In the pre-dawn hours of September 25, 2011 my Special Forces Team and partner force the Afghan Commandos embarked on a clearing operation in the mountains of northwest Afghanistan. Within an hour, we stumbled upon a hornet’s nest. Our force was subjected to continuous machine-gun, sniper, and RPG fire as we advanced through the valley. In the tenth hour of the firefight, I was on a roof providing fire support for maneuvering elements and identifying enemy positions. As rounds impacted within inches of the Commandos and myself, I told the Commandos, “if we do not get off of this roof, we are going to get shot.” The Commandos and I quickly climbed down the ladder; I intended to re-organize my fighting force and continue to push forward to eliminate enemy positions. I started moving from the rear of the house to the front to re-organize my squad and when I reached the front corner of the building, it happened.

The pain pierced through my stomach, hip, and leg, I felt like I had been hit in the stomach with a sledgehammer. The gunshot sent me to the ground, throwing my helmet, headphones and gun in separate directions. Within seconds I realized that I had been shot, I tried to stay calm and conscious. I crawled to my headphones and radioed to my teammates for help. I heard a voice on the other side that said “say again,” (I found out later that he was confused because I did not sound like someone who had just been shot).