On their first date, Steven Elliott told his future wife, Brook, about his role in Tillman's death. They later divorced but remarried after he sought treatment for PTSD. Jose Mandojana for ESPN

MAYBE WHEN YOU'RE lucky to be alive you lose the filter. You care less about hurt feelings and playing nice. You take on some of Pat Tillman's swagger and persona, as O'Neal has. Tillman's family has your back. And, well, in your mind, you've been damn near the lone, constant voice from day one.

The shooters' stories have evolved over time. Key details ended up massaged through four investigations. Capt. Richard Min Ho Scott, the officer initially assigned to investigate and whose draft report the Army said it subsequently lost, suggested during a later investigation that "stories have changed'' to "help some people."

Lingering still is how far the shooters were from Tillman's position when they fired. Whether Sgt. Greg Baker, whose initial fire triggered the other shooters to follow, was outside the vehicle when he fired his M4 carbine on Farhad, the allied Afghan soldier alongside Tillman. Whether the Humvee drove straight through, or stopped, then repositioned to take better aim. Whether Elliott continued firing into mud-and-stone buildings just beyond Tillman, making him the Ranger who hit the platoon's radio operator.

These questions haunt Mary Tillman, Pat's mother, even today. Her mind and words still race, consistently circling back to the universal question that seems to accompany every unexpected death: Why? Yet she also cannot escape the lack of evidence, the silence, and the inconsistencies that began forming the day she learned her son had been killed, and that have continued for 10 years.

The statements seemingly come every third sentence, elicited with heartbreaking sadness alongside whispers of a vast governmental conspiracy that reaches all the way down to the seconds when Elliott began firing his M240 Bravo machine gun: "I don't know really what to think." ... "I just don't understand." ... "To me, that is very suspicious." ... "I don't understand why that would be the case." ... "That is another reason why I think there is more to it." ... "I don't understand why they behaved the way that they did."

Elliott told "Outside the Lines" he was never coached or told to recast his versions of events in the many investigations into what happened.

Like the other shooters, but unlike O'Neal, Elliott doesn't recall the vehicle he was riding in ever stopping as he fired upon the ridgeline, though he acknowledges it twice stopped earlier while maneuvering through the rocky canyon, and all but he and Stephen Ashpole dismounting the vehicle to fire at targets before coming to the ridgeline. But contrary to the scene described by other Rangers higher on the ridgeline, Elliott says he personally felt a sense of calmness as he came upon Tillman's position after having just survived a deafening canyon ambush that still impairs hearing in his right ear.

"I remember us being in motion," Elliott says. "I remember seeing Greg [Baker] out of the corner of my eye, because I am sitting kind of sideways-oriented. Seeing muzzle flashes out of his weapon. I remember seeing the shape of the [Afghan]. And then as we pulled across seeing really dark shapes. There was no discernible human form or outline of a soldier, if you will. I just saw human shapes. Ashpole fired. I fired, based on the fact that, 'Well, that must be an enemy position if Greg [Baker] fired there.' And based on the fact that in my mind, Serial 1 [Tillman's section of the platoon] was nowhere to be found. I had no idea that they were there."

Elliott disputes the portrayal that he fired wildly, yet platoon mate Will Aker told "Outside the Lines" of nearly being hit by stray bullets kicking up the dirt near his leg - bullets fired by Elliott. "I didn't see who it was [that killed Tillman] but I know [Elliott] was the closest to shooting me," says Aker, positioned 50 to 60 feet above Tillman on the ridgeline. "He didn't have a look of purposeful intent, but of scared survival."

I saw an Afghan, sir ... he had an AK-47, sir. ... I turned to engage on him, and when [shooters on the vehicle] seen that I was engaged on him, they followed suit. - Sgt. Greg Baker to Army investigators

Others on the ridgeline told Army investigators of Elliott and Ashpole, his powerful machine gun mounted in the center of the Humvee, continuing to fire upon a tiny village about the length of a football field beyond Tillman's position -- possibly hitting and injuring the platoon leader and radio operator. Jade Lane, the then 19-year-old radio operator, told "Outside the Lines" that the final Army investigation determined through ballistics analysis that the round that hit him in his chest armor came from Elliott's weapon.

