Pull the trigger on a moment’s notice. Then pull it again, when the young Afghan attacker somehow shrugs away the first bullets, rearing up to drive his axe into your fellow soldier’s head a second time.

Take a life to save a life. Then keep it together. Choke down the panic. Survive the chaos.

Get that Canadian officer bleeding on the ground — your friend Trevor Greene — onto a medical helicopter to Kandahar. It’s almost certainly too late, but try. Get the rest of your men to safety.

Then — and only then — will there be time to suffer, as the adrenalin washes away and the fear takes hold, enwrapping your sleepless mind.

The trauma won’t kick fully in for weeks. But when it does, it will spiral. Until you are taken off the battlefield and brought home early — not to a hero’s welcome but that of a leper.

You will suffer for years, shunted to a faraway military desk, shunned by the senior ranks who fear your condition may be contagious. Suffer until you are ready to give up the only life that feels right.

Suffer until your only child — the daughter who was born just days before that fateful moment in Afghanistan — receives a note from the man who somehow survived the axe attack.

And then, finally, take in those seven searing words that scorch away the ghosts.

“Your strong, brave daddy saved my life.”

A great many Canadians today know of the inspirational recovery of Capt. Trevor Greene, who just keeps getting better, a decade after he was cut down with an axe during a peaceful meeting with village elders under sunny skies in the tiny village of Shingai.

Greene, 50, and his wife Debbie, now living in Nanaimo, B.C., told it best in March Forth, their 2012 bestseller on the indomitable ride through a roller-coaster of medical highs and lows that has brought Trevor to the verge of walking again.

But almost nobody knows how deeply the swing of an axe was felt by Greene’s platoon, which began to buckle in his absence.

None suffered more than Sgt. Rob Dolson, who was the first to fire his rifle, ultimately downing Greene’s Afghan attacker on March 4, 2006. He would soon plunge into a tailspin of fear and sleeplessness so steep it forced him back to Canada early, and nearly out of the army for good.

Casting back to our coverage a decade ago — I was embedded with the platoon, alongside Star photographer Rick Madonik — you would never have guessed it would be so.

Dolson, along with platoon leader, Kevin Schamuhn, spoke glowingly of a book they had already read — On Killing by retired U.S. army psychologist Lt.-Col. Dave Grossman. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, the book stood as the first scholarly study of how soldiers react after taking a life.

“This week has had its ups and downs,” Dolson, 43, told me with understatement after Greene was attacked. “Having a baby girl at the beginning of the week and seeing how that one moment of joy can be dashed by chaos, you definitely need to keep grounded out here.”

Ten years later, Dolson offers a hearty laugh at those words. And how quickly reality overtook them. Staying grounded turned out to be impossible — the ground all but gave way.

“I held it together for a bit,” says Dolson. “But then fear set it. Not fear for myself so much as fear that something would happen to my guys and I wouldn’t be able to stop it. It kept me awake all night, every night.

“I was a wreck. I was beat down. And it got so bad I had to say something.”

A psychologist arrived to conduct assessments. Dolson and four others were sent to Kandahar Airfield for further assessment and treatment for hyper vigilance, anxiety and sleeplessness. Dolson and three others ultimately came home to Canada. Their war was over.

Though born and raised in Hamilton, Edmonton was Dolson’s centre of gravity after nine years military service. It was home to his wife Christy and her parents, and now home to their newborn, Sierra. Which meant home, period.

But beyond the support of close friends and family, Dolson found himself in for a rude awakening at the battalion. PTSD — post-traumatic stress disorder — was until then more concept than reality for Canadians deployed to Afghanistan. And the army wasn’t ready for what was to come.

“The people in the platoon who had lived it understood. But at a higher level, along the chain of command, not so much. I don’t want to use the word ‘outcast’ but in this big, giant boys’ club that is the army, it’s like people think you’ve got a contractible disease. They just stay away,” he said.

Dolson, who wanted to talk through his trauma, found himself parked at a desk in a back office with little human interaction. Cut off. Isolated. For three years.

In frustration, he finally requested transfer, which was quickly approved. It was a wrenching move for the family to CFB Gagetown in New Brunswick, but a fresh start of sorts.

It started getting better. “Suddenly, I was a guy who could be judged on work ethic, not baggage. I became an instructor at the infantry school. It helped me come out of my shell.”

