Wurzbach was pissed off. The mission had gone to hell—and now at least four of his good friends were seriously injured: Walding, Morales, Behr, and Ford. He had no idea if they were going to make it, and if they did, would they have permanent damage?
With Ford seriously injured, Wurzbach was now the acting team sergeant. He knew he would have to take care of all the paperwork related to the mission. Glancing around the helicopter, he could tell by the soldiers’ expressions that everyone was pissed off. He just had to stay in control. Take a deep breath. Remember that they were out of the Shok Valley. Headed back to Jalalabad. And with any luck, everyone would eventually be okay.
When they jumped off the helicopters in Jalalabad, some of the men went back to the barracks and blew off steam. Some were yelling and cussing. They threw their equipment across the room. How could it happen? So many injured on such a fucked-up operation?
Wurzbach understood their anger. He was upset, too. But he had to stay in control. He was the acting team sergeant. He had to file reports, and get those papers ready for commanders.
Before he did anything, he bounded over to the hospital in Jalalabad, where Behr and Morales were being treated. He knew they would be headed quickly to the military hospital at Bagram, which had state-of-the-art equipment and surgeons.
When he walked in and saw his fellow soldiers, he almost broke down. They looked lifeless on the gurneys.
“You guys are going to make it, man,” said Wurzbach, fighting back tears. “Everything is good.”
But they didn’t hear him. They were too sedated. And he made them a promise: he would take care of them. Talk to their families. Take care of all the bullshit paperwork. He told them they were heroes. But he wasn’t sure they heard a word he said.