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| Danny Dietz Memorial in Littleton, Colorado, |
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| It is based off the last know photo taken of Danny |
What could be done to be considered a hero? Some say it's in the little things; holding a door for the person behind you, helping shovel the neighbor's driveway, lending your truck to a friend who's moving out. But we all know that occasionally, there are some people who go above and beyond. Some who sacrifice their own life so that another might live. There is no doubt that the acclaimed Navy SEAL from Littleton, Colorado, has earned the title of "Hero."
Danny Dietz earned the Navy Cross, the service’s 2nd-highest award for valor, the Purple Heart, the Combat Action Ribbon, and the Afghanistan Campaign Medal, posthumously.
Every day people go about their daily lives, completely unaware that a Marine is getting shot to death at that moment, that an Army Ranger is covering a grenade with his body, a Coast Guard pilot trying to keep her helicopter steady above her comrade who is grabbing three people from the water. We continue in what we call our "daily grind" oblivious to the constant struggles our Service Men and Women go through everyday.
Danny Dietz was one of these.
Dietz was a member of a dedicated team fighting the Taliban.
They deployed to Afghanistan in April 2005 as part of a four-man SEAL reconnaissance team to support Naval Special Warfare’s prosecution of the Global War on Terror. The team secretly infiltrated into the Hindu-Kush mountains Along the border with Afghanistan in late June. Led by LT Michael P. Murphy, the unit was reportedly tracking a high- ranking terrorist leader near 10,000 foot peaks when it was ambushed by overwhelming Taliban forces.
In the excerpt about the squads final moments it reads:
"We could see them plainly now, swarming down the flanks of the cliff we had just crashed down. They were moving very fast, though not nearly as fast as we had. We opened fire straight at them, picking them off one by one as the moved in on us. Trouble was, there were so many, and it didn't seem to matter how many we killed, they just kept coming. I remember thinking that the two hundred estimate was a lot closer than the eighty minimum we had been advised. (...)
The fire never slackened for five minutes. They had sustained, nonstop, that opening volley, the one fired way back up the mountain when they could not see their target. (...)
These guys were not being led by some mad-eyed hysteric, they were being led by someone who understood the rudiments of what he was doing. Understood them well. Too well. The F*cker. And now they had us pinned down behind the logs, and, as ever, the bullets were flying, but we were somehow getting the better of the exchanges. (...)
They (RPGs launched by the Taliban) landed to the front and the side but not behind, and the caused the tidal wave of dirt, rocks, and smoke, showering us with the stuff, robbing us of our vision.
Our heads went down, and I asked Mikey here the the hell were Axe and Danny, and of course neither of knew. All we knew was they were up the mountain, not having yet jumped as we had. (...)
(Axe shows up, unharmed and they continue killing the Taliban, to no evident effect)
The question was, where was Danny? Was that little mountain lion still fighting, still trying to make contact , as he pounded away at Sharmak's troops? Was he still trying to get through to HQ? None of knew, but the answer was not long in arriving. From high up on the right on the main cliff face there was a sudden unusual, movement. Someone was falling, and it had to be Danny.
The flailing body crashed through the high woods and flipped at the ski jump, tumbling, tumbling all the way to the bottom, where it landed with a sickening thump. Just as we all had. But Danny never moved, just lay there, either stunned or dead. And the folklore of the brotherhood stood starkly before Mikey and me: No SEAL was ever left alone to die on the battlefield. No SEAL.
(...) We reached Danny together, hoisted him up, and manhandled him back to the logs, dragging to what passed for safety around here. They fired at us from the heights all the way across that lethal ground, but no one got hit, and somehow, against truly staggering odds, we were all still going, all in one piece, except for the shot Mikey took.
As the residential medic, I should have been able to help, but all my stuff had been ripped away in the fall, and there was no time to do anything except shoot these bastards who carried AK-47s and hope to Christ they'd give up. Or at least run out of those RPGs. they could hurt someone if they weren't careful. F*ckers.
