216. Marine Survived an IED Explosion and Got Back to Active Duty on a Prosthetic Leg

Marcus Chischilly

In episode 216 of the Transition Drill Podcast, from the heart of the Navajo Nation to the battlefields of Iraq and Afghanistan, Marine Corps veteran Marcus Chischilly’s story is one of courage, identity, and transformation. Growing up between traditional Navajo life and the city streets of Phoenix, Marcus learned the values of service, responsibility, and resilience long before earning the title of United States Marine. His path from a determined teenager to a decorated combat veteran carried him through four deployments, leadership challenges, and life-changing injuries sustained in Afghanistan. Yet, his journey did not end when the uniform came off. Through pain, perseverance, and the strength of his culture, Marcus rebuilt his identity and dedicated himself to helping others heal. Today, his mission continues beyond the battlefield—serving fellow veterans, sharing his story, and reminding others that true strength is found not in what we endure, but in how we rise after being broken.

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Roots of Service – Growing Up in the Navajo Nation

Marcus Chischilly’s story begins in two worlds that shaped who he would become. Born in Phoenix but raised between the city and the Navajo reservation, he learned early that identity is built on duality. One part of his life was modern and urban, filled with the sounds and pace of city life. The other part was rooted in tradition, family, and culture. On the reservation, life was simpler but never easy. There were chores to do, elders to help, and lessons that were passed down through action more than words. Those lessons became the foundation of how Marcus viewed the world and his place in it.

He was the only boy among four sisters, a dynamic that carried its own weight. Responsibility came early. He was expected to lead, protect, and help. In Navajo culture, young men are often reminded that service begins within the family. If someone needed help, you did not wait to be asked. That instinct to step forward, to serve before being told, became ingrained in him long before he ever put on a uniform. He recalls how his parents would return home with bags of groceries, and if he and his sisters didn’t immediately jump up to help, his parents would sharply remind them of their duty. Those moments, repeated over time, etched the concept of service deeply into his character.

Life in the Chischilly household was not one of abundance. His mother worked hard to provide, often juggling multiple jobs despite never finishing high school. His father, a cultural interpreter at a resort, gave Marcus a connection to tradition that extended beyond words. Through his father, Marcus learned the powwow dances that had been passed down for generations. He performed the hoop dance, a sacred expression of healing, and the men’s fancy war dance, a display of strength and spirit. Together, he and his father traveled to events and shows, sometimes across state lines, performing for crowds and sharing stories through movement. The money Marcus earned from those performances went straight into helping the family. At an age when most boys focused on play, he was learning the weight and dignity of work.

Those experiences taught Marcus the value of representing something bigger than himself. On the powwow floor, wearing regalia that told stories of his ancestors, he wasn’t just a boy dancing; he was a continuation of his people. That sense of belonging to a lineage gave him purpose and confidence. It also taught him that service takes many forms: caring for family, preserving culture, and stepping up for others. These values would later mirror the core principles of the Marine Corps, honor, courage, and commitment, though he had no idea then how naturally they would align.

The Call to Serve – Choosing the Marine Corps

When high school neared its end, Marcus faced the same question that confronts every teenager: what comes next? College was on the list, as were trade schools and the armed forces. He stared at that paper, unsure of his path, until instinct guided his hand. He checked the box for the military and, without hesitation, wrote “Marine Corps.” He didn’t fully know why at the time. Maybe it was the reputation, maybe it was the challenge, or maybe it was the reflection of the values he already lived by, service, honor, and courage. Whatever the reason, that one decision would alter the course of his life.

The first call came from a recruiter named Sergeant Longoria. His tone was confident but not pushy, and he spoke with the kind of authority that instantly captured attention. Marcus agreed to meet him, unaware that this would be the beginning of a life-changing journey. The first conversation was direct and simple. The recruiter wanted to know who Marcus was, what motivated him, and why he wanted to serve. For Marcus, it was not about escaping his circumstances. It was about stepping into something larger, something that demanded more of him than anything else ever had.

