Sergeant
risks own life to protect his men It was the last place Albert Galvan wanted to be. A U.S. Army staff sergeant in the 173rd Airborne, Galvan had spent 11 months in Iraq fighting for the cause, dodging bullets and trying to keep his men alive. After that, he volunteered to load ships in Kuwait for three months, went home on leave, headed to Italy to retrain, and then ... Afghanistan? Galvan didn't want to fight any more than the next guy, but Iraq was what his unit had trained for. He lobbied to get back to Iraq, but his requests were denied. He was stuck in Afghanistan, a place Galvan and his unit had heard was pretty quiet. Nothing was going on. So when the call came in on May 3 that a handful of scouts had come under fire and Galvan's unit was activated to deal with it, they weren't expecting much. As he packed his gear, Galvan learned that two scout trucks, each with about eight personnel, ran into 20-30 Taliban. They exchanged fire. One of the trucks was damaged. The scouts were trying to escape on foot. As his unit boarded a helicopter and headed to the Arghandab River Valley, Galvan figured the area would be clear of Taliban when they arrived. He wasn't nervous until they started landing. That's when he could hear the explosions. Then the helicopter started getting pelted by bullets. The gunners opened up and began firing back. One RPG (rocket propelled grenade) hit them, then a second. The first one didn't explode, but the second one did, near the rear of the helicopter where Galvan was. It didn't blast through, but Galvan could feel the heat. Afghanistan wasn't so quiet anymore. The helicopter touched down and Galvan, along with 19 other paratroopers and 10 mortar and security personnel, set up a perimeter. They took sporadic fire as Taliban fighters moved down surrounding hills. Galvan and the seven members of his squad were ordered to clear the low ground in the valley. Though they didn't know it yet, they were faced with a series of ambushes, culminating with 15 Taliban entrenched near the river. But the Taliban's plan seemed to disintegrate from the start. The lone enemy at the first ambush got scared and dropped his weapon. He was zip tied and questioned. ''Who are you?'' ''I'm a farmer.'' ''Why do you have an AK?'' ''I was protecting my land.'' It wasn't a very believable story. At that point, radio chatter increased among the Taliban. They knew the Americans were there, but Galvan liked the position of his unit. They were surrounded by trees in an orchard. ''Whatever happens,'' he told his men, ''We'll just react to it.''
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The unit moved forward through the orchard, with its low trees and patchy grass. Up ahead was a 5-foot stone wall that ran the length of the riverbed. It was about this time that the unit was forced to react. Their prisoner was running away. He didn't have a weapon, so they couldn't shoot him. It was just one prisoner, but they needed to get as many as they could and question them. That's why Sgt. Tim Brumley took off after him. That's why Galvan was a half-step behind. Two soldiers in a foreign country chasing a prisoner through his own back yard. It was a big mistake. --- Albert Chris Galvan was a little crazy as a kid growing up in Lorain. The typical class clown. So it was probably a good thing that he left for basic training just eight days after graduating from Admiral King in 1998. A long summer would have provided opportunity for too much fun. After basic training and airborne school, he was stationed at Fort Bragg with the 82nd Airborne for four years. It was four years of enlightenment. His units were always deployed on a moment's notice. The missions always involved a level of secrecy. All Galvan's parents would get was a letter in the mail telling them their son was safe. Seven months in Kosovo exposed Galvan to extreme conditions and his first firefights. He also saw atrocities such as mass graves. It changed his life forever. He realized how good he had it back home. As 2001 neared its end, Galvan figured he had about a year left in the military. It was about time to get on with his life. But Sept. 11 got in the way of that. Galvan was on a rifle range when he heard that a plane had flown into a building in New York City. As he watched everything unfold on television that day, he knew he was going somewhere. It was just a matter of time. Galvan re-enlisted. He couldn't let his buddies go to war without him. On March 26, 2003, their time came. Galvan experienced a paratrooper's dream as his unit -- a newly restructured unit of the 173rd Airborne -- was dropped into Iraq, the first U.S. parachute jump-in since Panama in 1992. The jump also marked the 30th anniversary of the 173rd being activated in Okinawa, Japan. It was historic, but it was scary, too. Galvan didn't know if he would be shot at or if the plane would be shot down. But once he was on the plane and in the air and the five-plus hour flight was under way, the training took over. A sense of calm came over everybody. As the drop-off areas neared, the plane dived from 2,000 feet to about 500 feet in less than 10 minutes. The paratroopers, wearing parachutes and packs that weighed about as much as they did, struggled just to stay upright. They could barely walk to the door to jump out. But at about 1 in the morning, that's just what Galvan did. The sky was totally clear. The stars looked amazing. But he didn't have time to gaze. He was on the ground in six seconds. With so much weight on their backs, paratroopers hit hard. Galvan had broken bones in his foot and ankle on previous landings. But this landing was soft. The ground was muddy. In fact, some paratroopers were mistakenly dropped miles away and took 6-12 hours to fight their way out of mud and catch up with their units. Galvan, though, landed about 200 feet from a landing strip. ''Thank God,'' he thought. ''I know where I am.'' His objective was to help secure the airfield. Luckily, they didn't meet any real resistance that first night. Galvan would see plenty of battles in Iraq. His body armor would save him from bullets four times. But he wouldn't see his biggest battles until he left Iraq. And arrived in Afghanistan. --- They were on a dead run now. The prisoner. Brumley. Galvan. Behind them, the rest of the unit had taken up the chase as well. The prisoner ran through an opening in the long wall that ran the length of the riverbed. Brumley followed. As it turned out, that's