The casualty collection point had quickly filled up with soldiers. The wounded were on pole litters and Skedcos or sitting on the ground. All waiting for the dust-off. It kept Shurer busy. The medic was doing rechecks on the men when Martinez from ODA 3312 showed up carrying supplies. It was a blessing because Shurer had run out of just about everything. At that point, he knew that Walding and Behr were in shock. Maybe Morales. He had all the wounded drink water to pump up their fluids.
As he waited for the helicopter to land, Shurer moved from soldier to soldier saying the same thing: “You’re good. Don’t die.”
Everything was moving in fast motion. They were down the hill, but they were far from safe. They needed to load the men on helicopters. They needed to get them to a hospital fast. But while they were waiting they were told they had to move the soldiers to a new position in the wadi. There was no time to waste. So some of the commandos immediately picked up the stretchers and began carrying the men to the river’s edge.
As they moved, Shurer could hear the helicopters over the din of bullets. Maybe everyone would be okay. Maybe they would all get out alive. It was the first time in hours that he’d felt this way. But then he noticed that his arm was hurting. At first, he shook it off. But when he looked, he discovered a one-and-a-half-inch burn on the inside of his right arm with blood and bruising around the elbow.
What the hell happened? he thought.
He examined his uniform and saw a bullet hole in his sleeve. Then he lined up the sleeve with the wound. It was a perfect match. He shook his head in disbelief. He had been shot and hadn’t even known it. He wasn’t sure when it happened. It didn’t matter. The only thing that was important was that he worked hard to save lives.
And now all he wanted to do now was get out the valley.