America’s oldest military award, distinctive in its rarity, has been acknowledged since its inception in 1782.

Purple Heart Recognition Day on August 7 has long held significant meaning for staff members at Navy Hospital Bremerton and Navy Medicine Readiness and Training Command (NMRTC) Bremerton, like many other Navy Medicine and Defense Health Agency commands.

Those who have received a Purple Heart have been battered and bruised, but not beaten. Each insisted they were just doing their duty as a hospital corpsman. We respectfully recognize several Purple Heart recipients from NMRTC Bremerton who sustained injury in combat.

The Second Battle of Fallujah in the embattled Iraqi city west of Baghdad on the Euphrates River, November 7 – December 23, 2004, was the vortex of bitter fighting between U.S. lead coalition forces and entrenched insurgents during Operation Iraqi Freedom. Hospital Corpsman 1st Class Richard Vaughn was concentrating on an insurgent prisoner and about to become a Purple Heart recipient.

Assigned to 1st Marine Division, 3rd Battalion, 5th Marine with Kilo Company, 2nd Platoon, 3rd Squadron, Vaughn, then a hospitalman, was direct in the midst of Operation Phantom Fury as it raged across the ravaged cityscape against a determined enemy.

Vaughn was teamed with a Marine from his squad as they each escorted an insurgent from a dwelling across a courtyard when a sudden explosion brought a sudden rush of searing shrapnel, concussive noise and hot air filled with swirling debris.

“The whole place just seemed to blow up. I didn’t know what it was and, to this day, still don’t know what caused that blast. A hidden projectile? An improvised explosive device? An RPG?” said Vaughn, who was part of NHB’s Mental Health Department as a Substance Abuse Rehabilitation Program counselor. “All I know is that at that time I had a hold of the insurgent in my right hand and was carrying my medical kit and weapon in my left. We were propelled forward. I didn’t let go of either the insurgent or my gear.”

Vaughn’s immediate attention centered on his Marine who sustained an injury to his leg from the blast that tore into his pants and severely injured the limb. There was still the responsibility to deliver the insurgents to their designated staging area.

“We got out of the courtyard, around the corner, and dropped off the prisoners. I then cleaned up the leg injury of my Marine and got him off to a Surgical Shock Trauma Platoon. We weren’t too far from that unit,” Vaughn said.

Vaughn then finally took a moment to examine himself.

“When the explosion went off, it felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to my left shoulder. There was numbness in my arm. I remember I could feel blood seeping down inside my uniform top. My Marines were on the radio all saying, ‘Doc Vaughn has been hit!’ But after I looked at myself, I thought it really wasn’t that bad. It really could have been a lot worse. To this day I have a hard time telling this, but it really was amazing that it wasn’t worse. I chalked it up to prayer that there was no gaping wound. Several weeks after I was asked about the injury and I said it was really nothing,” said Vaughn.

Upon returning to Camp Pendleton from deployment, Vaughn’s chain of command took exception to his own assessment. He was presented with the Purple Heart.

“Everyone was wounded to some degree in Fallujah, physically as well as mentally and emotionally. We lost a lot of Marines. The wounded were too many to count. I don’t think what I did was anything special. I was just doing what I had to do,” stated Vaughn, who also engaged in running firefights lasting three to four hours, confronting a host of insurgents operating from rudimentary – but effective – tunnels and underground bunkers.

“If I focus, I can still remember little details like sounds, smells and sights. When you spend seven months wondering if each new day might be your last, your attention to detail can be amazing,” Vaughn shared, adding that as harrowing as it was, there was a special affinity he felt for those he cared for as their ‘doc.’ “We fought those guys. Our Marines were right there. It was rough.”

Vaughn would get asked at times about his Purple Heart. His response was typically just one word that needed little elaboration.

“I [would] usually just say ‘Fallujah,’ and that seems to be enough,” stated Vaughn. “There were a lot of Purple Hearts where I came from with 3rd Battalion, 5th Marine. Being included with them…I am humbled and honored to wear it.”

HM1 Danrung Vanichkul was down to seven days and a wake-up remaining in his year-long Individual Augmentee deployment to Helmand Province, Afghanistan in 2008 when his immediate surroundings – as well as everything else - was completely blown apart.

His squad had followed intelligence reports of a concentration of Taliban insurgents gathered at a remote village.

“It was our job to head out to the area and clear them out of there,” recalled Vanichkul.

An ensuing firefight broke out that lasted more than three hours.

“We were fighting and they took off. We pursued them. It was during our chase that they got lucky.”

