Note: Readers should be aware that some information in this report has been contested by others who were also on scene. A rebuttal to this report has been made and will follow this account. Individuals who fight in a battle often have different perceptions as to what actually happened. Because an individual perceives events to be true does not necessarily make it so. The article does have lots of details that no one is contesting.

Interview of SSgt Kevin Vance 25 March 2002 - Bagram, Afghanistan

My name is Kevin Donell Vance. In June, I will have been in the United States Air Force for eight years. I hold the rank of Staff Sergeant. I am currently married with two children, ages four and two. I was born on 3 September 1976 and am currently 25 years old. My SSAN is XXX-XX-XXXX

I entered into the USAF eleven days after graduating from high school. I went to open general basic training. I was not sure which career path to take until I was asked to try out to be a tactical air control party [TACP] from a TACP recruiter. I was one of the few who tried out and was chosen. I went to technical school in Florida for fourteen weeks. My first assignment was at Ft. Polk in Louisiana supporting the 2nd Armored Calvary Regiment [ACR] for three years. I then transferred to support the Joint Readiness Training Center [JRTC] for a year. Next, I was assigned to Camp Casey in Korea for one year. Afterwards, I tried out for and was selected for my present job. I have been with my current unit for two and a half years. I have had basic training, TACP training, Ranger School, Basic Airborne School, Air Assault School, HALO School, and Pathfinder School.

At around 0115z on 4 March 2002, I was told that a military member was on the ground in a hostile area in Afghanistan after falling out of a helicopter. My team was told that another team was attempting to go in and get him, but if they were not successful, my team would go in. We were waiting to find out if we would go in to try to get to our lost military member. My team was in a helicopter in route and our estimated time of arrival was 0150z. My team consisted of ten people plus three special tactics squadron members [STS] and we were with eight crewmembers, a total of twenty-one personnel.

At 0140z I had noticed we were flying in circles around the mountaintop because I had noticed the same terrain twice. As we were circling about the third time, we were hit with a rocket-propelled grenade [RPG] around 0145z. There were sparks on the right side of the aircraft and we started to shake violently. Then our helicopter just fell out of the sky about 15 feet to the ground. After the first RPG hit us to when the helicopter hit the ground, I do not remember specifics of what happened, it was a blur. No one, to my knowledge, was injured from the initial crash.

Before I could get off the aircraft, another RPG hit the aircraft where the right door gunner was. There was only one military member between the right door gunner and myself. I am not positive how many times our helicopter was shot but I think altogether, four RPGs were shot at us. I was snap linked into the helicopter, a precaution so we do not fall out of the helicopter. First I was trying to get my snap link/safety line off but the pararescueman [PJ] behind me was pushing me so it pulled tight. I had a little bit of trouble getting it off; it slowed me down about 15 seconds. I then ran off the back of the aircraft.

By the time I was able to get off of the aircraft, three of our team members were already dead. One team member was on the ramp with a hole in his head. There was no mistaking that he was dead. The second team member was at the end of the ramp face down in the snow. His position was such that if there had been life left in him, he would have moved his head out of the snow. I later found out that he had been shot under the arm though his chest and out his above right nipple. The last deceased team member was lying on his back at the end of the ramp not moving. These three deceased members survived the initial crash without injury, but had died from enemy fire. Their names were Marc Anderson, Brad Crose, and Matt Commons.

I knew we had three killed in action [KIA], which left seven of our team, three of which were injured. I had shrapnel in the arm, but did not notice it until later. My platoon leader had shrapnel in his leg, it was a pretty good chunk, and another team member had shrapnel in his lower left calf and was moving slow. Our team knew how to fight and how to operate on the ground. The aircrew did not have the same training.

I exited the aircraft and threw my rucksack off but kept it within 20 meters from me. I figured out which way we were being engaged from and I sought cover behind a cut out in the rock face. It was just big enough for four team members to kneel behind it. We set up a perimeter. Two other members were back to my right and three members to my left. I was closest to the enemy. There were two enemies about 50 meters north of us near a tree. There was one enemy behind me and to the right already dead. There were some more enemies to the south coming out. Then we started to engage the enemy. I was shooting an M4. At first, my priority was to keep engaging the enemy to hold them back and then to seek assistance for close air support [CAS] on the radio. My radio, a PRC 117F, was still in my rucksack. There was a combat controller [CCT] with us named Gabe Brown who was behind me a bit. I turned around and yelled at him to work on getting communications running, he already was working on it. I decided that I needed to be on the line fighting, if I had been on the radio, then the combat controller would have been sitting there doing nothing because he doesn't have the assault training. I decided that he should call in the CAS as I directed him. I told him my rucksack had a radio in it. A member of the crew dragged my rucksack to the CCT so he had my radio.

First, we shot M203 rounds at bunker. A M203 is a grenade launcher that fits on a M4/16. As the squad leader and team leader shot M203s, I stood up and provided covering fire. When he would stand up to fire a grenade at the bunker, I would standup and shoot at the bunker to cover him. I did the same when the crewmembers would run for more ammo. We tried throwing fragment grenades at the enemy but it they were too far away and the bunker was on the backside of the hill. The enemy threw fragment grenades at us but they landed 5-10 feet in front of me, buried in the snow and blew up.

I believe one of the helicopter pilots was dead and the other was injured severely. The other pilot opened the door to the aircraft and fell out of the aircraft face first. He lay there in the snow securing his area. There was no power to the aircraft without which we could not operate the mini-guns. One of the team members yelled at a member of the crew to get the power working so we could use those guns. The mini-guns shoot 7.62 ammo and so does our M240. The crew was taking ammo and giving it to our M240 gunner. When the crewmembers would run back to the aircraft for more ammo, I would standup and shoot at the bunker to cover them. They were also taking M203 rounds and magazines off of the KIA and bringing it to us. The crew pulled off insulation from the aircraft to wrap the casualties in to keep them warm.

Then four of us (myself, the platoon leader, squad leader, and team leader) started to assault the tree area where the enemy was coming from while the M240 gunner suppressed it. The CPT Self, the platoon leader [PL], was in charge. Once we realized that it was a bunker, a couple of enemy came out from behind a tree and took shots at us. We were moving slow because the snow was up to our knees and we were going uphill. The platoon leader finally said let's back up and rethink this. We backed up because we could not afford to lose any more guys.

The combat controller yelled that we have F-15s on station. The Platoon Leader was next to me and we discussed it. Then F-15s were overhead and the combat controller was directing them to the enemy according to my instructions. I told the combat controller to have the F-15s to strafe the bunker and have them come in from our right to our left. The CCT repeated what I said. He was smart enough that I did not have to tell him too much detail of what to say on the radio. We used the position of the helicopter to give clock directions. He had basic knowledge of CAS so I could tell him to have the fighters do gun runs on an area from which direction and he would get on the radio and make it happen. The first F-15 pass was really close and I was uncomfortable because I could not tell if the guns were pointing at my team or the enemy bunker so I told the CCT to abort it. I told him to have them come in more from behind us, so I could tell they were not pointing at us. I told him to clear them and the rounds hit right by the bunker. I told him to have them do that over and over again. I think the gun runs were made by both F-15s and F-16s. For the first 10-15 minutes, the CCT thought I was the team leader. He yelled to me 'team leader' when the team leader was sitting next to him.

At this point, the team member who was injured in the leg and could not move easily was facing one way. Sgt Walker and I were pulling security on the bunker. CPT Self and I tried to determine where would be a good landing zone.

The fighters did some more gun runs and the enemy was still jumping up shooting at us. The enemy was moving on us from behind us (we didn't know this at the time) but the majority of enemy were firing at us were on the hill near the bunker area. We killed seven of them. The last time I saw anyone move in the bunker, I was scanning the hilltop and I saw the upper half of an enemy behind some bushes. I shot three times, got down and stood back up. This was the last I had seen him. I never went over towards that bunker so I cannot confirm if I had killed him.

Then we shot some more bombs in the bunker area. I told CCT to direct them to shoot down the backside of the hill north of us. I thought it was better to have them shoot downhill with the first one so we could walk him in to the target. The first bomb hit the backside of the hill and then I told him to bring it up and hit the tree over the bunker. The second one hit the tree dead on and split it in half. The fire from the bunker area ceased. We could not see over the hill and did not know what was over there. CCT said we have some 500-pound bombs to use. After discussing with the PL, I said let's drop them on the backside of the hill and walk them up. They were dropping them about 75 to 100 meters away from us. Some of the pilots did not want to drop them without the commander's initials because they were afraid they would kill us.

