In June 2007, I volunteered to serve in the United States Marines Corps. I was fulfilling a dream that began when I was barely old enough to realize that GI JOEs represented more than just action figures. During the beginning of my second year in the Marines, I deployed with the 26th Marine Expeditionary Unit as an international peacekeeping force. We traveled to Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates to train their militaries in order to establish strong relations with our allies in the Middle East. At the beginning of the piracy situation that was affecting the region; my platoon was attached to Combined Task Force 151 as an international naval task force, which was organized in response to attacks against shipping lanes off the coast of Somalia. Hardly the kind of stuff you find playing Call of Duty.

In June 2010, I deployed with Golf Company, 2nd Battalion 6th Marines to Marjah, Afghanistan. Marjah, located in the heart of Helmand Province, was considered to be “the most fearsome Taliban stronghold in Afghanistan.”

August 8th

I was awakened at 4 am to get ready for the day’s operation. I sat up in my rack, put my headphones on, selected my pre-patrol playlist, slid on my ripped camouflage bottoms, laced my tan combat boots that were covered in sand and mud, slid my arms into the sleeves of my blouse, put lubricant on the machine gun’s operating parts, loaded a belt of ammunition into the machine gun, pulled my flak jacket over my head securing it tightly, put my Kevlar helmet on, and then let my mind run blank as rock music flowed into my ears. When the time came to leave I rolled up my headphones and placed them under my pillow, next to a letter from my mother that I had fallen asleep reading.

Our squad huddled around in a circle as Sgt. Hopper, a short and stocky, 27 year-old family man from Ohio with multiple combat deployments to Iraq, said a prayer before we left. As we left the base, the rays from the sun were coming up from the east. We patrolled for 3 kilometers before we made it to a dirt road called, “Route Rabbit.” Our objective was to clear all the compounds on the eastern side of the road. Prior to us arriving that morning, coalition troops had only been in that area about a handful of times. The operation lasted all day. Arnold and I spent most of the time on roof tops, trying to catch the Taliban setting in an ambush. Once in a while, one of us would jump down from the roof, run into the farmer’s field and grab a few watermelons and bring them back to eat. It was times like these that we would have our best conversations. We told stories about our childhood, high school sweethearts, why we joined the Marines, partying stories, fight stories, girls, our plans for when we got home from Afghanistan, and basically anything that consumed the time.

As the day progressed we heard firefights to the north, a sister squad had been engaged by the Taliban. They didn’t need assistance, so we continued with our mission. At this point, we moved north to our final cluster of compounds. I placed the M240 next to the road while I talked to Red. We sat on the side of the road in a patch of grass, eating a watermelon, while Arnold went into one of the compounds to discuss the route back with Sgt. Hopper and the Lieutenant. The temperature that day must have been around 120 degrees. I was soaked head to toe in sweat and couldn’t stop thinking how anyone would want to live in such heat. Let alone a shit hole like this place.

When the clearing operation was finished, it was time to return to base. We started heading south along Route Rabbit when we hit a marijuana field that had to be the size of at least two football fields. As we passed through the field of marijuana plants that stood at 5-7 feet tall, I heard everyone talking about how they would either smoke it or sell it when it matured. When we came to the end of the field, a giant compound stood in our path. A quick decision was made to travel on the dirt road until we could make our way back into the field. Traveling on a road was always a dangerous situation. You were vulnerable to ambush and IED’s, the biggest threats to U.S. Troops in Iraq and Afghanistan.

After the decision was made to travel along the road, I made my way onto the road now carrying Arnold’s M4 carbine assault rifle, while he was carrying the M240. During long patrols such as the one we were on, I would have to switch weapons to catch my breath from carrying the 27-pound machine gun. I had maybe taken a few steps onto the dirt road when a barrage of gunfire broke out from the west side of the road. The Taliban had set an ambush and we walked right into it. I ducked as bullets rocketed past me, moved to the berm of dirt that ran along the western side of the road, and quickly saw two men with weapons running to the south. I started engaging the men as Arnold came sprinting up to me yelling, “Sous, take the gun and go set up on that part of the berm.” We both smiled at each other as we exchanged weapons. This is what we wanted. Not necessarily to be ambushed, but to fight. The truth is combat is exhilarating. I grabbed the machine gun and quickly saw the spot Arnold was talking about. I took off in a dead sprint toward the spot on the berm, with Arnold in close pursuit. As I ran, I noticed that there was no return fire yet. I quickly realized the rest of the squad must still be stuck in the field of marijuana. We were always told when you first join the Marines “movement without fire is suicide,” meaning if you attempted to move during a firefight and didn’t have someone firing at the enemy to suppress them, you were asking to get shot. I was running as fast as I could down Route Rabbit, with Arnold only a few feet behind me.

