PANJWA'I DISTRICT, Afghanistan (1/11/2012) - On the evening of
Nov. 12, Sgt. Adam Lundy found himself in the ROLE 3 hospital at
Kandahar Airfield. Just two hours prior, Lundy, an Alliance, Neb.,
native, was on patrol in the western side of Panjwa'i district, when
his platoon struck several IEDs.
First Lt. Nicholas Vogt, platoon leader with the 1st Battalion, 5th Infantry Regiment, 1st Stryker Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division, stands next to a village elder during a mission in Kandahar province, Afghanistan on Oct. 1, 2011. Courtesy Photo
|
|
Suffering multiple shrapnel wounds, he was MEDEVACed to Role 3
medical facility for further assessment. In spite of having received
shrapnel wounds to his face, arms and torso, he was listed in good
condition and was able to walk unassisted.
Two of his
comrades, 1st Lt. Nicholas Vogt and Spc. Calvin Pereda, were not as
fortunate. Pereda, the platoon's radio-telephone operator, had been
in the immediate vicinity of the blast area of the first IED and
suffered massive internal bleeding, which ultimately cost him his
life.
For Pereda, it was the second time in his seven months
in Afghanistan that he had been injured in combat.
Vogt, a
2010 graduate of West Point, had barely been in charge of his
platoon for a month when he had heroically pushed one of his
soldiers out of the way of a second IED and absorbed the brunt of
the blast.
The force of the blast combined with the
projectiles seriously injured the Ohio native.
As a result,
Vogt was listed in critical condition and was under constant
observation at the Intensive Care Unit, requiring a |
double-amputation and massive amounts of blood to stay alive. |
Lundy, a combat veteran of both Iraq and Afghanistan,
recalls being overcome with emotion at learning about the
condition of both of his comrades.
“I couldn't
think,” Lundy said, remembering that day. “I needed to cool
off, clear my head.” Lundy recalls not being able to
formulate cogent emotions, let alone thoughts.
“I
was just feeling so many things, anger, fear, guilt,
confusion ... all of it,” he said.
Lundy went to sit
with Sgt. Stephen Dodson; a soldier from his battalion who
oversees the battalion's wounded soldiers on KAF. As Dodson
recalls, although Vogt was still alive, the severity of his
injuries had the doctors worried.
“They opened up
his chest and had to manually massage his heart several
times in order to keep what blood he had left pumping
through his body,” Dodson commented.
The biggest
risk to Vogt's life was the fact that he had lost so much
blood—so much, in fact, that it would take 500 units to save
his life. Vogt received more blood than any other surviving
casualty in U.S. history.
This miracle was
well-documented in the American press and stood to highlight
the iron grit in Vogt's character, giving him the
recognition he deserved as a true fighter and American
infantryman. What is less known, and less reported on,
however, is the inspiring story that enabled the miracle to
take place, a story of service members from across the armed
forces banding together to save the life of one of their
own.
“I'm not sure whose idea it was to get people to
give blood ... it was sort of a group consensus after we
learned that the hospital would need donors,” Lundy said.
According to Maj. Raynae Leslie, the officer in
charge of the hospital's Aphaeresis Element, Vogt's bed was
so soaked in blood that it needed to be washed off before it
could be used further, and the doctors operating on him knew
they were going to need a lot more blood to "stay ahead on
him."
After learning from the doctors that Vogt
needed blood, Lundy and Dodson, along with Dodson's
assistant, Spc. David Beaudoin, decided that they would do
what they could to help their fallen comrade.
“I was
at the hospital,” Dodson said. “So I called Spc. Beaudoin ...
I told him to get anybody and everybody who happened to have
1st Lt. Vogt's blood type and to bring them to the hospital,
ASAP.”
Dodson stayed at the hospital to monitor
Vogt's progress while Beaudoin picked up Sgt. Lundy, and
together the two of them canvassed anywhere and everywhere
on KAF they could think of to find potential donors.
“We went to the Boardwalk, to the Wounded Warrior ward,
the R&R tents, the Rule of Law Platoon ... pretty much
anywhere we knew there would be people at,” Lundy said. “At
first, we didn't get too much of a response. Then we started
being specific, saying that we need AB positive. After we
started saying that, people started getting up to go to the
hospital.”
At 7:19 p.m., KAF broadcast a message to
all personnel on the airfield, advising “all AB blood types
[to] please go to KAF ROLE 3 immediately. Emergency whole
blood drive is activated.”
Lauren Hudson, a civilian
analyst working for Regional Command-South on KAF, stated
that the message went on “for about an hour and a half,” and
further commented that it was the “first [message] I have
seen requesting blood donations.”
Hudson explained
how between the messages and moving around with some of her
coworkers to try to find donors, the staff “was active to
see if anyone fit the bill.”
Similar scenes were
playing out all across KAF, home to personnel from not only
the Army but also the Air Force, Navy, Marines and allied
foreign forces.
Universally, service members
received a message requesting their help, and universally,
those service members were responding.
When Lundy,
Dodson, and Beaudoin returned to the hospital, they saw a
line of people stretching out the front door and down the
sidewalk, waiting to donate blood.
“There had to
have been at least 300 of them,” Lundy recalled. “Some of
them were panting and out of breath, I'm guessing because
they ran there.”
Lundy remembered seeing people from
every walk of life lined up outside the doors: Army soldiers
in their combat fatigues, Air Force personnel in their
physical fitness uniforms, some still soaked from sweat from
the gym, contractors in their slacks and polo shirts.
To Lundy, it seemed like everyone on the airfield had
dropped what they were doing to help a person they didn't
know.
Maj. Leslie, along with Tech. Sgt. Jody Haslip,
Staff Sgt. Troy Fred, and Staff Sgt. Thomas Sullivan, were
conducting the blood drive, while Senior Airman Ronique
Waite was single-handedly running platelet collections.
Leslie recalls that the required blood units were
substantial.
“The doctor wanted 10 red blood cell
units, 10 fresh frozen plasma units, 10 cryoprecipitate
units, and 10 platelet units on shelves, reserved for Lt.
Vogt before he went back into surgery,” Leslie said.
Leslie's team ran the blood drive until three in the
morning, just under eight hours. Because Vogt was due back
in surgery two hours later, Leslie released her team for
only four hours before ordering them back to resume work.
Leslie herself reported back to the hospital at 5 a.m.,
going back to her dorm only to shower before returning to
help.
It's a good thing she did—Vogt's condition
turned critical again, and Leslie found herself using
emergency reserve blood to keep Vogt stable.
“I was
issuing red blood cells, fresh frozen plasma units, and
cryoprecipitate units ... every time Lt. Vogt was taken back
into surgery,” Leslie recollected.
Vogt was
eventually flown out of Afghanistan to Germany and
ultimately arrived at Bethesda Naval Hospital, where he has
been routinely visited by his family and has undergone a
miraculous recovery.
Vogt's story of heroics and
selfless service has been a source of inspiration and hope
for thousands throughout the extended armed forces
community.
Through unmatched strength, Vogt has
proven to be a living epitome of the Army Ranger and
infantryman's oath; to display the intestinal fortitude to
fight on regardless of the odds.
It was no less a
product of the iron determination and fraternal camaraderie
embodied in the actions of Lundy, Dodson, Beaudoin, Leslie,
and the countless hundreds who answered the call to aid
their comrade in his hour of most desperate need.
By Army 1st Lt. Anthony M. Formica 1st Stryker Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division Public Affairs
Provided
through DVIDS Copyright 2012
Comment on this article |