At that point we were not taking any more fire from the top of the hill so the platoon leader wanted to wait until our reinforcements linked up with us before we tried moving on the top of the hill.

By this time, the second helicopter landed at the bottom of the hill to our northeast and reinforcements were moving towards us. The second aircraft had ten team members on it. They moved uphill to us. This was about two and a half hours after we had crashed. On the way, they were taking some mortar fire. At one point they had bracketed us with the mortars but then they started shooting mortars down the hill to try and hit the second team members as they were coming up the hill to reinforce us. I do not know where the enemies were shooting the mortars from. Later, I learned they were being shot from a position about 300 meters from us on the backside of the hill. Finally, our reinforcements linked up with us. Sgt Walker took a couple of rounds in his helmet. When the reinforcements arrived, Sgt Walker came forward and told SSG Wilmoth which direction the enemy was located. Sgt Walker's helmet had holes in the top of the head and the side of the head.

A 500-pound bomb hit just over the backside of the hilltop. It hit at an angle where it blew everything back over the top of us so it was raining debris and metal pieces down around us. That was the only point where we were really concerned with our safety from the friendly bombs. This was the last time we used the 500-pound bombs. Together we started to take the top of the hill.

Once we took the top of the hill we found two more friendly bodies. They included the member who fell out of the helicopter that we were there to find and a member from the team before us that tried to go in to get him. We were sent in because they were not successful. Both members had been shot and killed. We had thirty-three members on the hill (including two deceased we found), sixteen were fighting, and three of those sixteen were wounded. The other half was working on casualties or were casualties themselves. As we took the top of the hill, we started taking fire from behind us. We had to turn around and fight the other way. Meanwhile, all of our casualties were lying out in the open down the hill. Once taking fire from the other direction, we had to go downhill to get our casualties. The casualties were the first three team members out of the aircraft and the pilot. A PJ, SrA Jason D. Cunningham, and another team member were killed from gunfire as they were going down to get the casualties. Jason Cunningham was injured seriously but did not die immediately. At this point, I was still on the top of the hill sitting next to the CCT and the PL while talking on the radio. I was reporting back to higher and CCT was talking to the aircraft. We were the command and control [C2] section. I could have taken the radio back from CCT and said that it is my job to call in CAS, but he had been working with them already and understood the landmarks he was talking about. If I had to do it, then it would have been a relearning process so I continued to monitor him and let him call in CAS. The medics kept the PJ alive for about 10 hours (about an hour and half before we got exfiltrated). I reported it to the Controller when he died.

They also dropped 1000 pounders that landed 150 meters away from us. That was a little close and I made sure the CCT had them push those out a bit. It hit the nearside of the hill instead of the far side and shook the team members up. No one was injured. When the bomb hit, some debris on fire flew up into the air about 75 feet over our heads and continued on into the valley where it caught something on fire in the valley.

After being on the ground for about three hours, we had to move the bodies up the mountain before we could be exfiltrated. This would have taken about one half hour. Controller asked me if the pick-up zone [PZ] was cold and how many guys we were going to lose if we waited to be exfiltrated. I asked the medic 'if we hang out here, how many guys are going to die?" The medic said at least two, maybe three. I reported to Controller 'it is a cold PZ and we are going to lose three if we wait. Just as I said it was a cold PZ, we were shot at. However, we could have made it cold by the time they got the helicopters in there. It was just every once and while the enemy would take pop shots at us. If we had CAS on station dropping bombs, we could have gotten out of there at that time. I told CCT to drop bombs down in the valley and on the small hill every now and again. Every time the plane showed up and you could hear them, we weren't being shot at. Just having the planes nearby kept the enemy away. Continuously dropping bombs discouraged them from coming after us. So every now and again, we would drop bombs on them with B52s, B-1s, those were the last aircraft we had. I cannot remember which one. I was watching our medic, he was a part of the second team, as he was working on the PJ. I saw him doing CPR on the PJ and I knew it was bad. I then saw the medic stand up, look over at me, and start walking to me. That is when I got on the radio to Controller and told him that we now have seven KIA.

The whole fifteen and one half hours we were on the ground I was fighting, talking on the radio, or telling CCT what to call in. I shot a total of 420 rounds during the fifteen and one half hours. I was on the C2 line the whole time while watching over CCT's shoulder to make sure everything was all right. As the hostile fire started slowing down, I barely had to tell CCT what to do, just drop bombs over here or over there.

I kept telling Controller that 'we lost another one, cold PZ, when are we getting exfiltrated?' Controller said to hold on. After asking him three times, PL expressed urgency at getting the team out of there. I continued to tell Controller but he just kept telling me to hold on. After the third time, I handed the hand mike to the PL and asked him to tell Controller the same thing.

For the next thirteen hours, there were sporadic firefights from about 300 meters away. All of the close fighting was done because we had neutralized all close enemies. The mountaintop had three different peaks. We held the two highest ones. About 300 meters to our south, southeast was the third hilltop where the enemy was coming up. At one point Controller told me that the enemy was trying to reinforce with seventy guys. I was not clear if he was talking about seventy friendly or enemy. I then asked if the seventy guys coming up this way were not my friends. He said 'Roger.' I said I wanted to make sure that was clear. I tried to keep that between the PL and myself because it would have destroyed the other guys' morale. I think the PL let the team know so they could be ready. We never did see the seventy enemies.

I put the PL on the radio and he was being told the exfiltration sequence of events. I was sitting next to him taking notes. Once the exfiltration plan was sorted out, we sat around and waited until the AC-130 checked in. We had them fly around and occasionally shooting. Controller said we had eight enemies moving in to our south. I never did run into them. CCT was talking to the AC-130 and I was talking to Controller. I gave Controller the approach heading, the land heading and the departure heading. There was a 090 approach heading, 235 land heading, and 270 departure heading. The first aircraft came in on a 090 and then came to a hover. I tried to get him on the radio to tell him to turn around and do a 180. I could not reach him so I called Controller and asked him to get in contact with the second and third helicopters to have them land at 180 degrees from what the first one did. It was important to have the second one land that way in order to upload the KIAs quickly. He was able to reach them and the second and third helicopters landed according to direction. Because the first one landed heading the wrong direction, the exfiltration was slowed down immensely. We had to drag the casualties all the way around the back of the helicopter and load them up. It was important that the second one landed the way it did. My entire unit got on the second helicopter while another unit got off to pull security. They then got on the helicopter and left. If they had landed the way the first one did, it would have taken a lot longer than it did. The entire exfiltration process took too long, about 15 minutes for the first two helicopters. It was all quiet when we were being exfiltrated.

It felt really good when I got back and my buddies said they were sitting around the radio listening. They were impressed that I never got emotional and was calm and professional the whole time. I tried to keep a monotone voice. There were times that I tried to throw some words in there to make Controller realize that we have to get out. It became a personal conversation and we kept saying we have to get out of here.

I received a minor wound to my left shoulder. It is a shrapnel puncture wound. I didn't notice it until a day later when I woke up and my shoulder felt like someone punched me. I then looked at the T-shirt I was wearing that night and noticed it was blood stained.

I went through so many different emotions, excited, mad, frustrated, sad, any other emotion you could possibly feel, you feel going through this whole thing. And I felt guilty if I felt anything was funny like Sgt Walker's helmet with the holes in it because we had lost members of our team.

Everyone out there just did his job. I just did my job, everything came natural and my training kicked in. There is nothing I could have changed about that day. Nothing we could have done different or better. I could not ask for a better group of guys to work with. I have trained for eight years to do this and now I had the chance to get to do my job -- that is reward enough. Everybody working together and the good Lord is what got us home.

I swear that I have read this statement and it is true and correct to the best of my knowledge. This statement has been subscribed and sworn to before Capt Erin Bree Wirtanen, an officer authorized to administer oaths this 29th day of March 2002 and witnessed by Lt Col Kenneth M. Rozelsky, II.

____________________________________

KEVIN DONELL VANCE, SSgt, USAF

At Bagram, Afghanistan, I, Erin Bree Wirtanen, the undersigned do hereby certify that on this 29th day of March 2002, before me personally appeared SSgt Kevin Donell Vance, who signed and executed the foregoing document. I do further certify that I am a person in the service of the United States Armed Forces authorized the general powers of a notary public under 10 U.S.C. 1044a of the grade, branch of service and organization stated below and that this certificate is executed in my capacity as a person authorized notary authority under Title 10 U.S.C. 1044a.