Danny fought back, cleared his head, and tried to get up. But his face was rigid. He was in terrible pain. And then I saw the blood pouring from out of his hand. (...)
I stared at Danny's right hand. His thumb had been blown right off. And I saw him grit his teeth and nod, sweat streaming down his blackened face. He adjusted his rifle, banged in a new magazine with the butt of his hand, and took his place in the center of our little gun line. Then he turned to face the enemy once more. He was a bullmastiff, glaring up the mountain, and he opened fire with everything he had. (...)
We must have killed fifty or more of them, and all four of us were still fighting. I guess they probably noticed that, because they were prepared to fight to the last man. (...)
There were so many of them, and we found ourselves slipping inexorably back down the hill as the turbaned warriors closed in on us, driving us back by sheer weight of numbers, sheer volume of fire. (...)
I'm guessing a dozen SEALs could have held and then destroyed them, but that would have been odds of about ten or eleven to one. We were only four, and that was probably thirty-five to one. Which is known, in military vernacular, as a balls-to-the-wall situation.(...)
We moved back against the rocks, and Danny was shot again. They hit him in his lower back, and the bullet blew out of his stomach. He was still firing, Christ knows how but he was. Danny's mouth was open, and there was blood trickling out. There was blood absolutely everywhere. (...)
And then they opened up with the grenades again. We say the white smoke streaking through the air. (...) And when they blew, the blast was overpowering, echoing from the granite rocks that surrounded us on three sides. (...)
Murph and Danny had picked up the fight on the left and were still firing, still hitting them pretty good. (...)
No three guys ever fought with higher courage than my buddies up there in those mountains. And damn near surrounded as we were, we still believed we would ultimately defeat our enemy.
But then Danny was shot again. Right through the neck, and he went down beside me. He dropped his rifle and slumped to the ground. I reached down to grab him and drag him closer to the rock face, but he managed to clamber to his feet, trying to tell me was okay, even though he'd been shot four times.
Danny couldn't speak now, but he wouldn't give in. He propped himself up against a rock for cover and opened fire again at the Taliban, signaling he might need a new magazine as his very lifeblood poured out of him. I just stood there for a moment, helplessly, fighting back my tears, witnessing a brand of valor I had never before been privileged to see. What a guy. What a friend."
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| Danny Dietz and Marcus Luttrell |
That was what ended chapter 7 with the squad hoping that they would be able to make it to the village where they could effectively hold off the Taliban. In chapter 8, the squad once more jumps down the sheer cliff, Axe and Marcus go first. On the way down, Marcus gets stuck on a tree trunk, and RPG hits the trunk and send him flying over the cliff. Marcus survives the fall unharmed.
"And there right next to me on the ground was my rifle, placed there by the Hand of God Himself."
Marcus then rejoins Axe who had made it down without incident and they continue the fight:
"It had been about forty minutes, but it seemed like ten years, and we were both still going.
So, for that matter, were Mikey and Danny, and somehow they had both made the leap down here to the lower level, near the stream, where the Taliban assault was not quite so bad. Yet. We looked, by the way, shocking, especially Danny, who was covered head to toe in blood. (...)
We were trapped again. There were still around eighty of these maniacs coming down at us, and that's a hell of a lot of enemies. I'm not sure what their casualty rate was, because both Mikey and I estimated Sharmak had thrown 140 minimum into this fight. Whatever, they were still there, and I was not sure how long Danny could keep going. (...)
Once more, hundred of bullets were ricocheting around our rocky surroundings. And once more, the Taliban went to the grenades, blasting the terrain around us to pieces. Jammed between rocks, we kept firing, but Danny was in all kinds of trouble, and I was afraid he might lose consciousness.
That was when they shot him again, right at the base of his neck. I watched in horror as Danny went down, this beautiful guy, husband of Patsy, a friend of mine for four years, a guy who had always been last away while we retreated, a guy who had provided our covering fire until he couldn't stand anymore.
