A friend of mine here at work is friends with CPT Rozelle and gave me this. I wanted to share it with you all. Below are some excerpts from a book he wrote. A very humbling and amazing story of courage and desire to return to a normal life and triathlon.
A Price on the Captain’s Head
It’s not hard to get your mind focused for a mission when there’s a price on your head. It was the day that would change my life forever, 21 June 2003, in Hit, Iraq….My translator…spoke to me carefully, in a low voice so that others couldn’t hear…“Captain, there are men in town who are planning missions in our mosques….These men I do not know. But they are dangerous….It’s rumored that they have offered $1,000 U.S. to any man who can kill you…They recognize you as the leader, and as one who is successful and powerful….Please do not go tonight.” I responded…“You spread the word: I am powerful and I command many men….I’m not afraid and I’m not threatened.” (pp. 1–3)
The Explosion
As we began rolling again, everything exploded. My right front tire, just under my feet, detonated an anti-tank mine. The mine violently lifted the Humvee off the ground and set it back on the three remaining of four wheels. The blast was so powerful that most of it went out and up from the front tire, launching a door and tire a hundred meters away. Blinded by smoke and dust, I wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened, but I knew…that I was injured….I gave one big push and turned to dive into the arms of two brave men who ran selflessly into the minefield to save me. My good friend and fiercest warrior, Sergeant First Class John McNichols, grabbed me and said, “Don’t worry, sir, I’ve got you.”…I tried to use my feet, but neither one would bear my weight. I could hear First Sergeant Cobal sighing under the burden of my weight…Turning now to face…McNichols, I said, “My feet are messed up.”…McNichols smiled at me and said, “It’s just a walk in the park, sir.” That was the last time I ever used my right foot. (pp. 6–7)
“We are Going to do this Together”
On 3 July 2003, Mom was the first to peek her head into my room at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C., where the Army had shipped me to recover from my injury. She came in with a forced smile, showing her strength…But as soon as our eyes met, she broke into tears. I was again her little boy, unable to move and looking and feeling sick. She practically dove into the bed with me…I could tell that she had been practicing her first words to me… “David, remember when you ran that race at Zilker Park in Austin?...Do you remember how you started to fall behind and I started running beside you, encouraging you to go faster?” She started between tears, and grabbed my hand. “Do you remember me running the rest of that race with you? I did, and we finished together.” Looking into my eyes, she said, “I am here again, by your side. We are going to do this together!” (p. 34)
Meeting the Enemy
On 7 May 2003, while on my first patrol in Hit, I had my first direct contact with the enemy. My first interaction with the people of Hit was much more entertaining than I like to admit. I was riding in my Humvee escorted by two other gun trucks.…As we drove down the main street, the street filled with spectators and people on motorcycles and cars began to crowd our convoy….I called for my driver to go left...he slammed on the brakes. I heard the sound of an impact behind me and turned to find a confused Iraqi man sprawled in the back of my truck. He had been following too close on his motorcycle and was launched into the back of my truck when he collided with us. I jumped out, pulled him free, and set him on the ground. And that is how I met my first Iraqi. No shots fired. (pp. 79–80)
The Sheriff of Hit
We finally took down the weapons market. Or at least, what was left of it after the local police tipped off the dealers….As we rode in, I crossed a field behind a Bradley and sunk my Humvee to the chassis in sewage mud. The situation was ironic, because it was a perfect place for me as far as my men were concerned. To them, I was safe and sound, one less thing to worry about. After the seizure, we found no weapons but did find cached rifle ammunition and another large stash of propellant, along with eight sticks of dynamite and crates of DETT cord with blasting caps. These were all intended to make roadside bombs. Zero shots fired. Zero injuries. Bottom line: mission accomplished. Despite some butterflies in a few of the men, everyone was pumped up. That day I was named the sheriff of Hit, and the sheriff never sleeps. (p. 86)
Praying for Myself
That night, I returned to camp just in time to attend a meeting. Near the end, my commander asked me to brief everyone on lessons learned from the day’s battle. It was the first moment I had to reflect on what had happened: I was the first officer in the squadron to engage in close combat. I had killed….As a Christian, I had thought before the war about the possibility that I might have to kill. It went against everything I had been taught. After the meeting, I returned to my quarters. For the first time since coming to Iraq, I prayed for myself, rather than just for my family. (p. 96)
There Are No “Lower Men”