____________________________________

ERIN BREE WIRTANEN, Capt, USAF

332 AEG/JA Al Jaber AB, Kuwait

I certify I was witness to SSgt Kevin Donell Vance's oath of truthfulness and signature on the aforesaid document on the 29th of March 2002.

____________________________________

Rebuttal To The Above Account

The following is a sanitized version of a letter received from either a conventional PJ team or a Special Tactics Squadron (STS) team member. For those of you unfamiliar with STS, the organization has both PJs and CCT assigned to a single squadron. I have removed all information that might allow my source to be identified and broadened to pool of possible sources. I can however assure you that this came from a valid source.

I wanted to say a few words about this report from the TACP individual (SSgt Vance) who wrote the report posted on your website. I think it's great that the community is searching out information on our fallen comrades. I mourn John Chapman and Jason Cunningham's loss as much as anyone. But this Vance report is a sickening example of the extreme lack of integrity on the part of this TACP NCO.

I have attended several briefings specifically addressing the battle of "Roberts Ridge." These briefings were conducted by personnel who were a part of this battle. One of the main catalysts for this series of briefings was to bring out the truth about who was doing what. Most of this was focused on CCT and this TACP. I am not allowed to get terribly specific, but in those briefings a great deal was learned about this TACP's integrity and I am rather upset when I tell you that the large majority of this mission report is a fallacy written by a self serving individual who should be ashamed of himself and his conduct.

He abandoned his equipment, failed to do his job, and spent most of his time being a dead weight. He would have you believe that he held this entire operation together and that it was his crisp clear thinking and courage under fire that saved the day. It's not true and I despise him for having the audacity to write such filth, and then swear by its authenticity.

There may have been some bad blood from time to time when it comes to CCT and PJ's. but I for one will not tolerate such garbage. The CCT members and PJ's in this battle performed admirably that day. All claims to the contrary are false. Both PJ's and CCT rose to the challenge while under extreme enemy fire and rained death down upon our enemies while Sgt Vance failed to do his duties.

The truth is out there but I cannot provide you all the facts. I just needed you to know that Sgt Vance's sworn deposition is in large part false. If you want to retransmit this info, please see to it that my name is not connected to it. We are under a gag order on the whole subject. Thanks for your time and keep up the good work.

A Few Words From The SEALS

Note: I have deleted the name of the author of this email to protect his identity. He is a SEAL operator with knowledge of the event. Here's the "rest of the story" on Petty Officer First Class Neil Roberts, the SEAL we lost out of the helicopter. Its not what you heard in the media.

I have just gotten back from Neil's funeral. There were over 1,000 people in attendance and needless to say, it was moving. I had the opportunity to speak with several individuals, who were in country at the time of Neil's death and who had also viewed the video. The following is merely a sanitized compilation of the conversations I had and tid-bits from the eulogy.

The usual disclaimers apply and there is some stuff I need to leave out. And I know I will not do the story justice, nor could I ever hope to. Supposedly...as the helo was on final, it came under fire. An air-crewman fell off the back ramp and was dangling by his tether. Neil reached down to pull him back in. An RPG hit the nose of the helo (didn't explode) and the pilot subsequently made an evasive maneuver. Neil tumbled out (the air-crewman may have also mistakenly pulled Neil out while Neil was trying to recover him or that may have not even of happened - doesn't matter - bottom line, Neil fell from about 10ft and was on the ground alone). It is unclear as to whether or not the guys on board the helo knew that they lost a man. Helo peeled away, developed hydraulic problems, and crash-landed about a click away.

Neil turns on his beacon and low crawls to a position under fire. Neil takes the offensive, firing and maneuvering against the enemy and allegedly storms a machine-gun nest. Neil was shot several times, but continued the fight. Apparently, the video shows the mortal wound and Neil falls to the ground (an hour after he fell from the helo). He had expended all of his ammo, both primary and secondary, as well as his grenades. The video has Neil point shooting with his pistol at very close ranges to the enemy. He was dead by the time the enemy arrived and dragged him off. Not sure on whether they intended to use Neil's body as a decoy for an ambush or as a bargaining chip or for another Somalia street dragging episode.

Doesn't really matter. Then the boys came. The force was a mix of operators and arrived about 2 hours later. As they expected, they encountered significant hostile fire, but returned fire immediately.  Apparently, a lot of undisclosed heroics occurred that night and there was significant payback (and I mean significant). Several of our brothers were wounded, two of which were flown back to CONUS (one of whom may lose a foot).

People are talking CMH level heroics - we'll see. After fierce fighting and a valiant rescue, Neil's body was recovered, as were the other dead, and all were evacuated. Neil went down fighting and took many of those bastards with him (an unconfirmed number). The ridge upon which he died is now called Roberts Ridge. He was posthumously awarded the Bronze Star with a V and a Purple Heart. Neil is now SpecOps folklore and a legend in the Teams for the rest of eternity.

Neil also left a wife (Patty) and an 18-month old son (Nathan). I believe Patty intends to move to Pennsylvania to be with her family). Guys, I hope this helps - it has been cathartic for me, especially after the press has royally screwed this one up (as expected). In the near future, several of us who knew Neil and his family plan to work on the scholarship fund to ensure that Nathan has anything he needs. More to follow on that-"

This Is A First Hand Account From A PJ On The Mission

For the first time since he came under intense fire in Afghanistan, Tech.Sgt. Keary Miller talked to Louisville media this week. This is his story.

Four months ago today, two helicopters lifted off in the cold pre-dawn -- on a lifesaving mission that turned into the deadliest battle for American servicemen in nearly a decade.

The 52-foot-long Chinook copters were bound for a mountain named Takur Ghar in eastern Afghanistan. Tech. Sgt. Keary Miller, a pararescueman from the Kentucky Air National Guard, rode aboard the first chopper.

Miller, who is in his early 30s, is an 11-year veteran with the look of a defensive back and the demeanor of an apprentice undertaker. His job is to save lives. Traditionally, National Guardsmen are called ''weekend warriors.'' But Miller is like many other pararescuemen: The Guard is his only job. And it's more than fulltime.  

Two weeks before, Miller had helped save the crew of a C-130 that crashed into a mountainside 10,000 feet up.

''Part of the reason those people lived is that Keary was on the scene,'' says Col. Craig Rith, deputy commander of the 720th Special Tactics Group, the Florida-based parent of Miller's unit.

Miller, a Californian, belongs to the 123rd Special Tactics Squadron based at Louisville International Airport. As a pararescueman, he is trained -- among other things -- to jump out of an airplane two miles high, free-falling until it's safe to open his chute. In high-tech mode, he might carry a defibrillator onto the battlefield. In low-tech mode, he can survive on rabbits and mice.

He usually works in darkness -- and secrecy. His job is so specialized that the Air Force has only about 300  pararescuemen. It has 10,000 pilots.

Riding in the dark chill on March 4, Miller and the others aboard the first helicopter -- including eight crewmen and 10 Army Rangers -- could scarcely have guessed the havoc that awaited them -- or that by day's end seven would be dead, four seriously wounded, out of an overall American contingent of more than 50.

They simply knew that at least one U.S. serviceman was stranded on the mountain.

'We Immediately Received Fire'

A couple of hours earlier -- about 3 a.m. -- a helicopter attempted to deposit a team of Navy SEALs on the mountain, for reconaissance. AlQaida forces fired on the helicopter. Bullets ripped through oil and hydraulic lines, splashing liquid on the floor.

One of the SEALs, Petty Officer Neil Roberts, slipped on the slick floor and fell out the back, five to 10 feet, into the snow. The chopper crash-landed about 4 1/2 miles away. Eventually another copter took Roberts' teammates back to rescue him.

The team encountered al-Qaida gunfire. John Chapman, an Air Force tech sergeant, was killed, and two SEALs were wounded. By then, Roberts had been shot to death too. The rest of the Americans retreated down the mountainside.

As dawn approached, Keary Miller and the others aboard the copter received their six-minute warning and started getting ready to land. They knew little, if anything, about the mayhem below. A radio malfunction kept the pilot from receiving new landing instructions, away from the hot spot. As the Chinook approached, it was in the line of fire.

