Richard
01-07-2011, 12:26
And so it goes...
Richard :munchin
Wounded Green Beret Works To Help 'Brothers'
OCRegister, 7 Jan 2011
Seated between an actual green beret and a photo of the "beams of light" that depict where the World Trade Center once stood, Aaron Anderson talks about the day he survived a land mine explosion.
He smiles when he mentions that the weapon designed to destroy tanks shot him 20 feet in the air.
As a song about "fighting soldiers from the sky" once reminded, Anderson's demeanor comes from being one of America's best.
It was Feb, 28, 2006. His Army Green Beret unit was on patrol in southern Afghanistan's Helmand Province, an unforgiving land of rocks, rugged villages and Taliban.
Staff Sergeant Anderson, now 29, manned the machine gun in the turret of a light-armored Humvee bristling with weapons. Special Forces guys call them "gun trucks."
His gun truck was fourth in a convoy. But the electronic jammer they had to stop remotely-controlled IEDs was on the fritz, so they rode close to another gun truck to stay within its protective bubble.
BOOM.
In a fraction of a second, Anderson's gun truck disappeared inside a mushroom cloud that rose some 60 feet into the sky.
I mention that Anderson reminds me of Pat Tillman, the professional football player killed in Afghanistan. Perhaps it should be no surprise that Anderson tells me they knew one another. The fraternity of elite warriors is a small one.
Lantern-jawed and physically and mentally tough, both grew up with strong mothers, played high school football in California and loved the roughness of the outdoors.
Both also volunteered for military duty after 9/11.
Anderson and Tillman met during Airborne School. Anderson also knew Pat's brother, Kevin, who attended Airborne School.
In a laundry room in Fort Benning, Ga., Tillman and Anderson traded names of guys they both knew who played high school ball. Tillman went on to become a Ranger. Anderson joined the Army's Special Forces.
Of being a Green Beret, Anderson explains, "It's a lifestyle."
To understand Anderson's modest, matter-of-fact demeanor, it helps to know the Special Forces motto, "De oppresso liber" – "Free the oppressed." It's also worth knowing that Special Forces soldiers call themselves "quiet professionals."
When he tells you that the explosion of Feb. 28, 2006 killed his brother-in-arms, Master Sgt. Emigdio Elizarraras, 37, a 19-year veteran from Pico Rivera, Anderson speaks softly.
When Anderson landed in the blast's burning hot crater, his left leg was twisted at a 90-degree angle; a bone stuck through his boot.
The Green Beret said himself: "Damn, that's not good."
To stop from bleeding out, Anderson unpacked a tourniquet and wound it tightly around his thigh. A man of faith, he quietly said, "Thank you God. I'm still alive."
The explosion shredded muscles in Anderson's chest, damaged his hearing, detached a retina, ripped into his face and sent shrapnel through his body.
Then the firefight started.
From a nearby ridge, Taliban sprayed bullets. A fellow teammate jumped into the crater to help. Anderson waved him away to join the battle.
Ninety minutes later, a Blackhawk helicopter swooped in to evacuate Anderson.
"Am I gonna lose my leg?" Anderson asked a medic.
"We don't know."
At his security company's office in Santa Ana, I ask Anderson what he'd do if he met the person who set the mine.
"I'd probably shake his hand," Anderson replies. "I have no ill will against what they did."
Such is the warrior way.
His mother, Lori, saw her son through seven months and 24 surgeries at Walter Reed Army Medical Center. Then Anderson did what Green Berets do.
He flew to Fort Bragg, N.C., and returned to his unit.
Doctors saved the leg, but it was a mess of rods, screws and scars. The warrior couldn't run and was unable to hump the 100 pounds of gear that Green Berets sometimes carry.
After six months, Anderson decided he was taking up the slot of someone who might be better suited to combat.
"The thing I miss the most is the guys," Anderson tells me. The men he fought with, side-by-side, he says, are among the most motivated guys you'll meet – yet they remain humble.
"You see the spirit of America in them. It's what our country is still made of."
Since returning to civilian life, Anderson launched a security company called Archangel and returned to school. He'll be attending UCI in the spring.
But he also heard another calling: Help his brothers.
With the assistance of his future wife, Alexandra (they were married last year), and a board of directors of veterans, Anderson in July 2009 created the Green Beret Foundation.
Why a foundation?
"To assist our wounded, ill and injured Special Forces soldiers, and their families."
The Huntington Beach resident explains the foundation fills gaps between what is provided by existing organizations, and what is needed by Special Forces veterans. Services range from advanced rehabilitation to transportation for a family with a wounded relative.
Once the foundation is off the ground, Anderson intends to step back and let it run like the military – with a constant stream of new people. Already, Anderson says, the foundation has raised $150,000 and used that money to help 24 men.
"There are so many people willing to help, it's so American," Anderson says. "It makes me feel great every day."
A lyric by SSgt. Barry Sadler drifts into my mind.
