engulfed the area. The pilots could not see anything, including the ground. This phenomenon is known as brown-out. With the loss of visibility, the pilots had no clue when to brake and they landed the helicopters at full speed.
Stan was looking to the rear hatch just before impact. He felt a strong jolt and then all went black. The impact had knocked everyone out. Minutes later, Stan opened his eyes and heard screams around him. It was dark inside, but when he turned his head, Stan noticed that a fire was beginning.
“Did we just get hit?” he thought, while his adrenaline pumped.
It was cold, and the right side of Stan’s head was numb. His entire body was wet. Then he remembered the fuel bladders that had been pressed up against his knees earlier, and he knew that he was soaked in diesel. As he gained consciousness, he knew that he needed to get out of there.
In his mind, they had been hit by an RPG, and he believed that they were in a fight. His M4 was still attached to his body, as was his chest harness full of ammunition. He did not have time to worry about the other gear.
The helicopter lay on its right side. Stan gripped his weapon and crawled for the rear opening, but he stopped before stepping out. Outside, others had formed a perimeter around the wounded. Stan was on his way out, but with one last glance inside the helicopter, he saw someone else.
He went back and pulled the soldier out by the drag handle on his vest. Stan’s head ached and it was hard to breathe, but he still pulled the man sixty yards to the others. Behind him, flames consumed the bird and suddenly a medic approached.
Stan knew right away that he was a Special Forces medic. His appearance was different from that of the other soldiers, and Stan felt relieved knowing that Eighteen Delta-qualified medics, the best, were out there. The medic grabbed Stan and shined a light on his face.
“You need to get on that helicopter over there,” he said.
The last thing Stan wanted to do was get back on another helicopter. His face was swollen and bleeding, and he could not open his right eye because the side of his face had been crushed. A piece of metal from inside the helicopter had slammed down on his face and into his eye socket, tearing muscular tissue. It was fortunate the metal stopped when it did, because less than an inch farther, it would have gouged his eye out.
Stan obliged the medic and was evacuated. Shortly afterward, he was flown to Germany for reconstructive surgery. Weeks later, the surgeon asked if he wanted to go home or back to combat. He could not believe that his first mission had gone the way it did, and he hoped that it would not be a sign of what was to come, because he had decided to get back into the fight.
Kunar
In 2005, the Second Battalion, Third Marines unit entered the Kunar Province. This northeastern region of Afghanistan would prove to be beautiful and untamed. Bordering Pakistan, the province let fighters move to and from the adjoining country, and the mountains in the region made it hard for U.S. forces to stop them. It was June, ushering in good weather and more enemy activity from Anti-Coalition Militias (ACMs) who emerged from their winter caves now more willing to fight. ACMs were bands of fighters with ties to the Taliban and al-Qaeda, but not specifically part of the groups. They were typically tribes or groups who were not fond of the Coalition and had lived their entire lives in Afghanistan, giving them an edge over foreigners.
Rush and his team joined Echo Company at Camp Blessing on the western front. He was clueless about the country, but it didn’t take long to adapt. The small, remote base sat at on the bottom of a valley surrounded by mountains. Atop the mountains were observation posts held by Afghan Security Forces. The base itself contained a few buildings surrounded by concertina wire and dirt barriers.
For operating, Rush trusted that his team was prepared. Sergeant Evers, the team
Stan was looking to the rear hatch just before impact. He felt a strong jolt and then all went black. The impact had knocked everyone out. Minutes later, Stan opened his eyes and heard screams around him. It was dark inside, but when he turned his head, Stan noticed that a fire was beginning.
“Did we just get hit?” he thought, while his adrenaline pumped.
It was cold, and the right side of Stan’s head was numb. His entire body was wet. Then he remembered the fuel bladders that had been pressed up against his knees earlier, and he knew that he was soaked in diesel. As he gained consciousness, he knew that he needed to get out of there.
In his mind, they had been hit by an RPG, and he believed that they were in a fight. His M4 was still attached to his body, as was his chest harness full of ammunition. He did not have time to worry about the other gear.
The helicopter lay on its right side. Stan gripped his weapon and crawled for the rear opening, but he stopped before stepping out. Outside, others had formed a perimeter around the wounded. Stan was on his way out, but with one last glance inside the helicopter, he saw someone else.
He went back and pulled the soldier out by the drag handle on his vest. Stan’s head ached and it was hard to breathe, but he still pulled the man sixty yards to the others. Behind him, flames consumed the bird and suddenly a medic approached.
Stan knew right away that he was a Special Forces medic. His appearance was different from that of the other soldiers, and Stan felt relieved knowing that Eighteen Delta-qualified medics, the best, were out there. The medic grabbed Stan and shined a light on his face.
“You need to get on that helicopter over there,” he said.
The last thing Stan wanted to do was get back on another helicopter. His face was swollen and bleeding, and he could not open his right eye because the side of his face had been crushed. A piece of metal from inside the helicopter had slammed down on his face and into his eye socket, tearing muscular tissue. It was fortunate the metal stopped when it did, because less than an inch farther, it would have gouged his eye out.
Stan obliged the medic and was evacuated. Shortly afterward, he was flown to Germany for reconstructive surgery. Weeks later, the surgeon asked if he wanted to go home or back to combat. He could not believe that his first mission had gone the way it did, and he hoped that it would not be a sign of what was to come, because he had decided to get back into the fight.
Kunar
In 2005, the Second Battalion, Third Marines unit entered the Kunar Province. This northeastern region of Afghanistan would prove to be beautiful and untamed. Bordering Pakistan, the province let fighters move to and from the adjoining country, and the mountains in the region made it hard for U.S. forces to stop them. It was June, ushering in good weather and more enemy activity from Anti-Coalition Militias (ACMs) who emerged from their winter caves now more willing to fight. ACMs were bands of fighters with ties to the Taliban and al-Qaeda, but not specifically part of the groups. They were typically tribes or groups who were not fond of the Coalition and had lived their entire lives in Afghanistan, giving them an edge over foreigners.
Rush and his team joined Echo Company at Camp Blessing on the western front. He was clueless about the country, but it didn’t take long to adapt. The small, remote base sat at on the bottom of a valley surrounded by mountains. Atop the mountains were observation posts held by Afghan Security Forces. The base itself contained a few buildings surrounded by concertina wire and dirt barriers.
For operating, Rush trusted that his team was prepared. Sergeant Evers, the team
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