26:18
When an RPG is stuck in a Marine's leg, the military, known for its strict adherence to rules and policies designed to preserve the lives of soldiers in the worst conditions, as well as maintain discipline and order in chaos. However, sometimes those on the battlefield disregard these rules to save the lives of their comrades. On January 12, 2012, a U.S. Army medical evacuation crew was ordered on what everyone thought was a routine flight. They were in Afghanistan supporting coalition efforts in the region, carrying out missions to evacuate the wounded to field hospitals for treatment. At the beginning of the flight, they were informed that a young Afghan girl had been injured during the fighting and needed urgent
air evacuation. However, when the Black Hawk helicopter was cleared to land, they were greeted by a completely different scenario. Instead of an Afghan girl in need of help, the wounded man was 22-year-old US Marine Corporal Winder Perez. What made this situation unusual was an battlefield injury. Instead of an ordinary bullet or shrapnel wound, something much more serious and far more disturbing awaited them. " The patient has an unexploded ordnance," the landing zone controller shouted as the helicopter touched down. Once on the ground, the first crew member to make contact with the injured man was Specialist Mark Edens. He was met by a wounded Perez, who had a two-foot- long, unexploded rocket-
propelled grenade sticking dangerously out of his leg, extending all the way to his stomach. "This challenge will remain in my memory for the rest of my life," said Specialist Robert Hardesty, the helicopter crew chief. "First you land thinking it's a little girl, and the next moment it's a Marine with an unexploded RPG stuck in his body." The ubiquitous RPG-7 is a Soviet-designed hand-held anti-tank grenade launcher, first produced in the early 1960s. Despite its long service life, this weapons platform is inexpensive, costing between $500 and $2,000 per launcher. It is also lightweight, versatile, and readily available, making it a favorite weapon of insurgents and other underfunded forces, as
well as the most widely used anti-tank weapon in the world. Many of these units remained in Afghanistan after the Soviet occupation of the country in the 1980s, although there is an active arms market where they can also be purchased. The RPG-7 can launch numerous warheads, including a variety of anti- tank rockets, as well as anti-personnel fragmentation munitions. Anti-tank shells can penetrate over 750 mm, or about 2.5 feet, of armor. During its long service, the RPG-7 has shot down more helicopters than most man-portable anti-aircraft missile systems. When the medical evacuation crew spotted Perez, they had to make a difficult choice. Military regulations strictly prohibit the transportation of patients with unexploded ordnance for obvious
safety reasons. With the warhead sticking dangerously out of Perez's leg, the slightest movement could have caused it to detonate with catastrophic consequences. Although the weapon did not go off immediately, there remained the possibility of delayed detonation, which would have caused a powerful blast wave and scattered debris for meters around. After receiving information about the situation, medical evacuation captain Kevin Do asked the rest of the crew to vote. He was willing to take Perez in this condition only if there was a unanimous vote to evacuate the wounded Marine. He didn't want to risk the lives of the crew or the helicopter without the general approval of everyone on board. Without hesitation, the entire medical crew agreed, and
soon Perez was quickly but carefully loaded into the waiting Black Hawk helicopter. "Nobody had any doubt that we would pick up this Marine and get him to the hospital to save his life, " said Do. Then came the harrowing 11- minute flight from the loading point to the field hospital at Forward Operating Base Edinburgh, during which even the slightest turbulence could have led to disaster. After Lance Corporal Perez was loaded onto the Black Hawk, the flight lasted a total of 11.2 minutes, and each one seemed like an eternity, Do said in a later interview. Working in such conditions, when you don't know whether any movement will be your last, it's worth remembering that there were about 1,360 liters of aviation fuel just 45 centimeters from the
patient's feet. If the warhead had detonated in the confined space of the helicopter, there would have been virtually no chance of survival, and the Black Hawk would have turned into a ball of fire. During the flight, medic Mark Edens and crew chief Robert Hardesty quickly stabilized the injured Marine, keeping him alive and trying to avoid touching the missile that was lodged in his leg. At this time, Captain Do coordinated with personnel at Forward Operating Base Edinburgh, including medical personnel and mine clearance units, and also maintained contact with the escort, who had been ordered to keep a safe distance from the dangerous Black Hawk.
