AN RPG TOOK HIS LEG, BUT NOT HIS SPIRIT

The Iraq War Story of Army Sgt. 1st Class Joshua Olson

CHAPTER I — THE NIGHT TAL AFAR WENT DARK

The night felt wrong before the first shot was fired.

It was late October in Tal Afar, a dust-colored city in northwestern Iraq, where the lights normally glowing downtown suddenly went dark. Four Humvees crawled down a narrow road wedged between a row of houses and a school surrounded by a high wall. The air was unusually warm, still, and quiet in a way that made seasoned soldiers uneasy.

Army Sgt. 1st Class Joshua Olson sat alert, scanning shadows, his instincts sharpened by months of patrols. At just 24 years old, he carried himself like someone born for this life—calm under pressure, trusted by his men, respected by his leaders.

As the lead Humvee turned right at the school, the night exploded.

The first RPG slammed into the tailgate, ricocheting upward without detonating, leaving metal crushed like it had been hit with a sledgehammer. In seconds, Olson’s squad was trapped in an L-shaped ambush. Gunfire ripped through the darkness from trees lining a nearby wadi.

Training took over.

Before Olson could fully process what was happening, he was kneeling beside a tire, emptying magazine after magazine from his M4. Compared to this, the small IEDs and pop-shot RPGs they’d faced in recent months felt like warnings rather than war.

Just minutes away sat Bravo Company’s base—an abandoned Baath Party headquarters and old police station. It was a strange place of contrast. An Iraqi man served chicken and rice there every day. Olson and Staff Sgt. Matt Stewart passed time launching water balloons at laughing children across the street. The two sergeants, inseparable since meeting two and a half months earlier, were known as “The Sisters.”

They trained together, laughed together, and made a promise neither of them ever wanted to keep: if one didn’t come back, the other would deliver the last letter home.

“I’ll see you when you get back,” Stewart had said earlier that night.
“Yeah, big sis,” Olson replied.

Neither of them knew how close that promise was to being tested.

CHAPTER II — THE BLAST THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

Small details warned them too late.

That morning, Iraqi men had been spotted watching the compound through binoculars. One carried a bag of grenades. Moments before the ambush, Olson’s Humvees were ordered forward to provide fresh eyes.

On the street corner, Olson directed his fire teams, forcing his thoughts to slow. Then came the second RPG.

It skipped off the pavement beneath the Humvee and exploded in the passenger-side wheel well.

The blast threw Olson backward, stole his breath, and filled his vision with white light. For a moment, pain didn’t exist. He thought of high school football, of being hit hard and told to walk it off.

He tried to roll over. Nothing moved.

Hands? Working.
Left leg? Bleeding.
Right leg?

There was nothing there.

As gunfire continued, Sgt. 1st Class Charlie Nye sprinted through bullets, grabbed Olson, and dragged him back to the Humvee. Inside the speeding vehicle, Olson felt like he was on fire. The looks on his friends’ faces terrified him more than the pain.

As his mangled legs hung out the door, Olson prayed.

“God, if this is it, I’m ready. Just tell my parents I’m okay.”

A calm breeze brushed his face.

At the aid station, blood covered everything. Medics fought the impossible—no tourniquet, no compression, just seconds to stop death. Olson joked through agony, apologized for being hurt, and told his best friend what to do if he didn’t make it.

Against every odd, he survived the night.

CHAPTER III — THE WARRIOR WHO REFUSED TO QUIT

Olson woke up days later at Walter Reed, confused, terrified, convinced he was still in Iraq.

When his parents told him the truth—that his leg was gone—he refused to believe it.

But he didn’t give up.

Doctors called his survival extraordinary. His injury was rare. His recovery uncertain.

Yet Olson did what soldiers do.

He adapted.

He helped design a new prosthetic leg. He returned to service as a marksmanship instructor. He became the first disabled athlete nominated for the Army’s World Class Athlete Program.

In 2012, he stood on the Paralympic stage, medals around his neck—not as a victim, but as proof.

An RPG took his leg.

It didn’t take his spirit.