"I just don't remember firing there," Elliott says.

For his part, Lane had different reactions before and after Elliott's "Outside the Lines" interviews became public. A few weeks ago, Lane accepted that it was "one big accident," while also coming to understand Elliott's position.

"I actually believe that he doesn't think that he did [fire]," Lane told "Outside the Lines." "... The mind is a very powerful thing, especially in the way people remember things. ...There are all kinds of incidents where people gave testimony that they saw things and then you match their position up on the battlefield, and it is physically impossible for them to have seen it."

But after an ESPN story published Friday detailing part of Elliott's interviews, Lane engaged in a Facebook exchange with former platoon mate Aker: "This is a joke," Lane posted. "Elliott shifting all (most) of the blame ... They fired indiscriminately, for several minutes, even having to stop and reload, while they were driving down the road. That's not just a mistake, that's GROSS negligence.

"... I'm not saying I would never forgive Elliott, or that he deserves to be tortured by this forever. It's malicious intent that makes an act criminal, and I don't think Steven Elliott has a malicious bone in his body. But part of redemption involves acknowledging and accepting one's actions."

Elliott does remember firing at Tillman's position low on the ridgeline. Based on autopsy reports and a series of Army investigations, the caliber of the fatal rounds were either 7.62 or 5.56 -- the calibers fired by Elliott and Trevor Alders, then a 5-foot-5, 140-pound gunner who is now in Army Special Forces. Authorities never did pursue identifying the specific round or shooter - or never revealed such a finding. It remains possible that more than one Ranger's bullet struck Tillman -- even if a sole shooter proved ultimately responsible for his death -- based on the first investigation revealing that his protective vest contained more than 10 entry/exit tears from bullets and fragments.

"To say that we all took it hard would be a gross understatement," Elliott says of the shooters. "And I can't speculate necessarily as to what their life has been like since, because I haven't been in touch with them. But just knowing what I know of them being, I think, people of conscience -- I hurt for them. ... I just can't imagine it has been easy.''

Of the shooters, O'Neal says, he holds Elliott less accountable because he had recently joined the platoon -- referring to him as a "Joe" dutifully acting as he was trained -- yet adds that it was still no excuse for not first identifying what you're shooting at.

"Once you pull that trigger, you can't take that bullet back," he says. "It's still on every person to be accountable for the round they throw. And to say, 'I was just shooting where my leader shot,' you're trying to absolve yourself of any responsibility. Three of us went up there. Two of them died because the shooters didn't take the time to acknowledge what they were shooting at. And they were in no great danger. They weren't getting shot at directly, especially at that point.

"You could take a second, take a tactical pause. You were going to send bullets downrange, you need to know what you're shooting at."

O'Neal reserves his harshest criticism for Sayre, the Humvee driver whom he faults for failing to divert the shooters once he recognized they were firing upon friendlies, and Baker, who wrongly triggered the initial shot from his semi-automatic weapon. And O'Neal says Baker, as the squad leader, should have been aware four friendly Afghan National Army soldiers had joined up with the platoon for a sweep operation of the countryside near the Pakistan border.

"I'm in a whole different position now," says O'Neal, who later deployed to Afghanistan as a platoon sergeant. "When I was a private, I didn't understand the finer skill or art it took to control soldiers in a combat environment. I just did what I was told. I would wonder, 'How could you not control your element? How did you not stop them?' I mean for all intents and purposes, those guys on that truck shot up the entire mountain side. 'How are you as a staff sergeant -- and I am referencing Sgt. Baker right now -- not able to control that?' "

Years later, some in the platoon say O'Neal's harsh stance is tiresome and out of line, particularly as it relates to Elliott.

"It was a huge traumatic event for [O'Neal], but also for [the shooters] in that situation," offers Aker, who was positioned above Tillman and O'Neal on the open slope. "It took huge courage for Elliott to speak, and [O'Neal] should give him forgiveness. It would behoove him not to slam the only guy to come into the light."

