Afghanistan, 2005:

Navy Chief David McAtee was alive when the jihadists moved in.  They were Chechens.  Foreign fighters who had over run the hide site he had occupied.  With three teammates, he had tried to escape and evade down the side of the mountain.  There were simply too many of them for him and his recon team to successfully break contact and escape.

Chief McAtee was alive when the enemy started picking over his body, beginning to strip him of his weapons and equipment to divide amongst themselves.  Shot through one lung, both legs, and through his cheek, he was in no condition to defend himself.  His arm was limp; he couldn’t even feel any sensation in it as one of the Chechens undid the clasp on his wrist watch and then let his arm flop to the ground.

Chief McAtee was alive when the Chechens cut the gear off his body and yanked away his M4 rifle off by its sling.  He struggled to breath.  His three comrades were dead, that much he knew for sure.  He had watched them die one by one.  Now, he knew that they were better off.