Convincing his mother, however, was a battle of its own. She had raised five children, often on her own, and the idea of her only son joining the Marines terrified her. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were headline news, and the risk was clear. When Marcus told her about the recruiter, she refused. It was one of the few times he had ever heard her curse, and it stopped him cold. But Marcus’s resolve did not fade. He waited a few weeks, then returned to the conversation, this time asking her to meet the recruiter in person. Eventually, she agreed.

The meeting was carefully crafted. Sergeant Longoria introduced another Marine, dressed sharply, polite and professional. He explained to Marcus’s mother that not every Marine goes into combat, that some work behind the scenes in administrative or technical roles. When Marcus chose his desired job in front of her, he pointed to “Armorer,” a position that would keep him in a secured environment maintaining weapons. She nodded, reassured. What she didn’t know was that the recruiter left that part of the paperwork blank. Once she signed, Marcus and Longoria quietly changed it to “Infantry.” It was a move that would send him directly into the front lines. Marcus knew the risk, but he also knew that his heart was drawn toward the challenge of the fight.

Months later, as he prepared to leave for boot camp, the reality of his decision began to settle in. He was only seventeen, still in high school, and already committed to a world that would demand his complete transformation. When the day came to ship out, his mother’s resistance turned to quiet worry, then pride. She didn’t want him to go, but she understood that this was his calling. For Marcus, the choice was more than a career decision. It was the fulfillment of a deep, unspoken drive to serve, to lead, and to test the limits of who he could become.

Baptism by Fire – Early Deployments and Combat Reality

Boot camp in San Diego was Marcus’s first real test. The shock came fast. The heat felt heavier than the desert air of Phoenix, and the nonstop shouts, drills, and rules were a storm that never let up. For the first seventy-two hours, sleep was nonexistent. The constant motion, the orders barked without pause, and the sheer pace of transformation hit like a wave. But Marcus adapted. His upbringing had already taught him discipline and respect for authority. The strictness of his father and the expectations of his culture made him quick to adjust. The physical exhaustion was harder. He hadn’t played sports or trained regularly before enlisting, so the physical strain pushed him to his limits. Still, he refused to quit. Every mile run, every pull-up, every shouted correction was a step toward the Marine he was determined to become.

Graduation day brought tears and pride. His family saw the difference immediately. Gone was the carefree teenager they had known. In his place stood a disciplined young man who carried himself with confidence and a quiet intensity. The moment felt monumental, but in truth, boot camp was only the beginning. Marcus was headed for the School of Infantry, and soon after that, to his first unit, 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, in Twentynine Palms. Within weeks, he received word that his battalion was deploying to Iraq. It had been less than a year since he left home.

He turned eighteen in a combat zone. That first deployment was a blur of adrenaline, fear, and learning. Iraq was harsh and unpredictable. The heat was suffocating, and every street carried the possibility of danger. As a young Marine, Marcus’s primary focus was survival—his own and his team’s. His leaders drilled into him the importance of awareness, communication, and discipline. He learned to read the terrain, to trust his instincts, and to keep his emotions under control. He also learned to trust the Marines beside him completely. That bond became his anchor.

Marcus’s assignment as a radio operator carried symbolic weight. When his leaders realized he was Navajo, they joked that it was fitting—another generation of code talkers. The humor wasn’t lost on him. It was a point of pride. He carried the heavy radio everywhere, staying in constant communication between patrols and command. The job gave him insight into decision-making at higher levels, but it also meant he was always in the thick of things. Every message mattered, every call could be the difference between safety and disaster.

Over three deployments in four years, Marcus’s understanding of war deepened. The first tour taught him survival. The second brought leadership and responsibility. The third shifted toward training and supporting local police forces as combat operations slowed. He saw the transition from chaos to stability, from constant firefights to cautious rebuilding. Through it all, he grew into a leader who could stay calm under pressure. The Marine Corps had become his identity, his brotherhood, and his purpose. He didn’t know then that his next deployment to Afghanistan would be the one that would change everything.