just what the prisoner had hoped for. Brumley set off a booby trap as he went through the opening. Galvan was barely a step behind when the cloud of dark smoke surrounded him. He knew he was hit in the leg with shrapnel, but it wasn't bad. Brumley, though, was another story. Galvan saw Brumley disappear in the cloud and thought he was surely dead. But as momentum carried him through the smoke, Galvan saw Brumley on the ground, most of his lower right leg gone. That's when the Taliban opened fire. From maybe 100 feet away, small arms and RPGs unloaded on them. The explosions made Galvan's teeth shake. Brumley was still on the ground, screaming and trying to crawl, but he was so disoriented he was crawling toward the enemy. Galvan instinctively began firing from the hip. He saw their prisoner running and took him out. He ran up to Brumley and grabbed a drag handle on his back. Body weight and gear combined probably put Brumley's weight at 280-290 pounds, but Galvan yanked him up with one arm and threw him back behind the wall. Galvan continued to return fire, bullets flying by him. One went right between his legs before he retreated behind the wall himself. Somehow, in the longest few seconds of Galvan's life, with their backs literally up against a wall, enemy fire missed both Galvan and Brumley. The rest of the unit had taken position behind the wall and was returning fire. The sound was thunderous. EMT personnel worked on Brumley as Galvan directed his men. Looking over the wall, Galvan saw a puff of smoke and an explosion. He knew instantly what it was. The enemy had fired another RPG and it was coming right at his head. But it was coming too fast. There was no time to duck. All he could do was cringe. The RPG hit the lip of the wall and bounced right off the top of Galvan's head before landing almost a mile away and exploding. It was turning out to be the luckiest day of Galvan's life because, though the RPG knocked him to the ground, he was quickly back up and directing his men. Radio chatter indicated the Taliban knew they had wounded an American. They were going to surround the area now. Galvan was ordered to take his squad (seven men now) and head to the high ground to defend the mountain to the east. Galvan would soon realize that the 20-30 Taliban the scouts had originally reported was actually 100-150. They had dropped in on an area with high-value targets -- Taliban leaders. They were in for the fight of their lives. The rest of Galvan's unit started pushing through the valley and linked up with another squad from across the river. They came to the final ambush of 15 Taliban, who were entrenched pretty well with seemingly every type of ammunition. Galvan's smaller squad was on the high ground amid the sparse rocks. The fight below was furious. It sounded like a string of firecrackers held right against your head. Suddenly, Galvan's squad began taking machine gun fire themselves. It was coming from higher up. The squad tried to move, but the fire was so heavy they were able to advance just inches at a time. They returned fire, but the Taliban had position and were hidden. Plus, snipers were coming dangerously close to Galvan's men. He was faced with a dilemma. They needed to stay high to help the men in the valley, but that meant they would likely get chewed up bad by the machine guns. If they went down into the valley, they faced the risk of getting shot by their own men, not to mention the enemy down there. Quickly, Galvan made a decision. ''You guys watch,'' he yelled. ''I'm going to draw fire and you guys take out the guns.'' Sure, it was stupid, but there was really nothing else to do. And he couldn't tell one of his men to do it. So he stood up. Instantly, it was as if the angriest bees ever were flying past him and hitting the ground and rocks with loud snaps and pops. He made it to a boulder. Then another. And another. And another. His men began identifying the enemy positions and firing on them. Galvan tried calling for air support again, but there were so many other fights going on in the valley that his situation was seen as the least severe. Eventually, they silenced the enemy positions on the mountain and the firing died down. With a little leeway to maneuver, Galvan's squad pushed forward and got position on the enemy. By the early afternoon, more than five hours after Galvan's unit was deployed, the area was secure. The fighting was over. Despite the shrapnel in his leg from the booby trap, Galvan stayed in the area for a couple of days. When the counting was done, his unit of 30 men was credited with killing 70 Taliban. But more important than that, no one in Galvan's unit was killed. --- It's late October and Galvan is sitting on a couch in a relative's home in Lorain. Though his parents -- Albert and Patricia Galvan -- are in Florida, he always tries to fit in a Lorain visit when he goes on leave. He's in uniform, complete with paratrooper boots. On his shoulders are Airborne patches. On his left breast are rows of colors signifying his achievements. They include the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star with Valor. Galvan received both for his actions in May. ''That was the first big fight we got into (in Afghanistan),'' he says. ''It really opened our eyes. We've been in bigger battles in Afghanistan than in Iraq. I've never seen as much fire directed at us, ever.'' None of the Americans were killed in the battle, but 11 were wounded. Ten were from Galvan's unit. The worst were Brumley and another friend of Galvan's, Spec. Tyler Wilson, who had a bullet lodge in his spine, paralyzing him from the waist down. Galvan was pulled out of the area three days later and treated for shrapnel in his knee, calf, foot and shin. Actually, the piece that went into his shin came out the back, through his calf. ''It was all superficial,'' he says. ''It took about a month to get back to normal, but I still went on missions.'' And he'll go on more. Though it's peaceful sitting in this Lorain home, he would rather be back in the Middle East. That's where his men are. Still, despite his commitment and loyalty, Galvan hasn't changed his mind about leaving the military. Now 25 years old, he has made a lot of money for college through his service, and he'd like to use it. Plus, he realizes his 20s may not be the only thing running out. ''I've gotten lucky,'' he says. ''And I've been getting lucky for a long time.'' |
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