Private Military Contractor International April 2014 | Page 18

and I knew that the back of my head was bleeding. So my image was
that the hole went clear through. It wasn’t a very pretty thought and I
was in no particular rush to live that way. When Dustin saw the back of
my head, he thought I was dead. I was bleeding heavy and pretty well
covered with blood. He kept repeating my name, ‘Jake, Jake, Jake, talk
to me buddy’. So as he is dragging me out of the SUV, I discovered that
my vocal cords still worked and finally said something to him. I don’t
remember what I said, but the fact that words came out of me at all,
stunned Dustin. I think he damn near dropped me. It was kind of like
Dustin was thinking, ‘What the hell was that?’ It took him a second or
two to adjust to the fact that I was alive.
“He laid me down alongside the car. Of course, I still figured I was dying. All in all, I was pretty calm about my fate. I guess when you really
think you have bit the bullet and it’s all over, you don’t get too terribly
excited about that shit. Of course I still had that thing about the hole
through my face, so the first words I remember asking were, “How
do I look?” That was a dumb question because I got the stock answer,
‘You look good. You’re going to be alright.’ So I thought, ‘So much for
that bullshit, of course he’s going to say that. A lot of good asking that
did!’
“For some reason, I couldn’t stop moving my legs. Dustin was trying
to access my wounds and I couldn’t get use to the idea of just laying
there helpless. Then I heard someone say something about me lying in
a pool of gasoline. Well, that did it! Survival instincts must run deep. I
mean dying is one thing, but frying is another! I asked Dustin in a panic,
‘pull me out of this, pull me out of this’. Dustin began pulling me by
my body armor; I tried to help him by kicking at the pavement. It was
a rough go. In the struggle to get away from all the leaking gas, Dustin
asked if I could stand up. To my surprise, I did. One side of me thought,
Gee, I must be OK. I’m walking around. Then being the fatalist that I
am, I recalled stories of guys shot in combat that walk around and talk a

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few minutes like everything’s normal, and then just