Michael Murphy — The Phone Call That Cost Everything | Self Growth Videos
There was a moment on that mountain when Michael Murphy understood exactly what he was about to do and did it anyway.
His radio wasn’t working. His team was pinned down, outnumbered, bleeding. The only way to call for help was to move into the open — onto a clearing on the ridgeline, fully exposed, in broad daylight, with Taliban fighters on every side.
He got up. He walked into the open. He made the call.
The call went through. His team was located. A rescue force was dispatched.
Murphy was shot while still on the phone.
He finished the call.
June 28, 2005. Sawtalo Sar. Hindu Kush Mountains, Afghanistan.
Lieutenant Michael P. Murphy was 29 years old. He was from Patchogue, New York. He was the team leader of a four-man Navy SEAL reconnaissance element inserted into the mountains of Kunar Province to gather intelligence on Ahmad Shah, a Taliban-aligned militia commander responsible for more than a dozen attacks on coalition and Afghan government forces.
The other three men: Petty Officer Danny Dietz. Petty Officer Matt Axelson. Petty Officer Marcus Luttrell.
The mission was surveillance and reconnaissance. They were not supposed to be in a firefight. They were not supposed to need rescue.
Within hours of insertion, the team was compromised by local goat herders who encountered them on the mountain. The team made a decision — the one that would later be dissected and debated in books, films, articles, and military classrooms — and released the civilians without harm.
Ahmad Shah was notified.
What Murphy Did
The ambush hit fast and from multiple positions. Outnumbered — by how many is itself disputed, with estimates ranging from a handful to over a hundred — the four SEALs fought and fell back, fought and fell back, across brutal terrain, tumbling down ridgelines, taking fire from above.
Dietz was shot. Axelson was shot. Murphy was shot. Luttrell was fighting.
Their radio couldn’t reach anyone from their position. The geography — deep mountain terrain, steep ridgelines, elevation — was eating their signal. No one knew where they were. No rescue was coming because no rescue had been called.
Murphy made a decision.
He moved away from his cover. He walked out into an exposed clearing on the ridgeline — a position he knew was visible to every fighter around him — pulled out his satellite phone, and dialed the combat operations center at Bagram.
He got through. He reported his team’s position. He called in their situation. He requested immediate assistance.
He was shot while he was on the phone.
He kept talking.
When he finished the call, according to accounts from those who later pieced together what happened, he said: “Roger that, sir. Thank you.”
He went back to his weapon and kept fighting until he was killed.
The Call That Sent 16 Men to Their Deaths
Murphy’s call did exactly what it was supposed to do. A Quick Reaction Force was scrambled — two MH-47 Chinook helicopters carrying eight Navy SEALs and eight Army Night Stalkers of the 160th SOAR, the most elite aviation unit in the U.S. military.
Call sign: Turbine 33.
They flew in during daylight, without their Apache escort — the Apaches couldn’t keep pace and the ground force commander didn’t want to wait. Ahmad Shah’s men were ready. They had seen what happened when Americans called for help. They knew the helicopters were coming.
An RPG struck Turbine 33’s transmission below the rear rotor. The aircraft inverted and crashed into the mountain. All 16 men aboard were killed instantly.
Murphy’s call saved Luttrell. Murphy’s call brought in the helicopter. The helicopter was shot down.
Nineteen Americans died on June 28, 2005, in a sequence of events that began with four men who shouldn’t have been compromised, fighting a battle they had no realistic chance of surviving, and one man who walked into the open to give his teammate a chance.
The Medal of Honor
On October 22, 2007, President George W. Bush presented Murphy’s parents with the Medal of Honor on their son’s behalf. Michael Murphy became the first member of the U.S. Navy to receive the Medal of Honor since the Vietnam War.
His citation reads in part: “While the communications operator engaged the enemy, Lt. Murphy, with complete disregard for his own safety, moved into open terrain to gain a better position to transmit a call to get help for his men. Moving away from the protective cover of the rock formation, he knowingly risked his life by fully exposing himself to the overwhelming attack while he communicated the location of his team and requested assistance. Lt. Murphy was shot in the back causing him to drop the transmitter. He picked it up, completed the transmission, and returned to his cover position to continue fighting until he died from his wounds.”
He was 29 years old.
Who Was Michael Murphy
Michael Patrick Murphy was born May 7, 1976, in Smithtown, New York, and grew up in Patchogue. He was an athlete — lacrosse, ice hockey — and an honor student who was accepted to Penn State and American University law school before choosing the Navy instead.
He was accepted to BUD/S on his second attempt. He graduated. He became an officer. He was known among his teammates as a calm, methodical leader who took care of the men under him.
His parents, Dan and Maureen Murphy, have spent the years since his death ensuring his story is told accurately and that his name is not forgotten. The Navy named a destroyer, the USS Michael Murphy, in his honor. A memorial park in Patchogue bears his name. A museum dedicated to SEAL history in New York carries his story.
He called for help knowing it might kill him. It did. His teammate lived.
That was enough for Michael Murphy.