Rise: A Soldier, A Dream, And A Promise Kept

First Mariner Books edition 2015

Copyright © 2014 by Daniel Rodriguez

All rights reserved

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

www.hmhco.com

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Rodriguez, Daniel, date.

Rise : a soldier, a dream, and a promise kept / Daniel Rodriguez ; contributions by Joe Layden.

pages cm

ISBN 978-0-544-36560-5 (hardback) ISBN 978-0-544-57036-8 (pbk.)

1. Rodriguez, Daniel, date. 2. Afghan War, 2001—Personal narratives, American. 3. Afghan War, 2001—Campaigns. 4. Afghan War, 2001—Veterans—United States—Biography. 5. Iraq War, 2003–2011—Veterans—United States—Biography. 6. Iraq War, 2003–2011—Personal narratives, American. 7. Soldiers—United States—Biography. 8. United States. Army—Biography. 9. Post-traumatic stress disorder—Patients—United States—Biography. 10. Football players—United States—Biography. 11. Clemson Tigers (Football team) 12. Layden, Joseph, date. I. Title. II. Title: A soldier, a dream, and a promise kept.

DS371.43.R63 2014

956.7044'342092—dc23

[B]

2014016742

Cover design by Brian Moore

Cover photograph © Brownie Harris

eISBN 978-0-544-36561-2

v2.0815

This book is not affiliated with or endorsed by any agency, branch, office, or other instrumentality of the United States.

I want to dedicate this book first to my friends who have fallen in the name of freedom, giving their last breath to this country. Second, I would like to dedicate these pages to my close friends and family who have been by my side over the years and will be in the years to come.

Author’s Note

The Battle of Kamdesh remains one of the deadliest battles since the United States began military involvement in Afghanistan. While the author’s experience in that battle plays a significant role in his life story, it is by no means the whole story. Nor does this book purport to be the definitive account of what happened at COP Keating on October 3, 2009. Entire books have been written about the Battle of Kamdesh. It is not the author’s intent to explore or explain every detail of the battle here, but rather to present what he saw and experienced—from his heated but admittedly limited vantage point—as part of a larger story.

Acknowledgments

There are times I reflect and try to comprehend how exactly I am still alive. My life has been filled with many moments, but in all those moments were great people with whom I have had the privilege to share memories over the years.

Dad, you never let me quit anything and I thank you for that. You taught me what it means to work hard and provide for your family. There were times we didn’t get along, but I always knew you loved me. I remember you telling me to go get your belt when it was time to get my ass spanked. I would cry before I even got hit, and you would tell me to stop crying and take it like a man because these were the consequences for my actions. I couldn’t help crying after you spanked me, but you never hesitated to hold me in your arms and tell me it hurts me more than it hurts you. I always thought you were full of shit, but I never doubted that you loved me. You were always there for me, and I can remember only one game you ever missed in my entire career in any sport. As a man now, I can’t thank you enough for being the father you were. The shitty part is that you’re not here for me to thank anymore and it sucks. I find myself back home about five days out of the year, and for forty-five minutes or so I sit bawling my eyes out in front of a tombstone with your name on it. I always ask you when I’m there if you’re proud of me. And I always tell you I wish you could see me playing football now. I know you would love it.

Mom, I knew a long time ago I would never be anything even close to the kid you tried to raise. Even though I took a path that traveled far from the Bible book you hold in such high regard, I want you to know how much I love you and appreciate everything you have done for me. I have come to realize it isn’t our points of view and the people we become that makes someone love us. It starts from the memories of that infant who slept by your feet while you finished the dishes, and the countless nights you scratched his back and prayed for him before he fell asleep. The compassion, love, and time someone dedicates solely to you is what unconditional love is, and I love you so much for being the best mother I could have asked for. Regardless of whether you agree with life choices I have made, you are a strong influence on the man I have become, and that is what being a mother is all about. Thank you.

Veronica, you are my sister, my blood, and my closest family member. Age was always a factor with us growing up, since you were hardly around to see me transform, but times have changed in recent years. The relationship I have with you is sacred, and even though I am sarcastic, an asshole, and always poking fun, I love you dearly. I know you hurt from the tragedies we have faced as a family and misfortunes in your personal life, and deep down they hurt me too. I am not the solid emotional stone that I appear to be. Yes, we have our means of venting as all do, but I hurt the most for you, and it’s because I love you so much. You are the most dependable person in my life and I always know I can count on my sister—from the time you wired me money to get my car out of the tow shop so Mom and Dad wouldn’t find out, to the time you wired me more money because I was stuck in a Third-World country. There is a reason that when a line on a form asks for an emergency contact I put your name down, and I put it without hesitation because you are my go-to in all my life ordeals. I once slipped you a piece of paper containing the names of all my friends, with you and Mom divvying up the life insurance money if I were to be killed at war. There are times when I wonder if my death would have benefited those around me who I love the most. Luckily, I didn’t die and I’m still here to harass you. Love you, sis.

