The sound of Morales’s voice momentarily cut through the firefight.
“I just got fuckin’ shot,” he shouted “Damn.”
He sounded more pissed off than scared. He needed to keep fighting to protect his fellow soldiers. He didn’t want anything to slow him down. Now this? He was injured? It was just bad luck. The whole mission was surrounded by bad karma.
Moments before, Morales had been working feverishly to save Behr’s life. He had tried to apply a tourniquet. Even poured QuikClot in the wound and applied pressure.
The whole time, there was no lull in the action. Bullets were kicking up around them, but Morales was in the zone. He focused on Behr like a laser beam.
“Come on, dude, man. You’re going to make it. You’re going to make it, man.”
In the middle of working on Behr, Walton turned to Morales and began shouting something. But with all the gunfire, it was hard to make out the words. It seemed that the captain was asking Morales to fix Behr’s radio. It wasn’t working and Walton needed to use it.
Morales started shouting instructions to Walton. But the captain couldn’t hear him because he was wearing Peltors that were connected to his radio. Morales knew there was probably heavy traffic over Walton’s radio. That would have made it even more difficult for the captain to hear him.
“Luis, fix this,” Walton yelled again.
Morales spotted the problem. The wire that connected the radio to the antenna was ripped out. All he had to do was reconnect it. It was simple. Just like connecting a cable wire to the back of a television. Twist and turn. He stood up to help Walton when he felt a sharp pain in his thigh. It was like a bodybuilder had just smashed his thigh with a sledgehammer. It knocked him down. He realized what happened when he looked at his bloody thigh.
“I just got shot!” Morales yelled.
“What?” Walton said.
“I just got fuckin’ shot,” Morales screamed. “Damn.”
Morales grabbed his upper thigh around his crotch and began squeezing. He wanted to see if the round had penetrated his femoral artery. The round opened a six-inch long wound and he was losing lots of blood. If his femoral wasn’t severed, it was pretty close.
Morales was on the ground near the edge of the cliff. His only cover was that small tree. That was it. And he would have to share the cover with Behr. There wasn’t much room. Morales continued taking care of Behr—even with his own wounds—and firing his rifle. But now the pain was so great that he grimaced and shook his head. He was going to beat it. Deal with it. He was going to stay in control. A Morales never quits, he thought. From his grandfather to his father, they overcame obstacles to make a name for themselves in the military. That was his goal, too. He was going to carry on the family tradition.
Scanning the enemy positions, he noticed that most of the fire was coming from a mountain on the side of the ridge opposite to where the team was trapped. It was about a football field away.
“Kyle, the guys who are shooting at us are over there,” he said, pointing to the mountain.
Before Walton had a chance to respond, Morales felt a knifelike pain in his ankle. No one had to tell him what had just happened. He knew right away.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Morales shouted. A round had ripped apart his ankle. Now he was really angry. He’d been shot twice, and the pain was excruciating. It was nothing like he had ever experienced in his life. Parts of his flesh were excoriated—he could see tendons, bone. Pools of blood soaked his uniform. But Morales didn’t panic. Keep cool, keep your bearings, he thought.
But now there were limits to what he could do. When he got shot in the thigh, he told himself it was fixable. He could still move his leg. It wasn’t broken. When he was hit in the ankle, he knew he was screwed. That wasn’t fixable. He was immobile. The irony wasn’t lost on Morales. A strong, athletic Green Beret, he worked out all the time—push-ups, sit-ups, weights—and ran hard, not jogged. It was always faster and stronger. He pushed his body to the limit and prided himself on his endurance. Now he was helpless.