The chief and lieutenants would always laugh at me for going on the patrols. They told me that it was the work of the “lower men.” To which I responded, “The families of those men out there have entrusted me with their lives and expect me to bring them home. I lead from the front. I am an American.” The chief responded, “Yes, but you cannot command your soldiers if you are killed. It is too dangerous on those streets.” I thought of the irony of a police chief telling me not to go out into his own streets because they were too dangerous. I laughed and said, “You have lots to learn, my friend.” (p. 112)
“I Just Needed Someone to Hold My Hand”
I remember looking down at the foot that they were now unsuccessfully trying to splint and thinking, “How can you save that?”…I reached my hand out to my XO, but he didn’t understand what I needed. My tears were blinding me now, and I reached for a medic who was trying to tape off the surgical tubing that was running to my IV bags. I grabbed his hand, and he first withdrew, back to his work. I looked at him and squeezed, and he stopped and squeezed back. I just needed someone to hold my hand. (p. 145)
The Realization
It was when I woke up again that it struck me. It actually takes several months for an amputee to actualize the loss of a limb, but I remember waking up and looking down at my elevated stump. It was swollen to the size of my head, and throbbed with pain….After my first long sleep, I sat up and thought about what the doctor had said, that I would be running in a year. I knew that overcoming this would be the biggest challenge in my life. I wasn’t sure where to set my goals. I didn’t know any amputees. I couldn’t even imagine what a prosthesis looked or felt like. (pp. 150–151)
Greeting the President of the United States
Just as we were getting used to being home together as a family and creating a schedule for Forrest, I got a call from the White House. The Army had chosen me to be a greeter for the president during his visit to Denver in a few days…The president made his way down the line…When he turned to me, I saluted and said, “Brave Rifles, Sir!” He returned my salute, just as any soldier would, and I thought, “He is the command in chief, not someone trying to be it.” He said “How are you, Captain?” I responded, “Fine, Mr. President.” He stopped, put his hand on my shoulder, looking into my eyes, and said, “No, really, Rozelle…how are you doing?” I was dumbfounded for a minute, because I had the president in front of me, not exchanging chitchat, but asking me how I was doing. “Really, fine, sir. I survived the war, I am going to be back on my feet in no time, and my wife just had a baby boy.” “Well, Captain, you have the spirit. Are you a runner?” “Yes, sir, I am.” “Well, when you get well enough, I want to have you down to Crawford for a run.” “I would be honored, Mr. President.” He looked into my eyes again, grabbed my hand, and said, “I am proud of you, son.” (pp. 179–181)
Time to Heal
I thought to myself, how am I going to do it? How am I going to get back to active duty? I would have to apply for a ruling by the Army’s Medical Evaluation Board to be declared fit for duty to continue my Army career. But it seemed impossible at the moment. I was worried about my future and my family. I felt I had written a check that my body couldn’t cash. It was after that day that my mind started to heal…I woke that morning proud of the fact that I was overcoming my personal demons. I was starting to accept myself. I was starting to deal with my new life. (p. 192)
“I’m Free!”
I went on my first trip by myself to see my friend Josh play in a rugby tournament in Breckenridge, Colorado. It was my first time in the mountains, and as I crossed Indiana Pass, I screamed out loud. As upset as I had been just days earlier about the realization of my foot loss, I was now crying and shouting out for joy. I was alive. The mountain had never been so beautiful. As I crested the pass, I was above the tree line and could see the surrounding mountains and passes. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and I could see every turned stone and bent tree. Wiping away the tears, I sang along with the band Phish, “I’m free!” (p. 193)
Walter Reed – A Symbol of Hope
In March, I visited [Walter Reed Medical Center] again, and it was just as memorable, or more. Since the last visit, I had completed my first sprint distance triathlon and was still skiing and snowboarding…On the first day, I immediately went to Ward 57 to visit the more severely injured. After having had a few more months to heal, and the opportunity to participate in more races and events, I came better armed to talk to the soldiers. It continues to amaze me what great spirits the men on these wards maintain. Even the most severely injured soldiers at Walter Reed have certain characteristics: determined, never quitting, hardworking, positive, and able. They are American soldiers, and are a symbol of hope for all amputees. (p. 207)
“Fit For Duty”
It was only a week later, on Kim’s birthday, 4 March 2004, that my healing was confirmed and substantiated. I got a call from the Fort Carson medical evaluation board office. My case manager told me matter-of-factly to come by the office to pick up the results of the board. My heart fluttered with excitement and anticipation….I ran, and I do mean that I ran, upstairs to get my results. I found my case manager and took my file in hand. It said it all with three simple words: “Fit for Duty.” (p. 218)