Stephan, you once told me I tailor made your suit and I intend to ride the coattails all the way to the ground. You have not only helped stitch the outfit I currently wear, but you have been there for me for a very long time. I consider you a brother and my best friend. I have seen you marry the love of your life, and can’t wait to see you as a father in the near future. There have been moments in past relationships when arguments erupted because I told you things first, and was accused of being in love with you because of how close we are, and was told to get my priorities straight. Needless to say, you and I are still close and those other relationships no longer exist. I have never had more of a bond with or trust in someone than I do with you. You never let me become someone I wasn’t and would always call me out. Honestly, you made me a better person. You have called me stupid, crazy, and an idiot for things I have done, but the most important thing to me is that you call me a friend. Thank you for everything.

Joseph, our friendship goes very far back, and the picture hanging in my house showing us together playing parks-and-recreation soccer justifies it all. I want to say thank you for being there for me as friend, and, more importantly, for being there for my sister on multiple occasions. She wrote to me and told me how you and some of the guys helped her with the yard while I was away at war, and it always made me feel good inside knowing I had friends like you. It killed me not being home and hearing that the people I love were struggling, but the little things you did to help out mean the world to me and I will never forget them. Lastly, knowing this book will be in the hands of a lot of people, I want to clarify that I have dunked on you. Yes, you may have been the cause of a broken ankle on an attempt one time, but no matter what you tell yourself to sleep at night, you know, and everyone else who was there that day knows, I dunked on you.

Kyle, you never doubted for a second that I could play college ball, and whether you believed it or not, I sure as hell did. Thanks for being there for me and helping me achieve a dream. You and I are close friends to this day, and I am so thankful for you. I must note as well that I have never dunked on you, but there is still time.

Tim, I never told you this, but I hated seeing you deploy to Afghanistan. I had nightmares while you were overseas, and it killed me. You are one of my closest friends, and I want to thank you as well for being there for my family. You and Stephan driving cross-country to bring me a vehicle, and doing it again to help my mother move, are little moments in the past, but they are what make me appreciate you as a brother and as a best friend. Thank you for making me shoot from the Mexican three-point line.

Andrew and Sean, you guys are always there for me, and that’s what friendship is all about. Love you both.

To all those who I served with . . . There are too many to name, but I want to thank you all for the friendships we made and the good times and tough times. A few I want to thank personally are:

John Breeding, for being one of the best men I ever served for and for teaching me so much. It was an honor fighting by your side.

Chris Cordova, you were one of the first people I met in the army and our friendship is still strong to this day. We have continued to share a relationship, and I enjoy being close to you and your beautiful family. The things you and I have gone through on and off the battlefield will forever keep us friends.

John Hammel, thank you for being able to talk so damn much and keeping me awake on guard shifts through two deployments. Long nights we talked dogs and guns and made a list of every food joint we could think of to go eat at upon our return.

Brad Larson, you are one of the finest men I have ever known and quite frankly, I think of you as a legend. You believed in me when I told you I wanted to play football, and that meant so much to me. In fact the night of my first game you were the only person I cared to call because, honestly, I was nervous and I knew you would be able to cool me out. It’s always great talking to you and I can’t wait to see you again.

Clint Romesha, you, my friend, are a badass, and more than that, you are cool as hell. We have a great relationship, and I always looked up to you when we served together because I knew that you would never back down from a fight and you didn’t take any shit.

Zachery Koppes, you are a special person, and I am so glad that we are still in touch. We have had a rough road, but I assure you smoothness will someday come. Love you, brother.

Josh Emanuel, you may be the craziest SOB I have ever met, but I wouldn’t trade a single second we served together for anything. You taught me more about a mortar system than I ever could have imagined, and I was a damn good soldier because of you squaring me away as soon as I got in-country. I’ll never forget running up to your truck after it had just been hit, thinking I was going to see you in pieces, and finding you covered in black from the explosion. The only thing you said before you started spraying that 249SAW of yours was, those fucks made me lose a perfectly good lip of Copenhagen. 2up 2down.

