The events in this book are all true.
Parts of my story have been retold publicly by third parties in books, in the Hollywood film Act of Valor, and in various media reports. Prior to the release of these books, media reports, and film, I was never consulted, nor did I provide any details about my story to any of these third-party reports. The complete firsthand account of what happened to me and my SEAL platoon on April 6 and 7, 2007, and the events before and after that time, have never been released until now. I have constructed the dialogue from various sources, including my own memory. Thus, the dialogue may not be exactly word for word; however, the meaning of what was said is accurate. Lastly, for security reasons I have changed the names of many of the key people and places in this story.
If youre really lucky in life, you will have an opportunity to meet someone like Mike Day. Someone who has overcome so many challenges, whose spirit seems unbreakable, whose heroism is matched only by their humility and whose compassion for their fellow warriors knows no limits.
I first met Mike in 1994, when I was the new commanding officer of SEAL Team 3 in Coronado, California. Every morning the entire team would muster for physical training (PT) on the grinder, a large patch of asphalt behind the headquarters building. Gathering in a circle, we would do our calisthenics for an hour and then go for a long run or tackle a grueling obstacle course. But the daily ritual on the grinder was much more than just doing PT. It was where the team came together to test one anotherto find one anothers weaknesses and exploit them to the amusement of everyone else. It was a full-on, testosterone-raging alpha-male harassment session that left no one unscathed, including the commanding officer. It was also the place where I could measure the morale of the team. It was where you quickly assessed who were the leaders in the command and who were the followerswho was respected and who was left wanting.
It didnt take me long to see that Mike Day was one of the leaders, and, even though quite junior at the time, he was highly respected by his fellow SEALs. Mike had a wicked sense of humor and a quick wit that he used to great effect on the other members of the team. But he was equally self-effacing and was more often to be the butt of his own jokes. Mike was the guy you wanted in your SEAL platoon. He always had a smile on his face, always laughing about something. Always willing to help. And always taking the jobs no one else wanted. He was the perfect SEAL swim buddy.
Mike eventually transferred to the Navy parachute team, and, just as he was regarded during his time at SEAL Team Three, he was universally liked and respected by the other SEALs. As I moved on and Mike transferred to another command, I lost track of him.
Fifteen years later, as I stood outside the Intensive Care Unit at the military hospital in Landsthul, Germany, I wondered how much Mike Day might have changed. He had just been AIREVACed from Iraq after having been shot twenty-seven times by al-Qaida fighters. As I walked into his room, struggling with what I might say to a man so badly injured, I heard Mike yell from his bedside, Hey, Skipper! What the hell are you doing here? A big smile came across his face, then he laughed and motioned me to his bedside. Looking down at his body, I was stunned at what I saw. Hardly an inch of his flesh wasnt covered with bullet holes. In all my years of talking to wounded soldiers in the ICU, I had never seen anyone so badly shot up. He was as animated as alwaysharassing me about our time at SEAL Team Three and laughing about his current situation. I knew that morphine and life-saving drugs were pulsing through his veins and I guessed that he would never remember our conversation. He soon fell back to sleep, and I left him to rest.
Mike returned to the States and, over the years, I watched as he recovered from his wounds. Little did I know at the time that Mikes trauma went much deeper than just the bullet holes in his body.
Perfectly Wounded is a raw, uncensored look at one mans survival from a childhood of pain and unspeakable horrors to a life of service, a legacy of remarkable courage and unwavering commitment, and, above all, duty to others. Mike Days life will not be defined by his wounds, seen or unseen, but by how he coped with their aftermath. It will not be defined by that fateful day in Iraq, but by the life that followed and countless wounded warriors he helped. This book is for every man and woman who struggles in life and is looking for how best to overcome the challenges with dignity, honor, and compassion. This book is for everyone.
Admiral William H. McRaven
(U.S. Navy, Retired)
Recollections from Lt. Chris Tyll, Navy SEAL
I was a newly minted Navy SEAL officer when I arrived in Iraq and met Mike Day. He was the chief, the senior enlisted guy in Foxtrot platoon. I was assigned to Echo, our sister platoon. Chief Day was hard, even by Navy SEAL standards, and repetition was his brand: he would have us all do ball-busting training over and over again, and just when you thought you were done for the day, he would say, Lets do it again.
It would be a big mistake to believe that Chief Day was not prepared for anything; to him, that mind-set seemed amateurish. Mike Day was prepared for everything, and he was going to be absolutely sure that you were prepared too. While others trained hard, Chief Day worked at a different level. He made us all raise our game, and he did so not with orders or yellingit was far worse than that. He did it by example. This old man of thirty-eight years was out there grinding with all the young Navy SEAL studs; he was up at the front and he was pushing everyone far beyond their breaking points. Dont misunderstand mehe did yell, but rarely, and only when you pissed him off, usually because you did something stupid. Then his blue eyes would light up like lasers and lock on their target, and then hed tear into you. Everything stopped; there was silence, except for Chief Day, who seemed to be yelling at a frequency that shut out all other sounds, because we could all hear him loud and clear. A Chief Day berating was impactful because he was impactful; in that moment when he was a few feet from your face, there was nobody who could have been more influential than Mike Day. Not the president of the United States, not the secretary of defense, not even an admiral. Mike Days authority and credibility far exceeded his rank. He may not have known it, but we all did.