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When I learned that the war story of my US Army cavalry troop was turning into a great movie, I was concerned that a Hollywood account of the battle was inaccurate. My soldiers and I had been sharing stories since October 3, 2009, when our 53 cavalry scouts fought more than 300 Taliban fighters bent on invading the fight against the combat outpost in Nuristan, Afghanistan. By all measurable metrics, my unit won the fight, but at a devastating cost: eight soldiers were killed, 22 wounded, and our camp burned to the ground.
Over the years, I learned that sharing the experience allowed many of us to express our emotions in words. That process helped us heal, but a misinterpretation of the battle would leave us talking about what the movie did wrong instead of what actually happened. I contacted the film’s director, Rod Lurie, to express my concerns. Lurie, a West Point graduate and Army veteran, listened to what he had to say and agreed to let me visit the set. In 2018, I flew on my own to Sofia, Bulgaria, to witness the making of the film based on Jake Tapper’s book “The Outpost: An Untold Story of American Valor”. Chris Cordova, an old friend and another battle veteran, came with me.
When Córdoba and I arrived on set, we were both amazed. It looked like our outpost on the day of battle. When we entered the replica aid station, I looked at Cordova. Tears ran down his face. Nine years earlier, Córdoba and its doctors worked at the aid station to treat the wounded and save the dying. One of the victims was a brilliant young specialist named Stephan Mace, whom Cordova kept alive for nine hours, transfusing fresh blood from other soldiers, including himself. The transfusion was a radical movement that brought Mace back to consciousness. Mace survived long enough to be evacuated to a nearby medical facility. It was one of the many reasons why Córdoba was later awarded the Silver Star. We were all crushed when, later that night, we discovered that Mace succumbed to his injuries while undergoing surgery.
On the day of our visit, the cast and crew were filming the scene when Mace finally arrives at the aid station. As they shot shot after shot, Cordova clenched her jaw and swallowed back tears, reliving the most traumatic day of her life. Between each take, the director and actors paused and turned to Cordova, who offered comments to match the scene to her memory. Everything was so realistic that if the cameras hadn’t been there, I would have thought my mind was playing tricks on me. I stood quietly in the corner and saw a version of the story that I previously told through letters of sympathy to the families of the fallen, in award briefs for my soldiers, and during conferences for military leaders. But I never told the story from my own perspective.
He was not in the outpost when the battle began. Years later, I still feel guilty for not going until nightfall, even if circumstances were beyond my control. Two days before the attack, he was on his way to a mountaintop observation post when the helicopter he was flying in was hit by enemy fire. The pilots landed at a nearby base and then hobbled the plane to an airfield for repair, separating me and a small contingent of soldiers from the outpost. On October 3, while Córdoba was at the aid station keeping Mace alive, he was struggling to return with a company of reinforcements. When I approached the camp that night, Cordova’s voice crackled on my radio and asked for more blood donors.
I have my own war stories from that day, but seeing one of my best friends relive his on set was the closest I could come to fully understanding his pain and anguish. It was only then that I really appreciated how important the listener’s role is in the healing process. In “Odysseus in America: Combat Trauma and the Trials of Homecoming,” Jonathan Shay calls this form of catharsis the communalization of pain, in which trauma survivors tell their stories and listeners can “hear, believe, and remember.” This is when the healing circle is complete.
In my time as a listener to a war story I told earlier, I realized that “The Outpost” was as honest as any war story. Understandable discrepancies arise when a book covering four years in a remote mountain post is compressed into a two-hour production, but the film certainly captures the essence of the soldiers’ sacrifices, as well as the love we feel and the pain. that we share. So if you watch the movie when it comes out over the July 4th weekend, know that you’re not just watching a war movie. By allowing the soldiers to tell their story, by hearing their story, you are also part of the healing.
Stoney Portis, an Army officer and Ph.D. candidate at Duke University, he is a guest contributor to the At War newsletter. He was the last Commander of Combat Outpost Keating.
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