EXCERPTS FROM BACK IN ACTION
By: Army Captain David Rozelle
A Price on the Captain’s Head
It’s not hard to get your mind focused for a mission when there’s a price on your head. It was the day that would change my life forever, 21 June 2003, in Hit, Iraq….My translator…spoke to me carefully, in a low voice so that others couldn’t hear…“Captain, there are men in town who are planning missions in our mosques….These men I do not know. But they are dangerous….It’s rumored that they have offered $1,000 U.S. to any man who can kill you…They recognize you as the leader, and as one who is successful and powerful….Please do not go tonight.” I responded…“You spread the word: I am powerful and I command many men….I’m not afraid and I’m not threatened.” (pp. 1–3)
The Explosion
As we began rolling again, everything exploded. My right front tire, just under my feet, detonated an anti-tank mine. The mine violently lifted the Humvee off the ground and set it back on the three remaining of four wheels. The blast was so powerful that most of it went out and up from the front tire, launching a door and tire a hundred meters away. Blinded by smoke and dust, I wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened, but I knew…that I was injured….I gave one big push and turned to dive into the arms of two brave men who ran selflessly into the minefield to save me. My good friend and fiercest warrior, Sergeant First Class John McNichols, grabbed me and said, “Don’t worry, sir, I’ve got you.”…I tried to use my feet, but neither one would bear my weight. I could hear First Sergeant Cobal sighing under the burden of my weight…Turning now to face…McNichols, I said, “My feet are messed up.”…McNichols smiled at me and said, “It’s just a walk in the park, sir.” That was the last time I ever used my right foot. (pp. 6–7)
“We are Going to do this Together”
On 3 July 2003, Mom was the first to peek her head into my room at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C., where the Army had shipped me to recover from my injury. She came in with a forced smile, showing her strength…But as soon as our eyes met, she broke into tears. I was again her little boy, unable to move and looking and feeling sick. She practically dove into the bed with me…I could tell that she had been practicing her first words to me… “David, remember when you ran that race at Zilker Park in Austin?...Do you remember how you started to fall behind and I started running beside you, encouraging you to go faster?” She started between tears, and grabbed my hand. “Do you remember me running the rest of that race with you? I did, and we finished together.” Looking into my eyes, she said, “I am here again, by your side. We are going to do this together!” (p. 34)
Meeting the Enemy
On 7 May 2003, while on my first patrol in Hit, I had my first direct contact with the enemy. My first interaction with the people of Hit was much more entertaining than I like to admit. I was riding in my Humvee escorted by two other gun trucks.…As we drove down the main street, the street filled with spectators and people on motorcycles and cars began to crowd our convoy….I called for my driver to go left...he slammed on the brakes. I heard the sound of an impact behind me and turned to find a confused Iraqi man sprawled in the back of my truck. He had been following too close on his motorcycle and was launched into the back of my truck when he collided with us. I jumped out, pulled him free, and set him on the ground. And that is how I met my first Iraqi. No shots fired. (pp. 79–80)
The Sheriff of Hit
We finally took down the weapons market. Or at least, what was left of it after the local police tipped off the dealers….As we rode in, I crossed a field behind a Bradley and sunk my Humvee to the chassis in sewage mud. The situation was ironic, because it was a perfect place for me as far as my men were concerned. To them, I was safe and sound, one less thing to worry about. After the seizure, we found no weapons but did find cached rifle ammunition and another large stash of propellant, along with eight sticks of dynamite and crates of DETT cord with blasting caps. These were all intended to make roadside bombs. Zero shots fired. Zero injuries. Bottom line: mission accomplished. Despite some butterflies in a few of the men, everyone was pumped up. That day I was named the sheriff of Hit, and the sheriff never sleeps. (p. 86)
Praying for Myself
That night, I returned to camp just in time to attend a meeting. Near the end, my commander asked me to brief everyone on lessons learned from the day’s battle. It was the first moment I had to reflect on what had happened: I was the first officer in the squadron to engage in close combat. I had killed….As a Christian, I had thought before the war about the possibility that I might have to kill. It went against everything I had been taught. After the meeting, I returned to my quarters. For the first time since coming to Iraq, I prayed for myself, rather than just for my family. (p. 96)
There Are No “Lower Men”