And now he lay on the ground, blood pouring from his five wounds. And I was supposed to be a f*cking SEAL medic, and I could not do a damn thing for him without getting us all killed. I dropped my rifle and climbed over the rock, running across open ground to get to him. All right. All right. No hero bullsh*t. I was crying like a baby.
Danny was saturated in blood, still conscious, still trying to fire his rifle at the enemy. But he was in a face-down position. I told him to take it easy while I turned him over.
"C'mon, Dan, we're gonna be all right."
He nodded, and I knew he could not speak and would probably never speak again. What I really remember is, he would not let go of his rifle. I raised him be the shoulders and hauled him into an almost sitting position. Then grasping him under the arms, I started to drag him backward, toward cover. And would you believe, that little iron-man opened fire at the enemy once again, almost lying on his back, blasting away up the hill while I kept dragging.
We'd gone about eighty yards when everything I dreaded came true. Here I was, just about defenseless, trying to walk backward, both hands full, when a Taliban fighter suddenly loomed up out of the rocks to our right. He was right on top of us, looking down, a smile on his face as he aimed that AK-47 straight at my head.
Neither of us saw him in time to return fire. I just said a quick prayer and stared back at him. Which was precisely when Axe banged two bullets right between his eyes, killed that tribesman stone dead instantly. I didn't have time to thank him, because the grenades were still coming in, and I just kept trying to drag Danny to safety. And, like Axe, Danny kept firing.
I got him to the rock face just a few yards from Mikey. (...)
They attempt another retreat and Axe is shot in the chest but keeps going, Axe and Mikey retreat down the cliff.
"It's okay Danny," I kept saying. "We just need to catch up with the others. It's gonna be all right."
Right then a bullet caught him full in the upper part of his face. I heard it hit home, I turned to help him, and the blood from his head wound spilled over us both. I called out to him. But it was too late. He wasn't fighting the terrible pain anymore. And he couldn't hear me. Danny Dietz died right there in my arms. I don't know how quickly hearts break, but that nearly broke mine.
And still the gunfire never abated. I dragged Danny off the open ground maybe five feet, and then I said good-bye. I lowered him down, and I had to leave him else die out here with him. But I knew one thing for certain. I still had my rifle and I was not alone, and neither was Danny, a devout Roman Catholic. I left him with God.
It makes you think...what Danny had to go through. Most people can't stand hangnails and cringe at the pain brought from tearing them off. Some people say "Stubbing my toes kills me." or "Cutting myself shaving kills me." Danny Dietz took six bullets before he was killed. The amount of blinding pain would be unbearable. But he bore it, and he kept fighting till the very end. He fought till he couldn't fight anymore, and had there been a way, I don't doubt that he would still be fighting. One bullet is enough to kill a man, but Danny was a special case. He was too strong to be brought down by mere gunfire, too strong to give up after his fifth wound.
Could you have held out that long? Could you have endured that much pain? Could you have kept going when you'd lost so much blood that it shouldn't have been possible?
Danny could. Because he believed in something greater than himself. He believed in a Nation free of oppression, a Nation that deserved nothing but the most excellent service.
And he believed in his team, his friends, that they were worth dying for. Danny left a lot behind when he was finally shot down back in Afghanistan.
I think that Danny Dietz is a fitting model for what all Americans should strive to be like. You may not have to die as he did, but just stand up for what he did. Believe what he believed. And live for what he lived for. He was a hero. One that deserves the highest respect. An icon of what all soldiers should strive to be. As Americans it's all the same in the long run. We stand for, believe in, and live for, one Nation. A Nation of freedom.
Bibliography
Luttrel, Marcus: Lone Survivor. Little, Brown and Company; 1 edition (June 12, 2007)
SEALS.com http://www.navyseals.com/danny-p-dietz
http://www.littletongov.org/history/dietz/default.asp
Military Times.com http://militarytimes.com/valor/navy-gunners-mate-2nd-class-seal-danny-p-dietz/958396/
http://ourmilitaryheroes.defense.gov/profiles/dietzD.html
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