Jassey, Keith, and Cady, I think of us as a little team who bonded so well and won’t forget all the good times we shared together. Cady, you and I are still close, and I love your family so much. As for Jassey and Keith, we have gone our separate ways and talk only every so often, but I would never hesitate to be there for you boys if you ever needed anything. Love you guys.

Joe Barela, I don’t think you ever once called me by my name—it was always shithead. Thanks for telling me to my face that I needed to tell you more about myself because if I died today you wouldn’t know anything about me.

Also, thank you to guys I served with in Iraq: Johnny Robles, Mark Raines, Brian Hinkle, Gary S. O’Neil, Jeremy Snell, Christopher Walker, Frank Cohn, Billy Carter, Justin Flourny, Antonio Keenan, and Doc Crazy Harris. And Afghanistan: John Hill, Doc Hobbs, Shane Courville, Ryan Schulz, and all others in Red, White, and Blue Platoon of Bravo Troop 3-61 CAV Black Knights.

Stephan Mace, I miss you so much, buddy. We had some great times and memories that will last me for the duration of my life. When I got word from Rasmussen that you didn’t make it, I felt like they ripped out the last bit of life I had left in me that night. You were the toughest kid I knew, and I know you suffered the last hours of your young life, and that has always burdened me. I can’t tell you enough how special your mother is to me, and how much she misses you. I see you in her eyes when I look at her, and to this day that is one of the hardest things I have to do. She is always there for me if I ever need to talk to someone, and I am always there for her. Although it is difficult to have our relationship based on these circumstances, I am so grateful that she is a part of my life, because I know if you were still alive you would be a part of it as well.

Kevin Thomson, there isn’t a day that passes when I don’t blame myself for not doing enough to get you home. You kept me sane out there in those mountains, and I cherish the relationship we had. I felt time stop when I saw you lying next to my feet, because I knew there was nothing I could do for you. Hours passed that day as the fighting continued, and I put my poncho over you when it started to rain a little, because I couldn’t stand to see you lying out there getting wet. When the fighting stopped, I was the one who wrapped you up in a makeshift body bag and tightened down all the straps on the sled, and I watched as they carried your body down to the chopper. Tears streamed down my face in anger because those motherfuckers had killed my best friend that day, and I knew you weren’t coming back. What I experienced that day triggered a nerve that will stay with me for as long as I live. I never think to myself that there is something I cannot achieve or something that can hold me back. I try to live my life in such a way that, if you were still here, you would be proud of me and enjoy watching me. To you and the other seven who lost their lives that day, October 3, 2009, I can’t thank you enough for making me a better person, one who is appreciative and thankful just to be able to call himself an American, knowing he served with heroes.

Nick Wallace, you transformed my body and believed in me. I didn’t have much money, but you kept training me. I hope my work ethic and commitment to you showed, because I don’t think I would have been in half the shape I was if it weren’t for your vision and expertise. I owe you a lot of credit for what you helped me achieve, and I will never forget our workouts.

Ryan Smith, your vision on that video was one I could never have imagined. I came to you with an idea, and you made it better than I ever could have dreamed. I gave you literally my last penny to make that recruitment video, and I must say the investment has been well worth it. Thank you and everyone at Wandering Hat.

Coach Swinney, you are the most passionate coach I have ever met. You are a little crazy at times with all your speeches and acronyms, but I never doubt for a second that you care as much about the lives of your players as you do about winning. At the end of the day, you would rather develop a man than a football player, and I can’t thank you enough for having that type of program. You did so much and never gave up trying to get me to Clemson University, and I am forever thankful to you for that. I hope that when my time ends at Clemson you will be proud of yourself for giving me a shot on your team, and a little bit shocked that I turned out to be a better football player than you probably expected. Thank you, coach.

Also, a thank you to all the coaches and staff at Clemson; seeing what you do year in and year out is amazing, and understanding that you do it for us players is humbling. Every person on the staff is dedicated not only to winning, but also to bettering as people the players they coach. Specifically, I want to thank Coach Jeff Scott, my position coach, and Coach Chad Morris, our offensive coordinator. It’s unfortunate for me that Sammy Watkins was so good, because I could have scored a lot more touchdowns.

To my teammates, I have been privileged to play with great college athletes, but more importantly, I have been privileged to play with great friends. The hours we put into perfecting our craft are countless, but the memories we take away when we leave are priceless. I want to thank all my teammates for accepting me as a family member on our team, and for forever making me feel welcome.

Compliance—Andy, Stephanie Ellison, and my girl Amanda— you guys are the magic makers, and I know my file contains some thickness to it with all the waivers and paperwork. I want to say thank you so much for working with me and on my behalf. Your office is a safe haven, and I enjoy coming in and saying hello. One day, as I promised, I will donate a new door to your office in my remembrance.

