numerous missions in the Gulf and Afghan and was often a mentor to Davis, helping him through training and controlling his brutal memories from the past which often held him back. He is no stranger to the nuance of working with Afghani soldiers, however, in spite of his experience in combat and knowledge of the landscape, he could not foresee what was coming. As the sun began to light up the dust-covered Ganjgal village, Evans and his men continued to march forward. They soon came to an observational point where the group divided into two groups. Davis moved with Captain Evans’ group that continued its march towards the village. “Remember to keep an eye on each other,” Captain Evans warned. Evans and his men had almost reached the village when all the lights went dark. The men had unforeseeably walked in a trap. Silence engulfed the small village, and everyone became hysterical, waiting for something to happen. “Atash!” A voice called out, as a swarm of Taliban soldiers came charging at Davis and his team. Taliban fighters opened fire towards the troops from unseen positions around the perimeter that surrounded the village. Scrambling to evade the spray of bullets, the forces took shelter, cautious of the slippery sludge that spans across the ground. The fighters launched RPGs against them and killed a considerable number of soldiers. The sweet, metallic scent of blood filled the air and created a red mist, turning the once blue sky into cherry red. Davis was in the process of hiding in the Ganjgal valley when he suffered two shots to his right arm, the bullet ripped through his body, tearing through flesh. He ran across the hilly wilderness and was soon growing wary, the only thing to>