Where Elliott and O'Neal find themselves in the same camp is in their rebuff of conspiracy theories that have festered -- from Tillman's death having been ordered by former President George Bush as a means to silence his growing anti-war views to the notion the fatal rounds came from point-blank range.

"There is so much confusion and so much damn conspiracy out there," O'Neal says. "I read something on a website that said I killed Pat Tillman, because I was the only one close enough to put the shot group in his head. Like, really? Me? It is what it is. There are conspiracy theories everywhere."

Elliott adds: "You get conspiracy theorists who claim he was killed by somebody at point-blank range ... I fired at a position that was a friendly position. Personally, I made the wrong choice."

"IF I TOLD my squad leader to 'F off,' I could get a Company Grade 15. These guys went on a shooting spree, smoked two dudes -- killed two guys -- and shot two more, and they get a Company Grade Article 15 and get RFS'd [released for standards from the Rangers]." - Spc. Kevin Tillman

Those were the words of Pat Tillman's younger brother during a 2004 interview with Army investigators, as he verbally lashed out against perceived leniency given to the shooters. Kevin Tillman, a former infielder in the Cleveland Indians' minor league system, like his brother had abandoned an athletic career to pursue a position in the Rangers. He had been assigned to the same platoon, though when his brother was shot, he was several hundred yards away. Kevin was devastated as he headed home to San Jose, Calif., with Pat's body. He only learned the truth 35 days later - that his own guys fired the shots that killed his brother.

A decade later, the family has slowly moved on from the loss, though the hurt never goes away. "Time helps, but there is always this tremendous void," says Mary Tillman, the family matriarch. "This person in your life is gone. It will always be somewhat surreal that he is gone. But time helps. It is not as raw. It doesn't hurt as much."

The family still laments that the shooters weren't brought to testify under oath before a congressional subcommittee or another public body, to ferret out answers to the many perplexing questions. Or that a criminal investigation wasn't initiated right away, though the family's disdain is directed less at the shooters than the military officers higher in the chain of command.

O'Neal, the survivor, laughs about the punishment levied against the shooters.

... I yelled, 'Cease fire' several times, anywhere from three to four ... they were deaf from shooting in that canyon, sir. - Sgt. Kellett Sayre to Army investigators

"Clearly, the [Ranger] regiment thought just kicking these guys out was punishment enough," he says. "That is just an embarrassment. I am not saying the guys needed to go to jail ... [but] they got slapped on the wrist."

On June 29, 2004 -- about a month after returning from Afghanistan -- Elliott and the other shooters were summoned to the company commander's office at Fort Lewis, outside Tacoma, Wash., where they were effectively demoted from the Rangers and returned to the regular Army. The major offense: failure to follow the rules of engagement. "Being released from the regiment is a very, very big deal, because you have worked very hard to get there," Elliott says.

The punishment could hardly be considered draconian. The shooters were also assigned extra duty, though Elliott can't recall doing anything beyond the routine. He says the platoon leaders were generally sympathetic to the emotional burden they carried, and once returned to the regular Army, he finished out his four-year commitment on the East Coast serving as driver for a brigadier general and later an aide to a two-star general.

"Were the punishments appropriate? I don't know," Elliott says. "It felt like to me you either send us to Leavenworth [the military prison in Kansas] or you make peace with the fact that we are all going through our own personal hell. It is not like I was an airplane mechanic and I accidentally left a wrench in a plane and killed some people. I worked very hard to be here [in the Rangers] and the most horrible thing that could possibly happen happened. And I have to live with that. That is not to say I am a victim necessarily, but I remember feeling very conflicted.

"I felt on the one hand, well, I have to live with this the rest of my life and that is my punishment. And I also felt on the other hand there were times, particularly during [the Army] investigations three and four -- I felt like, maybe I should go to jail. And maybe if I go to jail I'll actually have some catharsis and be free of this. Maybe if I have some higher level of penance to pay I won't feel so guilty, because that is the overall feeling you have. Just guilt."