Before it could touch the ground, Miller says, ''we immediately received fire.''

The second chopper veered off and landed about 2,000 feet down the mountain. There it deposited a team of Rangers who would face an arduous climb to join their comrades.

Farther up the mountain, al-Qaida forces were firing at the Chinook. Some rocket-propelled grenades ripped into the copter. Others ricocheted off its skin. Miller heard relentless small-arms fire.

''The Rangers . . . peeled out of the helo (helicopter) and immediately returned fire,'' Miller recalls.

He saw that two American soldiers were already dead. (The first to die, apparently, was Sgt. Phil Svitak, a gunner from Missouri. He had been stationed at Fort Campbell, Ky.)

Both pilots were seriously wounded. Miller pulled one of them to the rear. There he treated the wounded, in the weak light of dawn. Up front, an Army medic and another Air Force pararescueman, Senior Airman Jason Cunningham, attended other casualties.

''We were pretty much taking continuous fire,'' Miller recalls. ''But we were returning fire. . . . The Rangers did an  awesome job. The platoon leader really performed. . . . They just basically kicked ass.''

(Official reports are mute on the number of enemy fighters. They simply refer to the Americans' facing superior numbers.)

'Definitely Engaged In Close Combat'

Miller had been shot at before -- while riding in helicopters. But this was the first time he faced hostile fire on the ground.

''You could hear the rounds crackling,'' he says. ''You could hear the pop of them going by you. Every once in a while, you could see the snow pop up in front of you.''

The Rangers were shooting back, and soon a combat controller -- Miller calls him only ''Sgt. Brown'' -- started calling in close air support.

''They were under 50 meters from us,'' Miller says of the enemy. ''I mean, we were definitely engaged in close combat.''

So close that Miller fretted that some of the wounded might be hit by friendly fire from American jets. But he does not remember worrying about himself.

''You're not so much concerned about yourself as you are about your buddy,'' he says. ''You never think you're going to be the one that gets hit. . . . I just kept on doing my job.''

Early in the firefight, Miller says, four Americans were dead and perhaps six wounded -- three critically.

''Some of our wounded were still functioning,'' he says. ''Some of the guys hit by shrapnel were still moving and shooting, doing their job.''

The seriously wounded were strapped to stretchers.  ''They couldn't see what was going on,'' Miller says. ''So I always thought they had it worse than I did, just because I could be up and I kind of knew my surroundings, and guys were lying on their backs strapped to a litter. And really, you could just hear, they had lost some of their senses.''

'The Trees Were Crackling' With Bullets'

The Rangers attempted an assault on the al-Qaida mountaintop bunkers but were repelled. Down the mountain, Rangers from the second chopper were advancing slowly in the kneedeep snow. To go faster, they took off weighty body armor -- then bashed it, lest it fall into the hands of the al-Qaida.

They joined forces with the other Rangers and eventually knocked out the bunker.

Five hours after their arrival, the place seemed secure. Miller began walking one of the casualties up the slope, through the snow. At the same time, he was looking for a suitable landing zone for a rescue chopper.

''All of a sudden,'' he recalls, ''we get lit up from the south. Literally, an RPG (rocket-propelled grenade) right over our heads. I could have caught it with a baseball glove.''

More small-arms fire filled the air.

''The trees were crackling,'' he says. ''Pine needles were falling on us.''

The remaining al-Qaida forces, he says, ''started shooting at the casualties. . . . The Army medic got hit, and Cunningham got hit trying to move the casualties.''

Cunningham had received a grievous wound to the pelvis. Miller and a Ranger medic began attending to the two wounded medics.

More air support was called in against the al-Qaida forces.

''Rocked their world,'' Miller says.

''It's awesome when you can put a bomb on target . . . and they put the bombs right on target, so I thank God for that.''

With the immediate danger finally over, Miller could turn his full attention to the patients. (He generally calls them patients, not casualties.)

''Temperatures were dropping because the sun was starting to work its way down,'' he says. ''Hypothermia was starting to set in. Every time I exposed a patient, hypothermia would kick in even more. . . .

''We start ripping insulation -- everything we could -- out of the helo and .. . . put it under the patients.''

'We Took A Lot Of Casualties'

At some point during the 15-hour ordeal, Miller had a moment to reflect on the picture he carried in his left breast pocket.

''I always flew with a picture of my kids,'' he says. ''There was a point where I was like, we're in a little bit of deep --- right now. You never truly know the outcome -- you don't think you're going to get hurt, but obviously . . . we were in an awkward situation. . . . They hit us hard. . . .. We took a lot of casualties at the beginning, so there was definitely . . ..''

The doubt slipping into his voice gave way to resolve.

''We weren't leaving the hill, and we weren't going anywhere . . . without all of our buddies.''

As the sun began to set, word came that ''exfiltration'' helicopters would arrive in a couple of hours to take the Americans off the mountain.

Finally, around 8:15 p.m., four helicopters arrived.

''The first bird took out the most seriously wounded -- four wounded -- and we removed all seven of the KIA (killed in action) on the second chop,'' he says.

'Certain Things Mean A Little Bit More'

The firefight on Takur Ghar made March 4, 2002, the deadliest day of combat for an American unit since 18 Rangers and Special Operations soldiers died in Mogadishu, Somalia, in 1993.

Three weeks after the firefight, Miller was back in Louisville. He had spent about four months in Afghanistan.

His feelings upon being reunited with his wife and children: ''It was almost a luxury, I would say. Cunningham left . . . he left his own family. All the deceased did. So, I just felt like it was a luxury for me to have . . .''

His voice trails off, and he does not finish.

Miller's boss at the 123rd Special Tactics Squadron, Senior Master Sgt. Patrick Malone, says: ''His performance under fire was impeccable. Even for me, as a 20year guy who's seen it all and done it all, he defines what a pararescueman is.''

COMBAT CONTROLLER BRINGS IN LIFE-SAVING AIRPOWER

HURLBURT FIELD, Fla. (Night Flyer News Service) - On a small hilltop in a remote region of Afghanistan, an Air Force Combat Controller put his training to the test to save the lives of his teammates and those they were sent in to help.

Staff Sgt. Gabe Brown was part of the response force sent in during Operation Anaconda, March 4. What began as a rescue mission would end with a fierce firefight during the battle of Takur Ghar.

Operation Anaconda was part of the on-going effort in Afghanistan to root out Taliban and Al-Qaeda forces holed up in the Pakitia Province area of the country. The operation began March 3, with the insertion of U.S. and coalition forces into the region south of Kabul. The helicopters took fire, landing a few miles away from their objective area.

Miles away at the base camp, Sergeant Brown was roused from sleep and told to start "spooling up. A helo is down."

Knowing little more than they were flying out for a rescue operation, Sergeant Brown grabbed his gear and headed to the departing helicopter.

"We only had a bit of information on what was happening," said the sergeant, assigned to an operating location of the 22nd Special Tactics Squadron at Little Rock Air Force Base, Ark.

Nearing the scene of the downed helicopter, Sergeant Brown and others on board prepared for the landing. The other Air Force Special Tactics people on board the helicopter with Sergeant Brown were Pararescuemen Senior Airman Jason Cunningham and Tech. Sgt. Keary Miller.

"The helo was (hovering close to) the ground when we took fire," said Sergeant Brown. "We were shot at by several (rocket propelled grenades) and small arms fire. The padding that lines the inside of the helicopter was flying around like confetti. All I could think of was, 'Here we go!'," he said.

The helo had landed on a flat area of mountainside. Half the area faced a cliff side with a drop off of more than 1,000 feet. The other half was dotted with trees, rocks and pathways.

Less than 20 meters from where the helicopter came to rest a hostile group just started shooting at us non-stop, said Sergeant Brown.

Four members of the rescue team were killed instantly, as the rest scrambled out of the helicopter seeking cover.

"One of the Rangers opened fire and killed one of the enemy troops. The shots were coming from every direction."

Knowing air power was essential, Sergeant Brown took cover by a rock near the landing zone. He grabbed his communications gear and linked up with the airborne assets.

"All I kept thinking was we needed (close air support) and we needed it now," said Sergeant Brown. "My job was to concentrate on bringing in the bombs to knock out the enemy, and I knew I needed to do it fast. It was almost surreal in the sense I didn't feel as if I was in the middle of all that was happening."

