffic. Questions? Good.”
Chris and Tom peeled off and rallied their men. Vic walked back toward his perch to discuss plans with the 10th Mountain leadership, and the remaining soldiers reinforced the perimeter. I prepared to visit the dead who had tried to kill me just a few hours earlier.
Chris and Tom led their teams over the ridge and into the wadi, both groups changing patrol formation to suit the terrain. Muscle Tom and his men broke and moved off to the left, while Chris and his men, including a trusted Afghani named Lal, headed straight down the wadi.
I approached the corpses lying on the ground. Their ethnic appearance indicated al Qaeda; it wasn’t the Taliban that attacked us. These men were well armed with equipment that rivaled that of most armies. They would have had an enormous
advantage on us had they been ready when we turned the corner, but their footprints and empty bullet casings confirmed our suspicions. We had surprised them, and they rushed to try to trap the convoy while the rest of their men filtered into the area. I realized how much of a hero Vic really was. Had he not maintained the discipline to hold his ground in the face of enemy fire and direct air support on the men flooding into the valley, none of us would have made it out alive.
I searched each body for information that might help us locate some of our most wanted high-value targets. As I approached each body, I pictured the man’s movements in my mind. A group of men were lying double arm’s length from one another in a fighting position that was only a stone’s throw away from our vehicle. Another was crumpled next to his RPG launcher with the empty canvas RPG backpack still slung over his shoulder. It was obvious he’d been hit when he came up to unleash his last rocket. Thankfully he only carried four RPG rounds and was unable to keep his cool as he hurried his shots at the vehicles. He might have been the best shot among their group, but the real skill is being able to contain your emotions in battle, and that’s not as easy as it sounds, especially when the men you’re shooting at will be firing back the minute you give your position away.
I finished my work and joined Vic and the others to watch Chris and his men move toward a fork in the wadi, which in turn splintered into two lanes on the east side of the fork. The three-story walls that lined the wadi had slowly decreased into a series of shoulder- and waist-high berms.
Suddenly a single gunshot echoed through the wadi, sending Lal falling to the ground on the left of the hill in front of them. “Contact front!” was repeated by numerous voices on the radio, notifying the rest of their patrol where the fire was coming from. Chris returned fire off to the right as he moved forward to help render aid to his fallen comrade. The exchange of gunfire made it difficult to tell how many enemy were out there and where they were. Chris moved forward and then suddenly fell, as if he had stumbled or tripped, which gave me hope. Normally a fatal shot would drop a man like sack of potatoes, but if someone is able to brace his fall, he’s not only alive but generally aware of everything around him. I grabbed my aid bag and threw it over my shoulder.
“Medic, medic.” The call came over the radio from one of the men from 10th Mountain. I got the nod from Vic, and off I went. The chatter over the airways was extensive; Vic received the casualty report over the radio and requested another round of air support. Two men were wounded, and one of them was Chris. I knew I had to get there fast but wasn’t sure which way to go. I met up with one of the army officers at the base of the hill and moved forward a short way until we reached a few more of his men. It was obvious these boys hadn’t seen what was going on but rather were reacting to sounds and radio chatter. Hell-bent on getting there, they tried to move as fast as possible, forcing me and one of their platoon leaders to slow them down in order to prevent a bad situation from turning worse.
“It’s like a maze! Which way do we go?” asked one of the soldiers, who looked fresh out of high school. I keyed my radio, but the officer, who didn’t look too much older, was already on it, receiving guidance from the perch above.
When the call came back to move, I turned to the men next to me and said in a low voice, trying to temper their adrenaline, “Stay low and keep your eyes open. We don’t know who’s around the next turn.”
One of the primary aspects of special operations training is how to remain calm during periods of pandemonium. Excessive yelling and erratic movements only invoke a frantic state, but keeping your composure instills confidence. A warrior with an even-tempered disposition moving at a controlled pace is often moving as fast as a situation allows, especially when moving into the unknown. It gives you time to analyze the situation and prevents accidentally placing yourself or your men directly in the line of fire. I’ve seen young medics do it all too often. Unfortunately, Hollywood has them imagining themselves instantly running out to save their fellow man when that might be the absolute worst move. Moving quickly but cautiously gives you the ability to formulate a plan for how to approach the casualty and gather support, which is what we needed to do right now.