My vision suddenly became very blurry; it all happened so quickly, but I became very dizzy before everything went black. It was such a weird sensation. “SOUS! SOUS!” My name echoed in my head as I slowly opened my eyes to see Arnold kneeling above me with tears running down his face. He was screaming for a corpsman. The pain felt was like someone holding a blow torch to my neck. I looked at Arnold for a second, trying to think of what might have just happened. When he looked back down at me he said something I couldn’t make out. With the little strength I had left, I asked Arnold, “Why the fuck are you crying?” “Fuck you! I thought you were dead,” he screamed back at me. Arnold, at this point, had his hand on the back of my neck trying to stop the bleeding. Nathan “Doc” Calhoun, our Navy Corpsmen, ran up and dropped his medical bag. He said something to me, but by this point, I was in my own little world. They sat me up so Doc could patch up my neck. I couldn’t stop thinking of the most random thoughts. I can’t tell you if it was two minutes or five minutes, but at first I thought I was going to die. I wasn’t scared, I just accepted it. I wasn’t thinking about my family or friends back home. I was just sitting there thinking, “So this is how I die.” I sat there and looked up at the sky as two Cobra attack helicopters starting firing at the Taliban fighters across the road. They swooped down out of the heavens unleashing their cannons and rockets on the Taliban position. It was absolutely beautiful!

It seemed as if everyone was trying to get my attention. Red came up and grabbed my hand and told me everything was going to be all right. “Fuck you,” I replied. Arnold was still next to me, I looked at him wondering why he wasn’t engaging the enemy. We clearly had the people needed to take care of me. I muttered something about him grabbing the M240. He disappeared and shortly after I heard the roar of the machine gun. I sat there listening to the firefight happening around me.

My blouse was covered in blood; I knew I was shot in the neck, I just didn’t know where exactly. I figured I had been shot in the front of my neck judging by the amount of blood that was running down my chest. The entire left side of my neck felt like it was on fire. I looked up to see Sgt. Calo, a Marine from New York, who in the following weeks, would be shot in the head and killed, calling in my MEDEVAC (Medical Evacuation). I didn’t understand why he had told them Arnold had been injured too. At that same moment, Arnold ran up shouting, “Hopper, I need you to wrap my leg!” I mustered out, “For what?” Arnold responded, “I was shot at the same time you were.” This caught me by surprise. I tried to look over at him, but I couldn’t turn my head. Sgt. Calo ran up and informed us the helicopter was going to be here in less than two minutes. Doc Calhoun picked me up like a newborn baby, except I was 21 years-old and 185 lbs. He took a couple of steps and my neck bounced around freely. “AHH! Put me the fuck down,” I cried. Terrell “Doc” Florence came over and put his shoulder under one arm as Doc Calhoun did the same on the opposite side. I had just enough energy to take a couple of steps as they moved me off the road into a large grassy field. Sgt. Calo tossed a green smoke grenade into the field to let the incoming helicopter know our location.

The Army Black Hawk helicopter, traveling no higher than two stories off the ground, landed in the middle of the field. The Black Hawk is an all-black helicopter used for a wide variety of missions, including search and rescue, close air support, troop transportation and medical evacuation. Just as the aircraft landed, a crew member leaped out of the aircraft and waved us in. As I hung onto both of my buddies, the firefight continued behind me. I looked up again to see a man dressed in civilian clothing with a blue vest on that read “PRESS.” He had a large camera, which you see with most reporters, and seemed to be taking pictures from what I could tell. I was helped onto the helicopter and slowly crawled onto the stretcher, laying face down. Even though I was in the worst pain of my life, I found comfort on that stretcher. I felt as though I could now relax and just wait until I arrived at the hospital. Sgt. Hopper tapped me on my foot moments before the helicopter lifted off. “Sous, you’re going to be all right buddy.” I responded by sticking my right arm up and giving him the middle finger. I didn’t mean it as it may seem. If he knew me like I thought he did, then he understood that was me telling him I would survive.