From his position, the Combat Controller could see the enemy fire coming from a small bunker off his 9 o'clock.

"I had an aircraft overhead carrying 500-pound bombs, but the 'bad guys' were too close to our position to drop that much ammo without risking our lives. I waved the pilot off the bomb run. I had him come around and strafe the area with guns," said the sergeant.

The aircraft made a low and hard sweep over the entrenched area, popping off rounds at the enemy troops.

"You could see the snow flying off the ground near the bunker and I knew he was hitting it," said Sergeant Brown.

The aircraft made several more passes at the enemy before indicating he was out of ammo.

Despite the thousands of rounds pitting the area, the Al-Qaeda forces kept firing.

"I kept yelling across the area at the platoon leader about our options to eliminate the bunker. We coordinated on what we needed to do to 'frag' out the enemy and blow the bunker," said Sergeant Brown. "We knew the bad guys were still hiding in the bunker. We were already two hours into the fight and it was only going to get worse if we couldn't take down their position."

Using his close air support training and skills, Sergeant Brown targeted the spot using precision bombs. The need was urgent as additional Al-Qaeda troops were pulling up the mountaintop toward the U.S. team.

"If we couldn't kill the bunker, we were going to be surrounded. We knew that we had enemy soldiers hiding in the terrain to our 2 o'clock. Effectively, they were moving in on us and we had nowhere to go," said Sergeant Brown, who has been a Combat Controller since joining the Air Force nearly 9 years ago.

The danger-close call proved effective, as the bombs skidded across the side of the mountain just in time and collapsed the bunker.

"The noise was just like it sounds in the movies," said the Controller. "You could smell the burning pine off the trees and see the snow kicking off the ground."

Staying on the "comm" link with his airborne support, the sergeant kept glued to the rock protecting himself from the volley of enemy fire. The temperatures were extreme, barely hovering above freezing. Minutes seemed as if hours, and hours past in minutes.

"It is not a stress I'd recommend to anyone. Our training prepares us for the worse possible scenarios, and this was one of those scenarios you pray is never a reality," he said. "The intensity is there and the longer it goes on the harder you fight."

With the enemy forces moving up toward the Americans and the bunker out of action, Sergeant Brown turned his attention to the rock and tree cluster on the other side of the landing zone.

"Since I couldn't use target designators, I needed some marking to be able to talk the bombs onto target," said the Controller. "I used a small tree I referred to as the bonsai tree as a reference point," said the Controller.

Working a fighter onto the scene, Sergeant Brown cleared the pilot to drop bombs.

When the smoke cleared the tree was now just a stick in the ground, he said.

Enemy resistance waned and Sergeant Brown took a breath - maybe the first breath he had taken in more than 14 hours. The reality of the firefight sank in. Somewhere in the midst of the battle his friend and teammate, Sergeant Cunningham had been hit - the wounds fatal. The Pararescueman was among seven killed on the mountainside that day.

"A lot happened in those 14-15 hours," said Sergeant Brown. "There will always be the variables you can't control. Throughout the events you are mentally tired and mentally alert. You can only focus on what needs to be done right then and there. You grieve later."

As the Americans gained control over the maddening firefight, other teams were cleared to come in and pull them out.

"We should all stand tall and take pride in knowing that all our men - those who made it off the mountain and those who did not - are heroes," said the senior ranking Special Tactics officer in theater. "In sacrificing their lives and facing down a numerically superior enemy, they set the standard for all of us. I can tell you unequivocally that everyone performed with great valor … on that there is no question."

The close air support had stopped the enemy from overrunning the Americans on the mountain, and provided a show of force against those seeking to reinforce the enemy troop movements.

With the landing zone cleared and darkness falling, the Americans were extracted from the mountaintop. Two helicopters moved in to pull out the wounded, the survivors and those who had given their lives in the fight against terrorism.

The Department of Defense released this image of Takur Ghar taken the day after the fierce firefight. The helicopter Staff Sgt. Gabe Brown was in can be seen just below the top ridge of the mountain.

The Next Couple Of Stories Are In Honor Of Our Fallen Brothers

'Leave No Man Behind'

The ultimate sacrifice: Bands of American soldiers, dropped into the high mountains of Afghanistan, fought tenacious enemies along rugged valleys and ridgelines. Some of them died, but all came back from the battle zone

Sgt. John Chapman had been driven once from the battlefield, but he went right back. Shortly before dawn on Monday, March 4, the Chinook helicopter carrying Chapman and a small reconnaissance team came under heavy fire as it tried to land high in the Afghan mountains. Riddled with bullets, the chopper limped to a safe landing zone. Chapman and his team jumped into a second chopper and returned to base-but only to regroup. Soon they were flying back into danger-to recover the body of a Navy SEAL, Petty Officer Neil Roberts, who had fallen from the chopper in the first landing attempt. Chapman's squadron officer told his family what happened next:

THE TEAM, A HALF dozen of America's toughest Special Operators, jumped out of the CH-47 helicopter into a hail of bullets. Chapman laid down covering fire as his buddies tried to set up a defensive position behind some rocks. As he blasted away at the enemy, he was shot several times in the chest. He died fighting so his comrades would live. Before the day was done, five more of his comrades would perish: Sgt. Bradley Crose, Pfc. Matthew Commons, Spc. Marc Anderson (all Army Rangers), Sgt. Philip Svitak (a flight engineer) and Airman Jason Cunningham, a "pararescue" jumper.

American soldiers do not abandon their dead and wounded on the battlefield. For Special Operators, the elite soldiers chosen to play the riskiest roles in combat, the warrior's code is a question of honor. For Eugene Chapman, John's father, the mantra is a source of pride and solace. "It's a given. You do not leave your comrades behind," Chapman told Newsweek. The military's Special Operators are generally not young firebrands. Many, like Roberts and Chapman, are family men in their 30s. After more than a decade as an Air Force combat controller, trained to drop behind enemy lines to call in airstrikes, Chapman had been ready to pack it in to spend time with his two young daughters. Then America went to war in Afghanistan. "He said that as a father, he wanted to stay home," explained his sister Lori. "But as an American, as a Special Ops guy, he wanted to go. He knew it was something he had to do."

IN HARM'S WAY

Chapman's sense of commitment, while noble, was unsurprising in the band-of-brothers world of America's elite Special Forces. More remarkable has been the willingness of the top brass to send soldiers like Chapman in harm's way. In recent years there has been a growing murmur from friend and foe alike that the United States dares not fight its wars from below 15,000 feet. America's hasty retreat from Somalia after 18 American soldiers were killed in a botched raid in 1993 emboldened Osama bin Laden to strike ever closer until he hit the American homeland. The Bush administration wants to send a different signal. By throwing more than a thousand U.S. ground troops at a large but undetermined force of Qaeda and Taliban fighters holed up in the Shahikot Mountains, President George W. Bush and his war commanders clearly intend to show they are willing to lose lives to fight terrorism.

Operation Anaconda pales next to the bloodbaths of World War II like Tarawa and Iwo Jima, which cost thousands of GI lives. But for young Americans who know combat mostly from trips to the Cineplex, the battle scenes described last week by wounded soldiers were all too real, raw and shocking in their intensity. "Black Hawk Down" and "We Were Soldiers" are vivid, but fiction cannot begin to capture the true face of battle. The action began (as most real battles do) in fear and confusion. Most of the men had never been under fire before. They were fighting in below-freezing temperatures at dizzying altitudes against a dug-in enemy that would rather die than surrender. Unprepared for the enemy's ferocity, some men panicked. But many more fought bravely.

The assault did not go as smoothly as planned. Intelligence had estimated enemy strength at 200 fighters. It now appears that the real number was closer to 800 men. H-Hour was supposed to be dawn on Saturday, March 2, but the enemy did not wait to be attacked. The first explosive blasts lit up the darkness as a column of Afghan soldiers milled around a staging point in the early-morning hours, waiting for orders from their U.S. Special Forces minders to move out. "They knew we were coming," said Said Wahidullah, 35, an Afghan soldier. "We didn't know Al Qaeda has so many people in caves and weapons." Reeling back under mortar and rocket attack, the Afghan column stumbled into a second ambush to the rear. One American-Chief Warrant Officer Stanley Harriman-and three Afghan soldiers were killed and some 40 wounded.