A concealed land mine was stepped on by a squad member, severely injured the Soldier and flinging shrapnel into Vanichkul to lift him meters off the ground.

“The guy was right beside me when the mine went off,” explained Vanichkul. “I was knocked unconscious. When I came to, my first concern was automatically for my personnel.”

Vanichkul’s subsequent actions on the battlefield were the result of his prior training and continuous knowledge gained from already being part of approximately 200 combat operations before that day when attached to US Army Regional Police Advisory Command, Afghanistan Regional Security Integration Command South.

“I don’t remember how long I was knocked out but it wasn’t long,” said the Bangkok, Thailand native. “I do remember immediately wondering if everyone else was alright. When we are in a situation with actual wounded, that’s when all the drills and training we do takes over our actions. There was no time to think or react, just to do what we do as a hospital corpsman.”

“I’ve never had such an honor of presenting a medal of this magnitude. I’m just speechless and so proud,” said Captain Mark Brouker, then Naval Hospital Bremerton commanding officer.

“We just don’t think about ourselves in such a situation,” Vanichkul remarked. “I guess it’s the right medal for wrong timing. But I don’t really deserve it.”

Four years later in 2012 in the same province of southern Afghanistan, that harsh, unforgiving landscape came crashing into Hospital Corpsman First Class Edwardbrice Sablan.

Sablan was in a Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle as part of an escort patrol in the war-torn Marjah region when a sudden blast tore into the undercarriage.

An estimated 200-pound improvised explosive device was detonated into the MRAP carrying members of the 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment.

Sablan, sitting directly behind the auxiliary driver, was knocked momentarily unconscious by the force of the explosion. When he came to amidst the aftermath of swirling smoke, choking dust and minimal visibility, his thoughts immediately went to the others.

“My concern was for my Marines. I was worried about everyone else. We all got knocked out, including the driver, gunner and other passengers. I instantly started assessing the others,” said Sablan.

Everyone had cuts, minor lacerations, and bruises from debris and shrapnel, except the auxiliary driver. The explosion had severely injured his lower torso.

“I had to get him out right away. I pulled him out and stabilized his wounds as much as possible. We had set up a defensive posture, - there were potshots coming at us - and I protected and cared for him until the helo landed and transported him on to Camp Leatherneck,” related Sablan.

It was after the deployment back at Twentynine Palms, California, that Sablan discovered he would be a recipient of the Purple Heart.

“I felt very undeserving compared to what others have gone through and then been presented the Purple Heart,” Sablan said, adding that it wasn’t until a senior hospital corpsman shared with him the real significance of being presented the medal.

“He said that that ‘you’re not wearing it for yourself. You’re wearing it for all those who never made it back.’ To have it explained like that meant a lot,” explained Sablan.

Hospital Corpsman 2nd Class Dustin Zimmer, a Lemoore, Calif. native and Lemoore High School grad of 2002 was an IA to 1st Battalion 7th Marines deployed to Iraq in Operation Iraqi Freedom II. The battalion conducted security – and combat - operations in cities and roads along the Syrian border and Euphrates River on a daily basis.

Zimmer was known for consistently giving 110 percent in his role as a FMF corpsman. He worked alongside medical doctors in a field hospital in Iraq as well as on patrol with his Marines.

“The best part of my career in Navy Medicine was deploying to the fight with my brothers in arms,” said the NHB advanced radiology technologist. “I gave countless manhours, limitless knowledge, and expertise in my field to help support the mission at all costs.”

It was while performing scouting and safeguarding assigned duties in Western Iraq near the Syrian border that Zimmer sustained wounds.

“It was with 1st Battalion 7th Marines Alpha Company in Jan. 2005 while serving in Al Qaim, Iraq, I got shrapnel to my back and a facial laceration to my left eye in the Humvee I was riding in while patrolling our Main Supply Route,” recalled Zimmer. “My vehicle sustained a devastating improvised explosive device attack crippling our vehicle and wounding three of us in the truck. My vehicle immediately caught fire after the explosion. Thankfully, all were minor wounds.”

When Zimmer, Sablan, Vanichkul, Vaughn and others wear the medal, the Purple Heart features a profile of General George Washington, and above the heart appears a shield of the Washington coat of arms between sprays of green leaves. The reverse side has a raised bronze heart with the words ‘For Military Merit’ prominently featured.

For the past 243 years – and counting – there’s been more than 1.8 million Purple Hearts presented to those wounded or killed while serving in the United States Armed Forces.