"Men who mean just what they say, the brave men of the Green Beret."
http://www.ocregister.com/articles/-283152--.html
Richard :munchin
Wounded Green Beret Works To Help 'Brothers'
OCRegister, 7 Jan 2011
Seated between an actual green beret and a photo of the "beams of light" that depict where the World Trade Center once stood, Aaron Anderson talks about the day he survived a land mine explosion.
He smiles when he mentions that the weapon designed to destroy tanks shot him 20 feet in the air.
As a song about "fighting soldiers from the sky" once reminded, Anderson's demeanor comes from being one of America's best.
It was Feb, 28, 2006. His Army Green Beret unit was on patrol in southern Afghanistan's Helmand Province, an unforgiving land of rocks, rugged villages and Taliban.
Staff Sergeant Anderson, now 29, manned the machine gun in the turret of a light-armored Humvee bristling with weapons. Special Forces guys call them "gun trucks."
His gun truck was fourth in a convoy. But the electronic jammer they had to stop remotely-controlled IEDs was on the fritz, so they rode close to another gun truck to stay within its protective bubble.
BOOM.
In a fraction of a second, Anderson's gun truck disappeared inside a mushroom cloud that rose some 60 feet into the sky.
I mention that Anderson reminds me of Pat Tillman, the professional football player killed in Afghanistan. Perhaps it should be no surprise that Anderson tells me they knew one another. The fraternity of elite warriors is a small one.
Lantern-jawed and physically and mentally tough, both grew up with strong mothers, played high school football in California and loved the roughness of the outdoors.
Both also volunteered for military duty after 9/11.
Anderson and Tillman met during Airborne School. Anderson also knew Pat's brother, Kevin, who attended Airborne School.
In a laundry room in Fort Benning, Ga., Tillman and Anderson traded names of guys they both knew who played high school ball. Tillman went on to become a Ranger. Anderson joined the Army's Special Forces.
Of being a Green Beret, Anderson explains, "It's a lifestyle."
To understand Anderson's modest, matter-of-fact demeanor, it helps to know the Special Forces motto, "De oppresso liber" – "Free the oppressed." It's also worth knowing that Special Forces soldiers call themselves "quiet professionals."
When he tells you that the explosion of Feb. 28, 2006 killed his brother-in-arms, Master Sgt. Emigdio Elizarraras, 37, a 19-year veteran from Pico Rivera, Anderson speaks softly.
When Anderson landed in the blast's burning hot crater, his left leg was twisted at a 90-degree angle; a bone stuck through his boot.
The Green Beret said himself: "Damn, that's not good."
To stop from bleeding out, Anderson unpacked a tourniquet and wound it tightly around his thigh. A man of faith, he quietly said, "Thank you God. I'm still alive."
The explosion shredded muscles in Anderson's chest, damaged his hearing, detached a retina, ripped into his face and sent shrapnel through his body.
Then the firefight started.
From a nearby ridge, Taliban sprayed bullets. A fellow teammate jumped into the crater to help. Anderson waved him away to join the battle.
Ninety minutes later, a Blackhawk helicopter swooped in to evacuate Anderson.
"Am I gonna lose my leg?" Anderson asked a medic.
"We don't know."
At his security company's office in Santa Ana, I ask Anderson what he'd do if he met the person who set the mine.
"I'd probably shake his hand," Anderson replies. "I have no ill will against what they did."
Such is the warrior way.
His mother, Lori, saw her son through seven months and 24 surgeries at Walter Reed Army Medical Center. Then Anderson did what Green Berets do.
He flew to Fort Bragg, N.C., and returned to his unit.
Doctors saved the leg, but it was a mess of rods, screws and scars. The warrior couldn't run and was unable to hump the 100 pounds of gear that Green Berets sometimes carry.
After six months, Anderson decided he was taking up the slot of someone who might be better suited to combat.
"The thing I miss the most is the guys," Anderson tells me. The men he fought with, side-by-side, he says, are among the most motivated guys you'll meet – yet they remain humble.
"You see the spirit of America in them. It's what our country is still made of."
Since returning to civilian life, Anderson launched a security company called Archangel and returned to school. He'll be attending UCI in the spring.
But he also heard another calling: Help his brothers.
With the assistance of his future wife, Alexandra (they were married last year), and a board of directors of veterans, Anderson in July 2009 created the Green Beret Foundation.
Why a foundation?
"To assist our wounded, ill and injured Special Forces soldiers, and their families."
The Huntington Beach resident explains the foundation fills gaps between what is provided by existing organizations, and what is needed by Special Forces veterans. Services range from advanced rehabilitation to transportation for a family with a wounded relative.
Once the foundation is off the ground, Anderson intends to step back and let it run like the military – with a constant stream of new people. Already, Anderson says, the foundation has raised $150,000 and used that money to help 24 men.
"There are so many people willing to help, it's so American," Anderson says. "It makes me feel great every day."
A lyric by SSgt. Barry Sadler drifts into my mind.
"Men who mean just what they say, the brave men of the Green Beret."
http://www.ocregister.com/articles/-283152--.html