There was a risk that if the grenade detonated, the aviation fuel would also ignite, scattering debris towards the escort, which would only deepen the tragedy. After landing at the forward base, they were met at the landing zone by Navy Lieutenant Commander James Gennari, the surgical company leader at the Edinburgh base, and Other personnel at the forward base were kept at a safe distance to minimize casualties in the event of a grenade detonation. Without thinking about the danger, Gennari held Perez's hand and administered pain medication to the Marine, who remained conscious, while Summerfield got to work. The demining specialist grabbed the shell tightly and jerked it three times before it finally
came off his leg. "Well, to tell you the truth, I prayed and thanked God for everything I had," Gennari later told a news outlet about the incident. "Whether the grenade would explode or not-I left that to him, and I was only worried about keeping the corporal's airway clear." I think I did it without thinking, but I knew the Marine Corps had sent me here to save a life, he was in danger, and I felt it was my duty and my job to do it. In one of the most dramatic photographs of the war in Afghanistan, a photographer, peering from behind the safety of a sandbag barricade, captured Gennari holding Perez while Summerfield pulled the rocket out of his leg.
Once the unexploded ordnance was safely removed, Gennari and the rest of the Edinburgh medical staff began working on their patient. While Summerfield and Gennari worked on Perez, the rest of the medical staff was busy. They were preparing everything necessary to provide assistance to the wounded Marine. As soon as the scene was safe, they sprang into action, providing all possible assistance to the shocked Perez. Perez's injuries were so severe that, according to Summerfield, he would have died if he had not received timely medical attention. After stabilizing his condition, with the infamous projectile far from Perez, he was allowed to be transported for
intensive care to Bastion Hospital, a more equipped facility for complex treatment. Once again, Captain Dew piloted his Black Hawk, while Edens and Hardesty looked after Perez. Although they no longer had to deal with the horrific experience of their previous flight together, this flight was also eventful. Due to an equipment malfunction, Perez's ventilator turned off, creating a risk of suffocation. Edens and Hardesty acted calmly and professionally, manually providing Perez with oxygen and returning his condition to stability. Once at Bastion Hospital, Perez came under the care of a modern medical facility and was able to begin the long journey to recovery. Although it was only 24 minutes between the time Perez was hit by an RPG and his arrival at the
Edinburg base, there is no doubt that the quick response of Captain Dew and Specialists Mark Edens and Robert Hardesty made the difference between life and death for the young Marine. Such speed was only possible because of their willingness to risk their own lives and disregard established procedures to do what they believed was right. man who survived two atomic explosions. No one embodies the idea of being in the wrong place at the wrong time more than Japanese engineer Tsutomu Yamaguchi, the first officially recognized survivor of two atomic bombings. It was the morning of August 6, 1945, just a month before the end of
World War II. Yamaguchi had just completed a three-month assignment in Hiroshima, where he worked on designing oil tankers for Mitsubishi Heavy Industries. He was about to embark on a long train journey home to Nagasaki to see his wife and newborn son when the 29-year- old remembered that he had forgotten his "hanko"-an identification stamp popular in Japan at the time. After receiving it and heading home, he heard a hum in the air. Looking up, he saw an American B-29 bomber flying overhead, from which, in full view of Yamaguchi, a small object was dropped, descending onto the city on two parachutes. The next thing he knew, the world around him
exploded in a blinding white light, like a magnesium flash, and he only managed to dive into the nearest ditch before the sonic boom filled the atmosphere and darkness engulfed everything. When Yamaguchi regained consciousness, the morning was still shrouded in darkness. Soot and debris from the explosion nearly obscured the morning sun. His eardrums were ruptured, and his face and hands were burning from burns. He was less than 2 miles from the epicenter, and yet, by some miracle, he remained alive. Others were less fortunate. Approximately 30% of the city's population died in the explosion, and tens of thousands died in the following months.