ON TOP OF THE ENEMY

Undaunted, American forces pressed on with the dawn raids. Chinook helicopters landed units of U.S. light infantry at the foot of the mountains. The American soldiers were supposed to be a "blocking force," intercepting enemy soldiers fleeing before the advancing column of Afghans-the same force that had been ambushed a couple of hours earlier down in the valley. American intelligence had apparently miscalculated. One company of about 80 men of the 10th Mountain Division landed almost right on top of the enemy. "We came under fire immediately, it was all over the place," recalled Sgt. Robert Healy. "I don't think they were looking for us, but when they heard the aircraft, they came running." Sgt. David Smith remembers a mortar attack as soon as his platoon gathered outside the chopper. "We all got hit at the same time," he says. The Americans ran to escape-right into a mortar round going off. "All of us fell like dominoes," Smith said. "It was crazy." Nine members of his platoon were dropped with shrapnel wounds. Sgt. William Sakisat took a hit in the left hip. "It was like somebody hit me with a baseball bat," he says.

Some young troopers went into battle cocky. "When we first took cover we were laughing," says Spc. Wayne Stanton, 20, whose laughter may have been more nervous than real. "The first few rounds were so wild we just thought it was harassment fire." But then "the first guys got hit." Said Stanton: "I started getting scared." The tables quickly turned; Al Qaeda became the taunters. "We could hear them laugh at us," said Stanton, who was wounded in the leg. "They were 2,000 feet above us. Our small arms couldn't reach them up there." ("They waved at us," recalled Sergeant Smith.) Sgt. Robert McCleave, a forward observer in charge of fixing targets for air support to attack, crept out of the wadi, the dry streambed where he had taken cover, to get a better look. He saw enemy soldiers streaming along the ridge. "There were more of them, and the next thing you know, we see them coming up over the eastern ridge as well. It was like someone blew a horn and called all their buddies."

The enemy fire grew more and more intense. "They would all come out on the ridge and shoot at us with everything they got," says McCleave. "Then they'd run back down to the other side of the ridge to their caves and come up about a half hour later with fresh ammunition." The mortar hits were becoming more precise. "They've been fighting in this terrain for 20 years," says Stanton. "They've been playing with their mortars so long they know exactly where to shoot. They've got a grid in the back of their heads. For us, it's all unfamiliar."

American air power arrived-"fast movers," F-16 and F-18 jets, and slower but more deadly Apache helicopters, AC-130 gunships and A-10 attack planes firing machine guns and rockets. The air bombardment brought only a brief respite. After retreating into their caves, the enemy fighters would re-emerge and resume the onslaught.

'WHERE'S OUR BACKUP?'

The trapped Americans called for helicopters to pull them out. "But they never came," says Stanton. "It was too hot." The men would see the choppers come over the hill, draw enemy fire and wheel away to safety. "We were all thinking: where's our backup, where's our backup?" said McCleave. Ammo was running low. The men were cold, exhausted, woozy from the altitude, stunned. "We thought we'd be taking a shoe off and swat a bee, not knock down a hornet's nest," says McCleave, who was bleeding from wounds in the thigh, arm and fingers as he huddled under a poncho.

Darkness saved the Americans. The enemy tried to draw them out by provoking them to exchange tracer rounds, which glow in the dark. But the enemy's own tracers allowed the American AC-130 gunships to zero in and silence most of the enemy machine guns and mortars. Lumbering Chinook helicopters began arriving to lift out the wounded. The last Americans did not take off until nearly midnight. The toll: 27 wounded or injured. "It amazes me that none of us died," says Sgt. Taji Moore. As he lay, bleeding and pinned down by enemy fire, Moore had observed something curious: several of the enemy soldiers were holding up the bright orange cloth flags normally used by American forces to ward off friendly fire by attacking aircraft.

He wondered at the enemy's level of preparation. "It was almost like we were set up," he told Newsweek.

The American attack plan may have been compromised by spies. The proxy Afghan soldiers used by the Americans are not famous for loyalty or discretion. But the rocky first day of Operation Anaconda did not force the Americans to back off. Responding to the pleas of battlefield commanders, the U.S. Central Command poured in more troops and helicopters in the next few days. Overhead, B-52s and other warplanes dropped hundreds of precision-guided bombs. About 700 enemy fighters have been confirmed dead on the battlefield, a high-level commander told reporters (such estimates have proved unreliable in the past). "We are killing these guys in bucketloads."

HARD LANDING

The greatest test of bravery came on the third day of the battle. The details are not yet clear, and some accounts are conflicting, but it appears that American soldiers were willing to take extraordinary risks to reclaim one of their own. At about 5:30 on Monday morning, a pair of Chinook helicopters flew into the mountains to insert a reconnaissance team. As it landed, one of the choppers was hit square on the nose by a rocket-propelled grenade. The grenade apparently did not explode, but as small-arms fire peppered the aircraft, the Chinook quickly took off again and limped, leaking hydraulic fluid, to a "hard" landing about a half-mile away. There, the Special Operations team discovered that one of its men, Navy SEAL Petty Officer Roberts, was missing. Had he been hit or somehow fallen out of the chopper in the chaotic aborted landing? Had he just been left behind?

The incident had been captured on camera, in real time, by a Predator drone flying high overhead. Back at headquarters at Baghram air base outside Kabul, top officials had watched in horror as three enemy fighters dragged off Roberts-who must have survived at least briefly, because he had time to flip on his rescue beacon. A rescue team was quickly dispatched to get him back. The next sequence of events is a little murky, but it appears that a second chopper of reinforcements was also set down a mile or so away from the first rescue team. The second chopper was reportedly greeted by a hail of gunfire and had to make a hard-in effect, a crash-landing. During the course of a long and vicious day, the two teams linked up and fought to stay alive until they were extracted after nightfall. The body of Petty Officer Roberts was recovered. The cost: six dead, 11 wounded, out of perhaps two dozen rescuers.

Operation Anaconda was meant to make up for past mistakes. While not admitting failure in so many words, the Pentagon was clearly chagrined that a force of Afghan irregulars-for all intents and purposes mercenaries hired by the CIA-had been unwilling or unable to close the noose around bin Laden and the Qaeda leadership in the Tora Bora cave complex at Christmastime. All through the winter, U.S. intelligence had watched and waited while Qaeda and Taliban fighters regrouped in the Shahikot Mountains, some 80 miles southwest of Tora Bora. When the enemy had massed enough to become a target, the United States struck by land and air. Only this time units of the 101st Airborne and 10th Mountain Division joined with Afghans to try to flush out the enemy-and then block their escape. American officials warned last week that it would be days before the enemy could be mopped up in this battle-and that other bloody battles are sure to follow.

An Act Of Courage

Surrounded by death, a young pararescueman chose to save lives and lost his!

BAGRAM AIR BASE, Afghanistan - They call it the Battle of Roberts Ridge.

The 15-hour firefight cost more American lives - seven - than any other engagement to date in the war against terrorism. It was named after the first American to die amid the snowy, 10,000-foot mountains of eastern Afghan-istan.

But so many troops performed with such extraordinary courage during that long night and day that it could easily have been named after any one of at least a dozen men. This is the story of the March 4 battle and one of those heroes.

Surprise Attack

It was approximately 3 a.m. March 4 when an MH-47E Chinook, code-named "Razor 3," approached Takhur Ghar mountain, known to U.S. forces as "Objective Ginger." The mountain dominates the southern end of the Shah-e-Kot Valley, and the dug-in al-Qaida forces there had proven impossible to dislodge in the 48 hours since U.S. troops had launched Operation Anaconda.

Riding in the back of the Chinook were a handful of Navy SEALs moving to a position where they could observe a series of cave complexes where al-Qaida fighters were concentrated. No place offered a more commanding view of the Anaconda battlefield than the top of Takhur Ghar.

But as the pilot from the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment brought the Chinook in to land, the helicopter was met with a fusillade of enemy machine gun and rocket-propelled fire that severed vital hydraulic lines. The pilot jerked the helicopter up and away without inserting the SEAL team.

It was then that the crew realized that in the chaos one of the SEALs - Petty Officer 1st Class Neil Roberts - had fallen out of the helicopter.

With the controls seizing up, it was all the pilot could do to limp north about four miles to a safer, flatter part of the valley, where he put the helicopter down.

Back at the U.S. headquarters at this sprawling air base, the night crew in the operations center maneuvered a Predator unmanned aerial vehicle to monitor the movements of Roberts. What they saw was profoundly disturbing. Within minutes of falling from the helicopter, Roberts was captured and taken away by al-Qaida guerrillas.