The chief and lieutenants would always laugh at me for going on the patrols. They told me that it was the work of the “lower men.” To which I responded, “The families of those men out there have entrusted me with their lives and expect me to bring them home. I lead from the front. I am an American.” The chief responded, “Yes, but you cannot command your soldiers if you are killed. It is too dangerous on those streets.” I thought of the irony of a police chief telling me not to go out into his own streets because they were too dangerous. I laughed and said, “You have lots to learn, my friend.” (p. 112)
“I Just Needed Someone to Hold My Hand”
I remember looking down at the foot that they were now unsuccessfully trying to splint and thinking, “How can you save that?”…I reached my hand out to my XO, but he didn’t understand what I needed. My tears were blinding me now, and I reached for a medic who was trying to tape off the surgical tubing that was running to my IV bags. I grabbed his hand, and he first withdrew, back to his work. I looked at him and squeezed, and he stopped and squeezed back. I just needed someone to hold my hand. (p. 145)
The Realization
It was when I woke up again that it struck me. It actually takes several months for an amputee to actualize the loss of a limb, but I remember waking up and looking down at my elevated stump. It was swollen to the size of my head, and throbbed with pain….After my first long sleep, I sat up and thought about what the doctor had said, that I would be running in a year. I knew that overcoming this would be the biggest challenge in my life. I wasn’t sure where to set my goals. I didn’t know any amputees. I couldn’t even imagine what a prosthesis looked or felt like. (pp. 150–151)
Greeting the President of the United States
Just as we were getting used to being home together as a family and creating a schedule for Forrest, I got a call from the White House. The Army had chosen me to be a greeter for the president during his visit to Denver in a few days…The president made his way down the line…When he turned to me, I saluted and said, “Brave Rifles, Sir!” He returned my salute, just as any soldier would, and I thought, “He is the command in chief, not someone trying to be it.” He said “How are you, Captain?” I responded, “Fine, Mr. President.” He stopped, put his hand on my shoulder, looking into my eyes, and said, “No, really, Rozelle…how are you doing?” I was dumbfounded for a minute, because I had the president in front of me, not exchanging chitchat, but asking me how I was doing. “Really, fine, sir. I survived the war, I am going to be back on my feet in no time, and my wife just had a baby boy.” “Well, Captain, you have the spirit. Are you a runner?” “Yes, sir, I am.” “Well, when you get well enough, I want to have you down to Crawford for a run.” “I would be honored, Mr. President.” He looked into my eyes again, grabbed my hand, and said, “I am proud of you, son.” (pp. 179–181)
Time to Heal
I thought to myself, how am I going to do it? How am I going to get back to active duty? I would have to apply for a ruling by the Army’s Medical Evaluation Board to be declared fit for duty to continue my Army career. But it seemed impossible at the moment. I was worried about my future and my family. I felt I had written a check that my body couldn’t cash. It was after that day that my mind started to heal…I woke that morning proud of the fact that I was overcoming my personal demons. I was starting to accept myself. I was starting to deal with my new life. (p. 192)
“I’m Free!”
I went on my first trip by myself to see my friend Josh play in a rugby tournament in Breckenridge, Colorado. It was my first time in the mountains, and as I crossed Indiana Pass, I screamed out loud. As upset as I had been just days earlier about the realization of my foot loss, I was now crying and shouting out for joy. I was alive. The mountain had never been so beautiful. As I crested the pass, I was above the tree line and could see the surrounding mountains and passes. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and I could see every turned stone and bent tree. Wiping away the tears, I sang along with the band Phish, “I’m free!” (p. 193)
Walter Reed – A Symbol of Hope
In March, I visited [Walter Reed Medical Center] again, and it was just as memorable, or more. Since the last visit, I had completed my first sprint distance triathlon and was still skiing and snowboarding…On the first day, I immediately went to Ward 57 to visit the more severely injured. After having had a few more months to heal, and the opportunity to participate in more races and events, I came better armed to talk to the soldiers. It continues to amaze me what great spirits the men on these wards maintain. Even the most severely injured soldiers at Walter Reed have certain characteristics: determined, never quitting, hardworking, positive, and able. They are American soldiers, and are a symbol of hope for all amputees. (p. 207)
“Fit For Duty”
It was only a week later, on Kim’s birthday, 4 March 2004, that my healing was confirmed and substantiated. I got a call from the Fort Carson medical evaluation board office. My case manager told me matter-of-factly to come by the office to pick up the results of the board. My heart fluttered with excitement and anticipation….I ran, and I do mean that I ran, upstairs to get my results. I found my case manager and took my file in hand. It said it all with three simple words: “Fit for Duty.” (p. 218)
To schedule an interview with Captain David Rozelle, please contact Kristen Schremp at kschremp@eaglepub.com or 202-216-0601 ext 412