I tried to lighten the mood at my support by fire (SBF) position by showing the Commandos a picture of my wife and I atop the Space Needle in Seattle, WA. I low-crawled to each Commando machine gun to show them the picture. Both Commandos pointed to my wife’s auburn hair and gave me a thumbs up while mumbling something. The shit-eating grin on their faces told me all that I needed to know. The picture was creased and dirty because I kept it folded in the grenade pouch attached to my body armor.

As the temperature decreased, the Taliban onslaught increased. Rockets, mortars and RPG’s accompanied the small arms fire. About an hour and half from our designated pick up time, the remaining assault force moved from the village to our designated pick up zone. After the assault force was in place, my team sergeant came over the radio and asked if I would be able to break contact back to the designated pick up site. I replied, “we’ll see.” Even though the conditions were terrible, the Commandos were particularly lethargic. I told the interpreter, “get the fucking Commandos moving and by the way what the fuck is their problem today” (for some reason I did not think that 130 degree heat, no water and 10 hours of fighting qualified as a reason for lethargic behavior). He replied “I am trying man, but they are being assholes today” I said, “it’s a great fucking day to be an asshole.” Eventually,

Ten days before I was shot, my team embarked on a mission in the treacherous and un-forgiving mountains of northeast Afghanistan. During the helicopter flight we learned that another unit was in contact with enemy combatants on the objective; our landing zone would be hot. Also, we would be landing on a completely opposite landing zone than we had planned for. Plan nothing; react to everything. This is a motto I had come to live by.

Disseminating this information to Afghan squad leaders through interpreters, hand and arm signals, and a limited knowledge of Afghan Farsi was a difficult task. The sickening smell of diesel fuel permeating the cab of the CH-47 (Chinook) helicopter and deafening roar of the engines further complicated the issue. After informing the Afghans of the situation on the ground, my teammates and I came up with a new plan and undertook the difficult task of once again relaying information to our Afghan counterparts. When we landed, one of our helicopters was almost shot down by a Rocket Propelled Grenade (RPG).

The fighting was sporadic during the next few hours and was more intense for some than others. One squad had the dangerous and difficult task of eliminating a Taliban machine gun position. Half way through the mission a little boy informed the Afghan Commandos that shrapnel from a Taliban RPG had wounded his mother and sister. The boy led the Commandos, my teammate, and I to the wounded civilians. We set up a security perimeter and began treatment.

I Thought I Was Going to Die: Part 1

There were many times in Afghanistan that I thought I could die, but there were only two times that I thought I was going to die for certain. The first time that I thought I was going die was on my first deployment, the second time was when I was shot. When I sat down to write this week’s entry, I planned on talking about both times in the same entry. I wanted to talk about the events that made me think that I was going to die, the feelings and emotions that I experienced, the lessons that I learned and the difference between each time. After writing for a couple days I was near 20 pages and decided that I should turn this into a three part series. During this entry I am going to talk about the first time I thought I was going to die and the emotions that I felt, next week I will continue talking about the first time I thought I was going to die and the lessons I learned. In the third week I will talk about when I was shot, the emotions that I felt and how the experience was different from the first time. So without further ado, I Thought I Was Going to Die, Part 1.

We had three weeks left in our deployment when the order came down for our team to do a helicopter assault south of our base.

By: Kevin R. Flike

I had always wondered how I would react when I saw the elephant (seeing the elephant is a Civil War term for a soldier who experiences combat for the first time). For two years in the Special Forces Qualification Course (Q-Course) and my first six months as a Green Beret, I played out combat situations in my mind and thought about what I would do. I treated all of my training like it was real, however, the thought lingered in my mind; what is it going to be like when it is real? I could run through as many drills as I wanted to, but until my blanks turned into real bullets and paper targets turned into real people who were trying to kill me, I was left to wonder.

Upon graduation from the Q-Course, I heard rumors that some 1st Group companies were deploying to Afghanistan; I made it my mission to be in one of those companies. After graduation I told one of my instructors that I was trying to go Afghanistan. He replied, “Flike, be careful what you wish for because you just might find yourself in Afghanistan wishing that you could cut the buttons off your shirt so that you can get lower to the ground during a gun fight.” He was right, this happened multiple times.

My initial efforts to go to Afghanistan were in vain; I was assigned to a battalion that was not going.

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).