Maj. Gen. F.L. "Buster" Hagenbeck, the commander of all U.S. forces in Afghanistan, approved the urgent request from the remaining SEALs on Razor 3 to return and look for their buddy.

"The reputation of these guys and how they treat prisoners is pretty much known," said an Army official in Bagram. "We did not want to leave one of our people behind."

Forty-five minutes after Razor 3 had made its forced landing, another MH-47E - "Razor 4" - landed beside the damaged Chinook. Razor 3's crew and remaining SEALs climbed aboard the good aircraft, which flew to a U.S. base at Gardez, 15 miles away. There Razor 3's crew got off, and the Chinook sped back to the valley. Aboard were five SEALs and Tech. Sgt. John Chapman, an Air Force combat controller.

As the Chinook approached Ginger, the troops aboard received constant updates on the whereabouts of the enemy fighters who had captured Roberts. Razor 4 landed near where they believed him to be. Enemy fire again met the helicopter, but this time the crew managed to offload the special operators and fly off.

Meanwhile, leaders at Bagram ordered the quick reaction force to launch. On the flight line, the twin rotor blades of two more MH-47s - "Razor 1" and "Razor 2" - slowly began to turn. On board Razor 1 were about 15 Rangers, as well as an Air Force enlisted tactical air controller, or ETAC, a pair of Air Force combat search- and-rescue pararescue jumpers and another Air Force special operations combat controller.

Sitting on the Chinook as it flew south into the heart of enemy territory was Senior Airman Jason Cunningham, a 26-year-old para-rescue jumper on his first combat mission.

'He Was All About Saving Lives'

Cunningham was a bright-eyed kid from New Mexico who always had a smile on his face. Married with two children, he had only been a pararescue jumper for eight months, but his infectious enthusiasm had already made him popular with his fellow PJs. Even among the highly trained professionals of the special operations world, Cunningham's dedication to his job stood out.

"He had more motivation than any one man should have," said Scott, one of Cunningham's pararescue colleagues. "He was all about saving people's lives." For security reasons, Scott did not want his full name used.

The two years of grueling schooling it takes to earn the pararescueman's badge requires an airman to become skilled at dealing with mental and physical stresses few others could endure. The washout rate can be as high as 90 percent.

Cunningham personified that endurance.

The pararescuemen arehoused in the ground floor of the Bagram airfield tower building. Fifteen yards down the corridor are the expert field surgeons of the 274th Forward Surgical Team. It wasn't long before Cunningham's hunger to improve his medical skills had propelled him down the corridor. Soon he was spending a couple of hours every day with the medical staff, learning by doing under their tutelage.

"Every time we had a casualty event he was always the first one here offering to help," said Dr. (Maj.) Brian Burlingame, the surgical unit's commander. "His enthusiasm was just genuine to the core, which was what endeared him to us. He was like a little brother."

One of the outcomes of Cunningham's time with the surgical team docs was a decision to start sending the pararescuers out into combat with blood for transfusions. The use of blood in the field is a controversial topic, according to Burlingame.

"Blood is an FDA-controlled substance," he said. "It's very, very regulated." Special training, not to mention lots of paperwork, is required before medics are considered qualified to administer blood in the field. After Cunningham and Burlingame started talking, all the pararescuers here took the classes and filled out the paperwork.

"We then pushed blood forward with [Cunningham's] group," Burlingame said.

Despite his hard-core attitude, Cunningham had never been in combat, and he yearned for a chance to do his job in that most demanding of environments. As the first two days of Anaconda passed without him being sent forward, his frustration was palpable.

"There were two things he was really passionate about: medicine and shooting," Scott said.

Now, as the Chinook soared toward the heart of enemy territory, Cunningham was going to have an opportunity to put both skills to the test.

Another Surprise

On Ginger, the al-Qaida fighters had executed Roberts, and the SEALs' rescue mission had become a desperate fight for their own lives. As he called in close air support to keep the enemy at bay, Chapman was cut off from the SEALs. He was later found dead.

By the time Razor 1 approached Ginger, the sun was rising. The rescue force had lost the advantages of surprise and darkness. The enemy was waiting. Heavy machine gun, Kalashnikov and grenade fire erupted from the snowy mountainside as the helicopter came in to land. At least one rocket-propelled grenade hit the aircraft in the tail rotor. With the helicopter still 80 feet off the ground, bullets shattered the cockpit glass. A round smashed one pilot's thigh bone, another knocked his helmet off. To his right, a bullet or fragment ripped a silver-dollar-sized hole in the other pilot's wrist, while yet another tore into his thigh.

Seriously damaged, and with its pilots barely able to control it, the Chinook hit the ground hard, just below the peak of the ridge. Miraculously, no one was seriously hurt in the crash landing.

But the helicopter - and the troops inside - were now taking heavy fire from a series of well-protected al-Qaida positions 100 to 200 meters up the slope. As rounds peppered the aircraft, the Rangers ran off the back ramp into a hail of fire. Two or three dropped immediately, dead or badly wounded. The pilot with the broken leg popped his door open and flopped out into the snow.

As the Rangers on the ground sprinted for cover, the Chinook's door gunners laid down a base of fire with their 7.62 mm miniguns. Then those watching the action via the Predator feed back in the operations center saw the left door gunner - Sgt. Philip J. Svitak - fall from his perch and lie motionless in the snow.

"He's a black dot on the ground," said a senior NCO who watched part of the Predator tape. "He's dead. You just keep looking at him, and a minute's gone, and another minute's gone. You sit there [watching] and your heart sinks."

When it was clear that the "landing zone" was in fact a free-fire zone, Razor 2 was waved off without dropping off its Rangers.

But the surviving members of the quick-reaction force on the ground were putting up a fight. A Ranger M-203 grenadier quickly destroyed the nearest al-Qaida position, but not before an enemy fighter there had launched a rocket-propelled grenade at the downed Chinook. That guerrilla then walked almost nonchalantly back to another fighting position, where he picked up another grenade and fired it at the helicopter.

'Operating In 'A Bullet Sponge'

The quick reaction force's medical personnel, including Cunningham, another PJ who was a technical sergeant, two Ranger medics and a 160th medic, had their hands full. The Chinook's cargo area became the casualty-collection point.

It was in there that Cunningham went to work, putting into practice all that theory he had absorbed, and doing so in the most difficult circumstances imaginable. He was trying to save lives in the back of a helicopter at the top of a bitterly cold mountain, under constant fire from enemy forces that had him and his colleagues surrounded.

Just when things seemed as if they couldn't get worse, the forward compartment of the helicopter caught fire.

"The helicopter's a bullet sponge after it gets shot down, because it's just a great big target," Scott said.

As Cunningham and the 160th medic worked inside to staunch their buddies' bleeding, the enemy fire increased. Incoming mortar rounds bracketed the Chinook, landing within 50 feet of the helicopter's nose.

About four hours after the helicopter hit the ground, Cunningham decided the cargo compartment had become too dangerous for his patients. Using a small sled-like device, Cunningham dragged the wounded troops to a safer spot away from the aircraft. In doing so, he crossed the line of enemy fire seven times.

The quick-reaction force had landed perhaps 330 feet from a well-fortified enemy command post at the top of Ginger. Enemy fighters in one bunker were raining accurate fire on the U.S. troops. As the mortar fire intensified, the quick-reaction force commander decided to assault the bunker, and Cunningham volunteered to join the attack. But the senior pararescueman held him back, because the force had taken more casualties and Cunningham's medical skills were needed.

The Rangers gave it their best shot, but the assault stalled in the deep snow. However, the bunker - and the fighters inside it - did not survive for long. A U.S. jet destroyed it, one of countless occasions that day when pilots flying close air support missions came to the rescue of their colleagues on the ground.

"When our guys cried for help, everybody in the theater answered," Scott said.

Those servicemen here familiar with the battle speak in awed tones about the quality of the close air support provided by the Air Force during the battle. When the fight started, it was an AC-130 gunship circling overhead that was keeping al-Qaida heads down with devastatingly accurate fire from its 105 mm howitzer. Then, as daylight forced the slow-moving gunship to retire, fast-moving, high-flying F-15E Strike Eagles and F-16 Fighting Falcons picked up the slack, hurling bomb after bomb onto enemy positions with pinpoint accuracy.

