I'm prior military. My first day in Afghanistan was relatively calm. We were flown in at night to avoid small arms fire, and on approach to the airfield, our aircraft received minor damage, but it was nothing the wasn't repairable. Still calm. Our in-brief consisted of being told we had to shit in buckets, take cold showers, use only red-lensed flashlights at night to avoid sniper fire from the mountains, wear our flak best every wear, and to avoid walking off the set paths around the airfield because there were uncleared mines on either side. Still calm. After a short power nap and daybreak, we head back to the airfield to work on our jets (A-10s). Well, on the way there, a siren went off indicating a mortar strike was inbound and we had to take cover. Still calm but rapid heartbeat. Since we were on the minefield path all heading in the same direction (about 13 of us), we all had to turn 180 degrees and run back the direction. No longer calm, but not freaking out. So, we instantly turned around and started hauling ass, our shelter was about 300 feet away, so it was a lengthy sprint. We made it about 200 feet when I saw a person trip and fall 4 people up from me. He falls off the path, rolls and stop...right in the middle of the minefield. Freaking out. We as a group instinctively slow down to help, but our first yells "keeping fucking running, don't you dare stop!" I turn to as I run passed him, and the poor guy had the most intense look of fear on his face that I'd ever seen. Freaking the fuck out. I run for a bit more and I turn and see him walk a couple of steps and then just disappear in a cloud of dirt and smoke. The rest of us made it to the shelter and we didn't speak a word for like a hour.