Years later, he described his thoughts after the bombings in an interview with a British publication. I saw a huge mushroom-shaped pillar of fire rising high into the sky. It looked like a tornado, but it didn't move. However, it rose and expanded horizontally at the top. There was a prismatic light that changed in a complex rhythm, like the patterns of a kaleidoscope. The first thing I did was check if my legs were in place and if I could move them. I thought, "If I stay here, I'll die." And so, 2 hours later, a stunned Yamaguchi continued his way to what remained of the shipyard where he worked. There he discovered that two of his colleagues, Akira Iwanaga and Kenichi Sato, had survived. Unable to do anything else, the three of them
spent the rest of the day and the following night in the bomb shelter before heading to the nearest train station, which was miraculously still operational. What they saw along the way was a real nightmare. The streets were littered with bodies, and at one point the men were forced to wade through a river of corpses where the bridge had collapsed. Finally they reached a train full of similarly burned and shocked people heading home or seeking refuge in Nagasaki. Meanwhile, in America, President Truman made a statement taking credit for the success of the atomic bomb and warning the people of Japan of US plans if they did not surrender. If they do not agree to our terms, they can expect a rain of destruction from the air, the likes of which have
never been seen on this earth. This air attack will be followed by naval and land forces in numbers and power they have never seen before, and with fighting skills they already know well. With these alarming words ringing in his ears, Yamaguchi thought that the chances of the bomb being dropped on Nagasaki were very high. But despite all this and everything else he had to deal with in the past 48 hours, not to mention the serious injuries, Yamaguchi still went to work the next day, August 9 . Incredibly, his branch director was furious with the bandaged, injured, but somehow still at work Yamaguchi. He yelled at him for losing his colleagues and said that he must have made up the idea that one bomb destroyed Hiroshima and that he was
a little crazy. Imagine: getting bombed, only to get a slap in the face from your boss the next day. A few minutes later, a familiar blinding white flash of light filled the office where two men were arguing. And for the second time in three days, the world exploded around Tsutomu Yamaguchi. It was 11:02 a.m. on August 9th, and the second atomic bomb had just been dropped on Nagasaki. Another 70,000 Japanese citizens died. Yamaguchi later admitted that for a moment he thought a mushroom cloud had followed him all the way from Hiroshima. Still badly injured and furious with the director, he ignored his cries for help, climbed out the broken window, and ran home
to his wife and child, who were fortunately unharmed beyond a few cuts and bruises. There, Yamaguchi collapsed and spent the next week teetering between life and death, his temperature soaring and his open wounds burning with pain. The hospital was destroyed, and amidst the chaos there was no one to help him. When he finally came to, a week had passed, and there were shouts and cheers in the air. Japan had just announced its surrender on August 15, 1945. To this day, the morality and necessity of dropping atomic bombs on civilians is questioned, researched, and revised. Did Japan's earlier surrender justify the human casualties from the bombs? Were these unnecessary crimes that should be considered war crimes? Little-known fact: America still had
several atomic bombs ready to use and was waiting for Truman's approval to continue the offensive just 2 days before Japan surrendered. If this had actually happened, it would be difficult to accept the US argument that mass civilian casualties were a necessary part of the war. And today's view of America's participation could be very different. The long-term effects of the bombings and subsequent radiation still affect the health of the children and grandchildren of the survivors. Yamaguchi's own son, unfortunately, died of cancer at the age of 59 due to radiation exposure in childhood. And many others have suffered in a similar way.
Yamaguchi himself outlived his son and most of the other survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but he was deaf in his left ear and had to walk with a bandage for years. His wife, unfortunately, died at the age of 88 from kidney and liver failure due to radiation sickness. As he aged, Yamaguchi developed cataracts and acute leukemia. Despite this, Yamaguchi incredibly lived to the age of 93 before dying of stomach cancer in 2010. Those who survived the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were called "hibakusha" by the Japanese government, and they were entitled to government support, assistance, and free medical care.