The enemy's movements forced Cunningham and the 160th medic to move the casualties to a second and then a third location outside the helicopter, exposing themselves to enemy fire. During the last movement, the 160th medic was shot twice in the abdomen.

Shortly thereafter, at 12:32 p.m., Cunningham's luck ran out. An enemy round hit him just below his body armor as he was treating a patient. The bullet entered low from the right side and traveled across his pelvis, causing serious internal injuries.

"Untreated, you die from that," Scott said.

Cunningham must have known he was in serious trouble. But despite his worsening condition, he continued to treat patients and advise others on how to care for the critically wounded. One of the two blood packs he had brought saved a badly wounded Ranger. The medics gave the other packet to Cunningham himself, whose life was slowly flowing out in a red stream onto the white snow.

Back at the surgical unit, word of the situation on the mountain was seeping back. "We'd heard that one of the 160th medics was hit, and one of the PJs severely wounded," Burlingame said. If a medevac helicopter could get in and pick up the wounded, there was time to save Cunningham.

"The combat controller wanted so bad to say the LZ was cold so they could bring in a helicopter to evacuate the wounded, but he couldn't," Scott said. In the early afternoon, leaders directed that no more rescue attempts be risked until darkness. It was a decision made to save lives, and it probably did. But it sealed Cunningham's fate.

As the hours in the snow lengthened, Cunningham grew increasingly weak from loss of blood. Seven hours after he was hit, the other medics began to perform CPR on Cunningham. They continued for 30 minutes, until it was clear nothing more could be done. There were other lives to save. At about 8 p.m. on March 4, Jason Cunningham became the first pararescue jumper to die in combat since the Vietnam War.

As night fell, the level of enemy fire ebbed. The determined close air support from the Air Force, combined with the Rangers' and SEALs' own expert marksmanship, had done their job. Hagenbeck later said 40 to 50 enemy fighters died in the battle.

As air power pounded the enemy positions on Ginger, the sky filled with MH-47s. Three landed and lifted the survivors - and the dead - from the mountain. Seven American corpses were carried away in the bellies of the helicopters.

Back at Bagram, the medical staff was preparing for mass casualties. Word had come through that Cunningham was among the dead, but information on casualties up to that point in the war had been notoriously unreliable.

When the casualties arrived, Burlingame and the other doctors went to work in the operating room. All the wounded troops Cunningham and the other medics had treated in the battle survived.

As head of the surgical team, Burlingame also was responsible for filling out the medical paperwork on the deceased.

One by one, the doctor unzipped the body bags. As he methodically noted the likely causes of death (most had died instantly or almost instantly from bullet or fragmentation wounds), he found himself slightly relieved that each corpse wasn't Cunningham's.

"I was hoping against hope that he'd survived," he said. Then he unzipped the last body bag and found himself staring at Cunningham's lifeless face. It was too much, even for the experienced trauma surgeon, and he broke down.

"This was probably the least professional moment of my career," he said. "It was a very, very difficult moment."

Sharp though the pain of Cunningham's death was to those who knew him here, they also know that he is one of the main reasons Burlingame only had seven, not 17, body bags to open.

Cunningham's chain of command has written him up for the Air Force Cross, an award second only to the Medal of Honor. In the supporting documentation, it says: "As a result of his extraordinary heroism, his team returned 10 seriously wounded personnel to life-saving medical care."

Of the 21 Air Force Crosses awarded to enlisted airmen since the medal was created in 1960, 11 were presented to pararescuemen.

Cunningham's colleagues console themselves with the knowledge that their friend died doing the job he loved.

"He was right in the thick of it, doing it right up to the end," Scott said. "Jason was right where every PJ wants to be. He was where guys needed him, and he was saving lives."

Don't Let Grief Win, Says Widow

Valerie Chapman Consols Others

A Somerset County woman who lost her husband in Afghanistan urges the families of other fallen soldiers to beat the enemy by overcoming their grief.

"Don't ever let it get you down so badly that you can't function, because then the terrorists win," said Valerie Chapman, 34, formerly of Windber in Somerset County. "I know they won't win over me."

Chapman, who now lives in Fayetteville, N.C., offered the advice Friday for the family of Air Force Staff Sgt. Anissa A. Shuttleworth Shero, 31, of Grafton, W.Va. She was killed in a plane crash Wednesday in Afghanistan.

Chapman's husband, Air Force Tech Sgt. John Chapman, died March 4 in Afghanistan as he tried to retrieve the body of an airman who had fallen from a helicopter.

The third regional resident killed in Afghanistan was West Virginia National Guardsman Sgt. Gene Vance Jr. of Morgantown. He was killed May 19 in a gun battle with suspected al-Qaida or Taliban forces.

"When I heard the news of the girl from Grafton, the first thing that went through my mind is I don't want anyone else to have to go through this," said Lisa Vance, his 32-year-old wife.

She lives within walking distance of her husband's grave. The past month, she said, has been "hell."

"Not having the other half of my life has left a pretty big hole in it," she said.

Vance said she wishes the relatives of Shero and other slain soldiers "all the strength in the world." Vance said she is unable to offer any advice.

"It hasn't been long enough to learn anything yet," she explained.

After three months of being a war widow, Chapman said she is able to make some suggestions for others coping with sorrow.

She recommended that grief-stricken families accept whatever help is offered. She recalled not having to cook for a month, thanks to neighbors and the wives in her husband's unit.

A Catholic, Chapman suggested that church-going relatives hold onto their faith.

"Your faith is definitely tested. You can either get pulled away or get stronger, and it definitely strengthened my faith in God," Chapman said. "I may not understand that everything happens for a reason. But I know John's with God, and he's at his final home. We'll see him again some day."

Chapman also recommended that families cope with their grief any way they can.

"A lot of people tell you how you should feel or act," she said . "But listen to your own self. There is no right or wrong way to go through something like this."

Despite her upbeat demeanor, Chapman admitted that the first month after her husband's death was a "blur." She said she now feels lost.

"I've broken down and cried a few times," she said. "I have tears in my eyes almost every day, but it's always with a big smile now, thinking of him. He was what every father should be."

The couple has two children: Madison, 6, and Brianna, 4.

Chapman recalled with fondness how the family would play hide-and-seek and hold "book picnics" in the back yard, where she and John would read to their daughters.

"Some days you don't want to wake up. But you do, and the world's going on, and you have two little kids to take care of every day," she said.

"I know my husband would kick my butt if I wasn't taking care of these kids," Chapman joked.

She said the girls seem to be handling their father's death well.

"We talk about John all the time," she said. "They wear his T-shirts to bed. They look at his pictures."

One daughter even asked to watch a videotape of her parents' wedding. Chapman started the video. Then she left the room.

"It's just too hard yet," she explained, noting that their 10th anniversary would have been Aug. 22.

Meanwhile, the family is preparing to celebrate other special occasions in memory of their husband and father.

Chapman's sister-in-law, Tammy Klein, sent a book about a girl who lost her father. Chapman plans to read it to her daughters on Sunday, Father's Day.

She recently spotted Madison cutting paper hearts.

" 'When Daddy's birthday comes,' " she told her mother, " 'I'm going to celebrate his birthday and throw the hearts up in the air.' "

Her father would have celebrated his 37th birthday on July 14.

Last month, Madison was sitting on the deck of her home festooned with American flags. Gazing at a flag stuck in a bamboo lantern, Madison told her mother: " 'Every time I look at that flag, I think of my Daddy."

Madison said she feels "very, very sad." Sometimes, she confided, she thinks of her father as if he were God.

"He's powerful," Madison said, "and if he's powerful, he can do anything he wants. My Dad could carry people up to heaven without any help."

Madison also offered advice to the children of American soldiers killed in Afghanistan.

Shero of West Virginia left behind a 13-year-old son, Casey Ray Knight.

"You must not be afraid," Madison said confidently. "You should go to somebody that's nice that you know to take care of you."

John  "Chappy"  Chapman enjoying an afternoon with his Mother and family

Warrior Foundation

The Special Operations Warrior Foundation (SOWF) provides college scholarship grants, based on need, along with financial aid and educational counseling to the children surviving Special Operations personnel killed in the line of duty.  Please visit this fine organization and find out more.  http://www.specialops.org

Interesting reading and certainly we always learn from our expierences to make us better soldiers that others may live!  "First There"