Nathan “Doc” Calhoun’s journal entry:

Shortly after we took contact Nagel told me, “Doc we need to go!” I didn’t ask any questions just ran. While we were running, Webb looked at us and saw machine gun burst following us all the way to the casualties. I thought I heard rounds coming close but I didn’t care, just wanted to get to my boys. At full sprint I get to Sous. He was shot in the back of the head and the exit wound was by his ear. I see four bloody bandages on the ground and nobody had control of the scene. Arnold was hit in the leg but my focus was on Sous. This guy is pretty tough. He was calm just telling everyone to calm down and hurry up and take care of me. I packed his wound with gauze and start trying to tape it for pressure. Arnold I think went into shock. He was hysterical. He was so freaked out for Sous, he didn’t even realize he was hit. He was trying to get back on the gun, he was crying and screaming, “Sous! Sous!” You could hear the pain in his voice. Anyways, I told Sgt. Hopper to take care of Arnold. Keep him calm, Sous is going to be okay. Hopper applied a pressure bandage to Arnold’s leg. We had now been on the road for way too long. I’m on one arm of Sous’ and Flo is on the other. We move him to the field as our CCP (Casualty Collection Point). I think Arnold had assistance from Wilson. Once we get to the field, me and Flo re-bandage up Sous and just keep talking to him. He is acting the way he always does. Telling me to fuck off, saying how he could go for a blow job, and “How do you think I feel? I just got shot!” Arnold was reading a prayer I think about meeting up with someone in heaven. Sous told him to shut the fuck up. I’m covering Sous’ body with mine because I had to take his flak off to help him. This seems to take forever but writing about it doesn’t place the stress we were in. The birds are finally circling us. Flo and I pick up Sous and get him onto the bird.

The helicopter lifted off and I just remember thinking I was going to be able to eat some real food for the first time in several weeks. I just laid there until the on-board medic made me roll onto my back. As I rolled over, I saw that Arnold was kneeling next to me. He still had this look on his face as if he didn’t think I was going to make it. The medic tried his best to set up a starter kit for the IV; it took him several tries to get that needle into my vein. Arnold held my hand the rest of the flight to the hospital.

Less than ten minutes after the helicopter had picked us up, we landed outside the hospital. I was the first to be loaded off and rushed into the emergency room. They had someone in that room for everything that needed to be done. A young nurse stood by and then proceeded to cut off my pants, blouse, and boots. Another nurse, after having me move my legs and pushing on parts of my back to check for a spinal injury, finally hooked a bag of morphine up to my IV. I was not allowed to receive any type of painkiller prior to this because there was fear the bullet might have hit my spine.

A doctor began rifling off questions at me. I tried to answer but the morphine and my body didn’t seem to get along. He leaned in to ask another question and I opened my mouth to reply but instead of words coming out, vomit did. The doctor ignored that I just had puked all over him and continued as if it had never happened. At this point, I was starting to have trouble keeping my eyes open. They must have injected some type of anesthesia into the IV, because I could feel myself slowly drifting away. They rolled the stretcher over to Arnold before I headed off into surgery. “Say goodbye to your buddy,” a nurse pushing the stretcher said to me. I knew he was sitting there, but I couldn’t move my head, I was too weak. Arnold wished me good luck, and I just responded with the middle finger, again. I heard him chuckle, and he later told me the look on the nurse’s face was priceless.

When I woke up from surgery, I couldn’t move anything but my arms. I felt even weaker than before I went into surgery. Arnold’s bed was right next to mine in the ICU. He limped off his bed and sat at the foot of my bed when he saw me waking up. He asked me how I felt, and then we talked about what had happened. He told me as he was running behind me he saw the back of my neck explode. At the same exact time, a bullet struck him in the shin and he fell to the ground. He immediately got up and ran over to what seemed to be, my lifeless body. He removed my helmet and glasses to find that my eyes were closed and a puddle of blood was forming behind my head. I was unconscious for around 30 seconds. Arnold ignored his own wounds to save my life. I am forever in your debt.

When we were done talking, he grabbed the satellite phone next to our beds and asked if I wanted to call my mom. I nodded and grabbed the phone. I figured by this time the military had already informed my mother that I had been shot. I dialed the home phone number and waited for it to connect. My step father answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Dave.”

“How’re you feeling?” When I heard him say that, I knew that the military must have already contacted them.