With help from our eyes on the ridge, we safely navigated the wadi and reached our destination. The majority of 10th Mountain was spread across an open area near us but covered by the wadi walls. The enemy had a clean shot at anybody who meandered into the field between us, so we stayed put. This time, the battlefield looked markedly different. From this vantage point it was impossible to see how the right side of the wadi bifurcated, which might have been the reason Chris was taken off guard. I was unsure if there was another way around, so I turned back to speak to the men behind me and noticed enemy machine-gun rounds ripping into the trail we’d just came from. “Alright, they’re on both sides now,” I said aloud, trying to visualize the layout of the battle space that I’d been watching while sitting with Vic before this whole thing started. I crawled forward and saw the first sergeant lying with his gun facing toward the enemy, while another American soldier tried feverishly to control the bleeding coming from Chris’s chest. We could also hear Lal just ten feet away, writhing in pain as he pressed his blood-filled hands against his belly.
“Vic, you got an eye on me?” I said into my radio mic.
“I’ve got you, Doc. Hang tight at your current pos. The enemy is right across the wadi.”
“I got that part already figured out, but are they located at any other locations other than my ten to two o’clock?” I asked.
“Negative, I don’t see anything,” he replied while guiding gunships into the wadi on a separate radio. For the next few minutes we yelled across the wadi and spoke by radio, forming a plan to retrieve our wounded.
The 10th Mountain opened up with a pair of machine guns and raked the wadi with a wall of hot lead while the rest of the soldiers concentrated on any of the areas they missed. Once we knew a solid rate of fire was keeping the enemy’s heads down, the first sergeant who recovered Chris from his initial fall while under enemy fire and another man bolted forward to recover Lal while an army medic and I grabbed Chris. We dragged the wounded to the only area in the wadi that shielded us well enough to work on the men.
Chris’s face and arms were pale from the lack of oxygen-rich blood. I worked fast on him while the army medic next to me focused on Lal’s abdominal wounds. Rounds cracked over our heads and into the ground in front of us as the soldiers continued the fight, yet we were laser-focused on our patients. As I cut away Chris’s body armor I felt a notch in the upper right corner of his chest plate. The body armor deflected the round from striking his heart but didn’t stop it from nicking the major vessels directly under his clavicle before entering his lungs. Once again I worked hard to pack a teammate’s mortal wound praying I would somehow manage to control his bleeding. Chris’s body was working against him, however, in its fight to stay alive. The more blood he lost, the faster his heart pumped as it tried to get oxygen into his cells, but the faster it pumped, the more blood he’d lose. It was a vicious cycle that I watched unfold in front of my eyes with no way to stop it. As I worked on Chris I could hear Vic push a pair of Apache helicopters to one of the 10th Mountain officers kneeling only a few feet away, who then directed fire at the enemy.
I unrolled a package of gauze and began pushing it into the wound, attempting to tamp off the bleeder as I called out to Chris, hoping for some kind of response. He had moved forward in order to prevent death from taking the life of his teammate, only to find death closing in on him now.
Despite the extreme pressure I exerted on his chest as I forced the bandage into the bullet hole, I couldn’t elicit a response from him. I told myself he knew we were doing everything we could to stave off the inevitable, but I’ll never know for sure. Over and over, I reached back into the aid bag, pulling out another bandage or device in my attempt to control the hemorrhage, but my efforts were becoming futile. I then realized the only thing I coul
d provide was comfort. Suddenly my mind raced back to a conversation I had with my father when I was a very young boy.
Like all the kids in the neighborhood, my brother and I played army, running around with toy guns and wearing my father’s military equipment as if we were conquering heroes. I would imagine I was the soldier who turned the tide of the battle, emulating scenes I had seen on the silver screen, oblivious to the real horrors of war. Later in the evening as I joined the others at the dinner table, still wearing my father’s steel pot helmet, I asked him what was the scariest thing a soldier will ever face. Without hesitation he looked at me and said, “Dying alone.” His delivery was so chilling it stopped everyone at the table. His words return to me with every death I encounter, but never with such impact as when I kneeled beside Chris. As I listened to my friend’s final breath I was proud that he had his fellow warriors by his side, and I felt fortunate to be with a hero during his last moments on earth. As I wiped away the blood from his upper chest and looked upon him, a great sadness filled my soul. He might have passed, but he looked as if he were only resting. I felt helpless and wanted to reach back into my aid bag and pull out something, anything, in order to restore life, but I knew there was nothing anyone could do.
The sounds of the helicopters flying low overhead woke me from my trance. Pass after pass they fired their guns and rockets, but nothing seemed to slow the enemy’s fire, until the young army officer called them in danger close.
I could tell on the approach it wasn’t going to be good for any of us. Vic tried to warn over the radio by shouting, “Incoming, incoming!” but the Hellfire missile had already whooshed over our heads, landing forty feet away on the other side of the hill. The blast showered us with rocks and small fragments of shrapnel as we instinctively covered Chris and Lal with our bodies.
Battle Ready: Memoir of a SEAL Warrior Medic Page 19