Shurer had to reach Walton’s team. He knew his teammates had life-threatening wounds. But he was pinned down by fire. To get up there, he had to run at least seventy meters and then climb the mountain to their position.
Since the first bursts of gunfire, the medic had been tied up treating wounded soldiers at the bottom of the trail leading up the mountain. His first call for help came a few minutes into the battle when a commando told him someone in his squad had been hit. So Shurer bolted about thirty meters in front of him and spotted a commando frantically trying to take off his pants.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
The soldier was muttering and Shurer couldn’t understand a word he was saying. He turned his head from side to side, looking for an interpreter, and couldn’t find one. By the time he looked back, the commando had pulled his pants down to his ankles and Shurer discovered the problem. The bullet had grazed the commando’s skin just inside his left thigh and burned his testicle. He was incredibly lucky. While the round didn’t penetrate the commando’s body, it was close enough that it burned. Shurer examined the commando closely and determined there was no serious damage or bleeding.
He stared into the commando’s face: “You’re okay,” he shouted over the noise. “Pull your pants up and get back in the fight.”
The soldier just nodded his head yes. But Shurer could see the sheer terror in his eyes. It almost looked like the commando was going to cry.
With the soldier back in action, AJ, an interpreter, reached Shurer and they quickly turned their attention back to the commandos. They began resetting the squad, making sure the commandos acted as a cohesive fighting unit. At that point, they weren’t doing this. Some were trying to hide behind big rocks and not firing their weapons at all. Then, through all the clutter, Shurer heard the high-pitched whistling of an incoming RPG. When he looked up, he saw it explode about seventy-five meters in front of him.
The next thing he heard was a chorus of “Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron” echoing down the valley. At that moment Shurer knew that Staff Sergeant Ryan Wallen had been injured. When they were training the Afghans, Wallen would bring each commando on his team to Shurer and would jokingly instruct them that if he was hurt in combat, they were to “find Ron. This is what he looks like.” Wallen said it was a joke, but Shurer knew there was a method to his madness. No soldier wants to be wounded in the field without a medic. Timely care could mean the difference between life and death.
But the training paid off because Shurer knew who the injured soldier was in advance. So he packed up his kit and ran until he reached Wallen, who was clearly pissed off that he was hit and couldn’t return fire.
“Fuck, look at this,” Wallen said, pointing to his neck.
Shurer analyzed the wound: Wallen was bleeding from his neck. So he pulled out gauze and started examining the wound to assess the damage. Wallen’s airways looked fine. There was no vascular damage. The medic could tell that the wound wasn’t life threatening, but the blood was still flowing.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said, wrapping gauze on the wound. He began exerting pressure to stop the bleeding.
“Are you sure?” Wallen asked.
“Yes. I’m sure.”
The fire was nonstop. Shurer didn’t think it could get much worse. Until he heard a frantic call from Walton on the radio: Behr, Morales, and CK had been hit and they needed Shurer up there fast.
“Did you hear that?” Wallen asked.
“Yeah. I heard it.”
Shurer glanced at Wallen. His bleeding was minimal.
“I’m good,” Wallen said. “Go get them.”
Getting to Walton’s team, though, posed a great risk. A medic is taught not to put himself in any unnecessary danger. He has to stay alive so other soldiers can live. But it had reached a point in the battle where he had to go. So Shurer grabbed his bag and headed into the fire.