Initially, Yamaguchi was only recognized as a survivor of the Nagasaki bombing, and he was fine with that. But later he decided it was important to officially recognize his status so that he could tell the younger generation about the horrific story of the atomic bombings. Although a 2016 documentary identified 165 survivors of both bombings, Tsutomu Yamaguchi is the person officially recognized by the Japanese government after he applied for dual recognition in January 2009 and was dual- bomb survivor status two months later, in March. In later years, when asked about his attitude towards the bombings, he replied: "They could have proven their point by dropping just one bomb. I think they were in a hurry to show their
superiority." It would have been understandable if they had used the battlefield, but they knew it would kill women, babies. How could they do this? Although today we call Tsutomu Yamaguchi the luckiest man in history, perhaps it would be better to know him as the unluckiest of the lucky, because he saw horrors that many of us could not even imagine. The flight attendant who fell from 33,000 feet and survived. Flight 367 of the Yugoslav airline JAT Airways. In 2018, a flight attendant on an Emirates flight from Entebbe Airport to Dubai fell through the plane's emergency exit, falling headfirst to her
death. The plane was still on the ground when this tragic incident occurred, and the woman only fell 30 feet to the tarmac of the runway. But what if someone fell out of a plane while it was in flight, high in the sky? Could he even survive? Well, in the early 1970s, air travel was booming, but there were several major accidents, as well as several cases of plane hijacking or bombing. Nevertheless, even in those days it was an extremely safe way to travel. On the afternoon of January 26, 1972, Flight 367 of the Yugoslav airline JAT Airways departed Stockholm for Denmark. A young 22-year-old flight attendant on board named Vesna Vulovic wasn't too worried, as they were flying on a modern
McDonnell Douglas DC-9 passenger jet that had an excellent safety record. The plane's destination was Belgrade, then the capital of the communist republic of Yugoslavia, a country that no longer exists today. A little more than 45 minutes into the flight, at 4:01 p.m., with the plane flying at 33,000 feet, or 6 and 1/4 miles, a bomb on board exploded, destroying the plane and killing all 23 passengers and all but one of the six crew members. Surprisingly, despite everything, Vesna did not die in the explosion. But now, unconscious, she faced imminent death, plummeting rapidly down with the remains of the plane from a height of 6 and 1/4 miles onto the Czechoslovakian countryside below. To put that into perspective, it would take you 2 hours to walk
that distance. This is more than 200 times taller than the American Statue of Liberty. That's 12 times taller than the current tallest building in the world-the 2,717-foot Burj Khalifa in Dubai. You would reach speeds of up to 200 miles per hour falling from that distance. And the temperature at 33,000 feet is about -55 °C. But somehow she survived. It is believed that she was saved by being trapped unconscious in the tail of the plane under a food cart. It is believed that the tail section fell in a spiral, significantly slowing its descent, and then crashed into a wooded slope covered in branches
and a thick layer of snow. All of this helped slow her fall and absorb much of the impact. By coincidence, she was soon found by a local resident who was a medic during World War II. Using his medical knowledge, the man managed to keep her alive until the ambulance arrived. Although Vesna survived, she suffered terrible injuries. Two broken legs, a fractured skull, shattered vertebrae, broken ribs, and temporary paralysis of the lower body. But after several days in an induced coma and a long stay in hospital, she made a full recovery, became a national celebrity, and appeared on Yugoslav television for many years. Vesna worked at JAT Airways for the next 20 years until she was fired
for supporting anti-government protests just before the breakup of Yugoslavia, which later became seven new separate states. Although the official cause of the flight's crash was considered to be a bomb explosion, years later a controversial theory emerged that the plane was shot down at low altitude by Czech fighters, mistakenly taking it for an enemy aircraft. Some proponents of this theory went even further, claiming that the flight was shot down because it came too close to the plane of Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev, who had just left a conference in Prague.
It was claimed that this theory was supported by evidence from supposedly official sources, as well as testimony from local residents who saw a passenger plane at low altitude. There is also the fact that the plane's wreckage was not scattered over a large area, which usually happens if it breaks up at high altitude. The Czech government denied concealing the facts and, among other things, pointed out that the flight recorder clearly showed normal flight at high altitude moments before the explosion. In her later years, Vesna lived on a state pension in a semi-dilapidated apartment in Belgrade, where she was found dead in 2016, just two days before Christmas. She was 66 years old and had been in the two decades of war in Afghanistan, the