Clemson University, I want to thank you for becoming a new home. I drove down to this little slice of heaven not knowing anything about it, and will leave here with roots connecting me back to it for as long as I live. I bleed Orange now, and couldn’t be more proud to be a Clemson Tiger.

To the Clemson University faculty, fans, and community, you embraced me with open arms and countless ovations for minimal gains on the field. I could not feel more at home than I do there, and I attribute that to the culture and fan base that is Clemson University. Go Tigers.

Finally, thanks to everyone who helped make this book possible, most notably literary agents Scott Waxman and Frank Weimann, Susan Canavan and the team at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, and my coauthor, Joe Layden. Without your support, I wouldn’t have had the chance to tell my story. Thanks for believing in it.

Prologue

October 20, 2012

Clemson, South Carolina

The noise is almost deafening.

No question about it—when you put 80,000 people in one place and unite them in purpose, they can shake a building (and the surrounding countryside) to its core. As I stand here now, at the top of Memorial Stadium, preparing to lead the Clemson football team on the long downhill run to Frank Howard Field—there’s a reason they call it Death Valley—I can feel the earth trembling beneath my feet.

I am at the front of the line, an unusual and somewhat disorienting position for a first-year walk-on. But then, this is no ordinary day, and I suppose I am no ordinary college football player. For starters, I’m twenty-four years old, which makes me the oldest guy on the team, despite the fact that I’m only a freshman. I’ve spent most of the past six years in the military, serving tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. Along the way I had the misfortune of being involved in the infamous Battle of Kamdesh, one of the bloodiest encounters in the Afghanistan conflict. I lost friends that day, and no amount of hardware (I received the Purple Heart and Bronze Star with Valor in the aftermath) can ever change that fact or make the memory any less painful. But I guess this is one of the ways I deal with it: by fulfilling a promise I made to a friend who died that day, on October 3, 2009.

Someday, when I get out of this shit hole, I’m going to play college football, I had said, although I didn’t really know how I was going to make it happen.

And now here I am, dressed in orange, padded up, at five-foot-eight, 175 pounds, the smallest guy on the Clemson football team. But no matter—ain’t the size of the dog in the fight, as they say. I’d be just as happy at the back of the pack, but today is unique. Not only are we playing Atlantic Coast Conference rival Virginia Tech, but it’s also Military Appreciation Day. As I wave the American flag at the top of the stadium steps, generic cheering and shouting give way to something more organized, something more profound:

U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!

I understand the reality of being a soldier in the modern army. I know that most people are deeply disconnected from the violent and exhausting work of the American military half a world away. I know that the patriotic chanting is a gesture soon forgotten. But you know what? That’s okay. It feels good now, in this place and this time, and I’m honored to be a part of it. There’s one other thing: it’s my father’s birthday. Ray Rodriguez, who was not just my dad but also my best friend, passed away shortly after I graduated from high school. I was still just a kid when he died, and not a particularly ambitious or focused one at that. I can’t help but wonder how he’d feel if he were here now to share this day with me and to see the man that I’ve become. I like to think that he’d be proud.

Suddenly we’re moving, careening downhill, nearly a hundred strong, rolling into the stadium, into Death Valley. It’s a nickname, of course, and nothing more, signifying the supposed fate of Clemson opponents. I know the difference between Death Valley and the Valley of Death. I’ve seen both. Football is not war. Football is a game. But right now, for the moment, it’s enough. I’m lucky to be here. I’m lucky to be alive. I was given a second chance, and I plan to make the most of it.

1

IT WASN’T UNTIL I enlisted in the Army and found myself surrounded by kids who had dropped out of school or been arrested or raised in poverty that I began to appreciate what a comfortable life I’d led while growing up. Sure, there were some challenging times, but for the most part I’d had it pretty good.

For a few years we lived in Prince William County, Virginia. My father worked as an athletic director for the US Marine Corps base at Quantico. He was a veteran himself, but by now a civilian. Ray Rodriguez was a proud man. He wanted nothing more out of life than to provide for his family. He’d grown up dirt-poor in Lordsburg, New Mexico, a one-stoplight town off Interstate 10, about three hours west of El Paso, Texas. Raised by a single mom, he was one of nine children and never knew his father, so he was committed to being a better model for his own kids. (I have a sister, Veronica, who’s eight years older than me.)

There’s nothing in that part of the country. It’s beautiful, if you like the desert, but opportunities are scarce. My father knew that, so he got the hell out of Dodge when he graduated from high school in 1974,