A Different Kind Of Warrior

This Marine thought she lost everything when her chopper crashed in Afghanistan. She didn’t realize how tough she actually was

- Kirstie Ennis

I CELEBRATE IT LIKE IT’S MY BIRTH-day, and in a way it is. Facebook has it down; my family will never forget; my friends call. June 23, the day my helicopter in Afghanistan crashed, is my Alive Day. Because I’m alive, savoring every moment, stoked about all that I can do—snow boarding, climbing the world’s tallest peaks— looking forward to what’s still ahead. But it is also the day on the calendar my life nearly ended. Twice.

June 23, 2012. Four years into my service in the Marines, on my second tour of duty in Afghanistan, I was a door gunner on our Sikorsky CH-53D helicopter in Helmand province. We were resupplying ammunition and transporting soldiers when the helicopter went nose up and fell from the sky. Tethered to the floor with my gunner’s belt, I couldn’t move. In those brief terrifying seconds, all I could do was pray.

The helicopter smashed into the ground. I’m gonna die, I thought. Everything went black—I don’t know for how long. When I opened my eyes, all I could hear was screaming. I couldn’t breathe because of the blood clogging my nose and throat. My teeth were basically gone. So was half my jaw. Then a medic rushed to me. “Stay awake,” he shouted. I wondered how long since we’d crashed, who else had survived.

They wouldn’t give me painkillers— they were afraid how it would affect my rattled brain. I might have traumatic brain injury. My spine was damaged, my left leg useless, muscles torn, bones shattered.