“I’m all right. I’m really tired and really weak.”

“Hold on, your sister wants to talk to you.”

“Hey Dave, I was wondering what type of songs you want us to put on your iPod?” I was so confused at this point. I didn’t know if they knew I had been shot or not.

“Put mom on.”

“Hey honey,” my mom responded in her normal cheerful voice. I knew there was no way she could have known. I figured it would be best to just get on with it.

“Mom, I’m all right, but I’ve been shot.” Instantly I heard her scream. I had to pull the phone away from my ear. I could hear my sister asking what happened, but not a word came out of my mother’s mouth.

After a few minutes of trying to explain I was going to be all right, I made a couple other calls before falling back to sleep. All the medication I was on made it hard to stay awake. I was probably only awake for a few hours the first couple days in the hospital. That time is all a blur to me. I would be awakened at random times so a nurse or doctor could ask me several questions about how I felt.

Arnold was moved out of the ICU the next day and into a giant circus-style tent that was for all the wounded troops. I stayed in the ICU for several more days until I was medically fit to leave. When my time came to move out of the ICU, I couldn’t walk. The doctors couldn’t explain why and scheduled me a flight back to the United States. I wasn’t happy I was going home, but I wasn’t mad either. I wanted to find out why I couldn’t walk. For the time being I was to stay in the wounded personal tent. My bed was next to Arnold’s again. He got me breakfast, lunch, and dinner, since I wasn’t able to leave my bed. If I did leave my bed, it was for physical therapy or over to a couch where we would stay up and watch movies all night.

Physical therapy was a nightmare. I couldn’t walk, my neck was swollen and I had to balance my head on my shoulders because my neck was too weak to support my head. When I sat up in my bed I would have to put my hand behind my head to keep my neck straight. If I wanted to turn to look at something, I would have to rotate my entire torso. I would arrive for physical therapy and be asked to do impossible tasks. I hated physical therapy, it was torture. Day after day I would wake up and be transported to the hospital for physical therapy.

Physical therapy was everything from working on my range of motion, stretching my neck, hooking an electrical muscle stimulation device to my neck, other forms of torture, and the only thing about physical therapy I enjoyed, the massages. Days before my flight to Germany, I woke up for my morning physical therapy session and was thrilled I was able to take more than baby steps. I was so excited I rushed to my therapist and showed him I was able to walk. Not very good, but I could walk. I told him to cancel my flight. He gave me this surprised look before telling me that would not be possible. I began to beg him to let me stay. I wanted to rejoin my buddies still fighting in Marjah. By this time Arnold had returned to the unit. He finally realized I was not going to give up. He pulled some strings and told me if I wasn’t looking promising within a week I was going home, whether I liked it or not.

My mother had already been told by the military that I was coming home. Friends and family had been making plans for my arrival home. I called my mother and told her of my decision. She was furious. Even though she didn’t agree with my decision, she supported it. I was still doing physical therapy everyday and seemed to be getting better. I was now walking to the cafeteria to get my own meals. I had even made some new friends who had been injured in Southern Afghanistan.

September rolled in, and I was cleared by doctors to return to my unit. I still had scabs on the scars, but I was ready to go back to my friends. When I returned, I wasn’t allowed to patrol until nearly October, to make sure I was physically fit to handle combat again. I finished the rest of my tour with my unit, even though I continued to have problems with my neck. I waited until I arrived back in North Carolina in January to see a doctor about the chronic pain in my neck. I ended up doing six months of physical therapy on Camp Lejeune following my return from Afghanistan. Doctors explained that the pain was from severe nerve damage in my neck. An x-ray taken of my neck showed dozens of bullet fragments still lodged in the muscle of my neck.

Sgt. Nick Arnold and I were both awarded the Purple Heart for being shot. Arnold was later awarded the Bronze Star with combat Valor and Nathan “Doc” Calhoun was awarded the Navy and Marine Corps Achievement Medal with combat Valor for saving my life and their heroic actions on August 8, 2010.

I cannot say enough to how thankful I am and how much I appreciate everyone who was a part of this. Especially, Nick Arnold, Nathan Calhoun, Terrell Florence, James Hopper, the Army MEDEVAC crew (Dustoff), the Army surgical team, the Army physical therapist, and the Marines I served with day in and day out. Not to forget all the specialty doctors, Navy doctors, and physical therapist that worked with me following Afghanistan. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.