American military has lost more than 2,400 people dead and more than 20,000 wounded from bullets, bombs, and improvised explosive devices. But the wounding of one soldier defied all the rules of combat survival, as Specialist Channing Moss was not struck by shrapnel. He was struck by the weapon itself, but he survived to tell the tale. Born and raised in Georgia, Moss came from a long line of warriors. His grandfather fought in World War II, his uncle served in Korea. His father was in Vietnam. Moss also chose the uniform, joining the U.S. Army immediately after graduating from West Hall High School. He joined the elite 10th Mountain Division, a
light infantry unit trained to fight in snow, rock, and high altitude-the kind of terrain Afghanistan is famous for. On March 16, 2006, Moss, then a private first class, was part of a convoy with the 2nd Battalion, 87th Infantry Regiment, Alpha Company. Their mission is a routine meeting with tribal leaders in southeastern Afghanistan near the Pakistani border. The weather was clear, too clear. Winter was ending, and in this part of the world, spring meant one thing-the season of fighting. The snow melts, the roads open, and the rebels come out to " play." A convoy of five Humvees and a pickup truck carrying Afghan National Army soldiers
was forced to move slowly through narrow, dry riverbeds surrounded by steep hills on all sides-classic ambush terrain, and the Taliban knew it. Suddenly the hills erupted with gunfire. The sharp bark of an AK-47 echoed from everywhere. Moss, manning a machine gun on the roof of his Humvee, opened fire on the ridges of the hills, but it was a shooting range, and the convoy was the target. They needed to move, and quickly. But when they stepped on the gas to get out of the impact zone, something worse than bullets came flying-RPGs. This stands for " Hand-held Anti-Tank Grenade Launcher," but you've probably heard its name in English -jet-propelled anti-tank grenade. That day, they were shooting with RPG-7s-a Soviet-designed weapon from the
1960s, cheap, deadly, and constantly in use in conflict zones. Its warheads can destroy tanks, helicopters, bunkers and, yes, Humvees. The rebels fired a volley. One rocket hit an Afghan pickup truck, killing two. Another crashed into the windshield of Moss' car, nearly ripping the head off Staff Sergeant Eric Wynn in the front seat. Then the unthinkable happened. Moss felt the blow. At first he thought he had been thrown onto the truck. He tried to return fire, and then noticed something strange: smoke was coming from it. I thought I had been hit by a truck and was about to open fire again. Then I smelled smoke, looked down-and it was
me smoking. Wynn turned and froze. An RPG grenade was sticking out of Moss' body The warhead pierced Moss' left thigh, ruptured his pelvis, and protruded from his right thigh. The explosive is a meter long, intact and has not yet detonated. The RPG-7 warhead has a range of about 10 meters. There were four soldiers inside the Humvee. One explosion would have destroyed everyone, but fate intervened. Also in the Humvee was a 23- year-old medic, Specialist Jared Angel. Without hesitation, he took action. He stabilized Moss's condition, bandaged his wounds, and held the rocket as still as possible. One wrong move could activate the detonator. Moss
remained conscious the entire time. Angel leaned towards him and said, "I'll do whatever I can. You keep fighting me. And I will continue to fight you." An air evacuation was called, but no one mentioned the live grenade in Moss's body. Military rules are clear. You are not transporting live ammunition, period. But when the helicopter landed and the crew saw Moss' condition, they didn't hesitate. Crew commander Christian Roberts made a decision. "We will not leave an American soldier to die in the middle of Afghanistan." With incredible care, they loaded Moss aboard and took off, effectively carrying a flying bomb. They arrived at the
Organ-E medical station. The case was handed over to surgeons, Majors Kevin Kirk and John Oh, and Sergeant Dan Brown, a demining specialist. The X-ray showed a miracle. The main explosive charge has disconnected. Only the detonator remained inside Moss, still dangerous but less catastrophic. Major O was relieved until Brown added, "That means we won't die. We'll just lose our hands." Oh stared at him. "You know we're surgeons, right?" " Yes," Brown replied. "I understand that." Brown put on his bulletproof vest, took a hacksaw, and very
carefully cut off the Then, aiming the detonator at his own chest, hoping the armor would contain the blast, he slowly pulled the warhead from Moss's body. There was no explosion. He ran outside to the safety of the pit and blew it up. Major O would later say: "It was the loudest sound I ever heard in my life." When the immediate danger had passed, the surgeons did everything they could. Moss lost most of his intestines. He was taken to Germany and then to Walter Reed Medical Center in the United States. Next to him were his wife, who was pregnant at the time, and their young daughter. Moss underwent numerous surgeries.
He learned to walk again, leaning on a cane. His left leg was never the same again, but he survived. Eventually discharged from the Army, Moss attended college and built a career helping veterans. He became a husband, a father, a survivor. Years later, recalling that day in Afghanistan, Moss said, "I shouldn't be here. A lot of us went out of boot camp and didn't come back. Thank God I'm still here." Humble words from a man who survived a direct hit by a missile designed to destroy tanks.