He took the warrant officer’s course — a warrant officer helps command a platoon — and passed. And set his sights on returning to Edmonton and to active duty.

“But that’s where the genie jumped back on my shoulder. People in Edmonton thought I’d never come back. And I felt resistance. It hurt me. I’m an army guy, I’ll go anywhere. But I knew where I belonged.”

After three years in Gagetown, Dolson again pondered quitting. But then, in the spring of 2012, a package arrived from British Columbia, addressed to Sierra. Inside, the Dolsons found a freshly minted copy of March Forth — and the accompanying inscription rocked his world.

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“I saw these words from Trevor to my daughter saying ‘Your dad saved my life’ and it just hit me so hard. It was a big turning point in my brain,” said Dolson.

“I never expected anything to be given to me for what happened on that day. But this was better than any medal that ever existed. Who writes that? I said to myself, ‘Look at this guy, he’s not quitting — so there’s no way I’m gonna quit. I’m going to push and push and push till we get where we need to be.”

That, of course, would be Edmonton, where Dolson and family are now firmly established after returning last year. He’s a warrant officer with the “3VP” — 3rd Battalion, Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry — running a platoon specializing in mountain terrain.

“Coming home from war is a deeply personal journey,” said Afghanistan platoon leader Schamuhn, who was posted to Gagetown after his return from overseas and now serves as an officer in Ottawa.

“PTSD in particular is extremely difficult to understand unless you’ve gone through it, so it’s not surprising that Rob was brushed aside.”

Greene takes delight in the impact of his letter to the daughter of the man who saved him. And he pulls no punches on why it took “six long years of banishment” to the infantry training base in Gagetown.

“The f---ing army brass stigmatized guys with PTSD and kept them out of command roles because they were afraid they’d crack,” said Greene.

Dolson described one last bout of nerves as he returned to Edmonton. He was ready for command, but was command really ready for him?

“It’s just day and night compared to 2006 — all for the better. We earned this the hard way, obviously, but everyone now is so ingrained with mental health issues it’s no big deal. People know my back story and I don’t have to hide it. So coming back to that is awesome. …

“It does feel like coming full-circle, but I’ve changed and the army has as well. A lot of bad, and a lot of good, it shaped who I am now. And I’m still here. Stronger than I was when I began.”

Saving Trevor Greene: A fellow soldier’s story

Kevin Schamuhn was leading the platoon of Canadian soldiers when Trevor Greene was attacked with an axe.

It’s difficult for me to remember the details of that day, other than the rehearsed version of the story I’ve told so many times. But every now and then it comes back to me — the horror of witnessing the brutal attack first hand.

I vividly remember the sound of the axe hitting Trevor’s skull, and the sight of Trevor lying on the ground. I still don’t know how he survived. Only after the incident did I find out that the attacker, after dealing the first blow, lifted the axe and was posturing to strike Trevor a second time. Before he could, he was shot and killed. If he had succeeded, Trevor would be dead.

I often think about how drastically Trevor’s life changed that day. I am convinced that lesser men would not have survived the initial trauma or the incredible journey that followed. I’m also convinced that without his wife Debbie, Trevor wouldn’t have made it.

It is humbling to think about how far they have come: battling every day and rewriting our understanding of neuroplasticity and the strength of the human will.

It is especially humbling when I consider that the rest of us walked away unscathed that day. It brings a lot of one’s personal beliefs and values into question: Why him and not me? Would I have been strong enough to survive? Would I have been able to forgive, like Trevor has?

More disturbing to me was the early realization that the attack was not as unique or rare as I thought. Although it certainly seemed like it was the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone, Trevor isn’t the only person to have been attacked by the people he was trying to help.

When the dust finally settled, I started to see the world for how it truly is, and how horrible people can be to each other. The vicious obstacles that stand in the way of people helping others started to come into focus. I began to learn how risky it is to take a stand in this world.

Where resources are limited, unedited human nature is revealed — and it’s cruel: the greatest needs can be found in the most dangerous places on Earth. The people who are most desperate need help from those whose strength and determination is commensurate with the obstacles they face. It’s true that the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men should do nothing.

If you ever feel like you don’t have the energy to fight, remember Trevor.

Correction - March 16, 2016: This article was edited from a previous version that misstated the acronym for 3rd Battalion, Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry as "3PP."



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