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Brotherhood and Battle Scars – Afghanistan and the Day Everything Changed

By the time Marcus joined 3rd Battalion, 5th Marines, he was no longer the wide-eyed recruit who had landed in Iraq at eighteen. He was a seasoned combat veteran, trusted by his peers and respected by his superiors. He had seen enough to know what real leadership looked like, and he had grown into the kind of Marine others looked to for direction. When the word came that the battalion would deploy to Afghanistan, he was ready. He had already faced the chaos of Iraq. Afghanistan, he thought, would be another challenge to meet head-on.

The preparation was relentless. Training in Bridgeport, California, tested every ounce of endurance. The altitude and cold weather were designed to simulate the conditions Marines would face in the mountains of Helmand Province. Marcus thrived under the pressure. He knew the stakes, and he understood that preparation was the only way to keep his men alive. From there, the unit trained briefly in South Korea before returning to the desert of Twentynine Palms for final pre-deployment exercises. The pace was brutal. Marcus barely had time to catch his breath, and even less time to spend with his wife and their newborn son. Those moments with his family were precious but fleeting. Duty called again.

When they arrived in Afghanistan, Marcus was assigned to Kilo Company and placed on a Police Mentorship Team, responsible for working alongside Afghan police units to stabilize local security. It was demanding work that required patience, cultural understanding, and courage. The terrain was unforgiving, and the enemy was always watching. In early October 2010, just weeks into the deployment, Marcus’s team was sent north to the area around Kajaki, a volatile region near the Helmand River. The mission was to push deeper into Taliban territory and establish security in villages that had seen heavy fighting.

On October 9, 2010, Marcus and his team set out on what was meant to be a routine patrol. The plan was to move across farmland and establish a position near the edge of a small village. The sun was high, the air dry, and the silence uneasy. They had been warned that this was a dangerous area, known for IEDs and ambushes. Within minutes of setting up, gunfire erupted. Marcus and his men returned fire, moving to gain better cover. He saw a small berm nearby that offered a stronger position and quickly moved to check it. His team leader cautioned him to slow down, reminding him that the ground in this region was unpredictable. Moments later, as Marcus turned to move back toward his position, the earth beneath him exploded.

The blast tore through his legs and right arm, sending him into shock. His body went numb, his vision blurred, and all he could hear was ringing. He caught sight of his corpsman sprinting toward him despite shouts to stay back. The medic worked fast, stopping the bleeding and preparing Marcus for evacuation. Within minutes, a helicopter was inbound. As it lifted him from the battlefield, Marcus’s life as a Marine came to an end. He would survive, but everything that defined him was about to change.

Healing and Identity – Rebuilding After the Explosion

When Marcus woke up in a hospital bed, the reality of what had happened settled in slowly. The noise of machines replaced the sounds of combat. The smell of antiseptic replaced the dust of Afghanistan. His first thoughts were confusion, then relief that he was alive, and then disbelief at the state of his body. His left leg was gone, his right leg and his right arm were severely damaged. The Marine who had once carried heavy radios through war zones was now facing a battle of an entirely different kind. The war had followed him home, but the enemy was no longer another force on the battlefield. It was pain, fear, and uncertainty about who he was without the uniform.

Rehabilitation became his new mission. Every day was structured, but this time the drills were physical therapy sessions, not weapons training. Learning to move again, to balance on prosthetics, to manage pain, and to accept help tested him more than combat ever did. He struggled with moments of anger and guilt, questioning why he survived when others had not. The loss of mobility was one thing, but the loss of identity was harder. For years, being a Marine had been his purpose. Without that, he had to start over and redefine what strength meant.

The support from his family became the lifeline that kept him grounded. His wife stood by him through surgeries, therapy, and sleepless nights. His young son became a reminder that life still held joy. His mother, who once feared his decision to enlist, now saw his resilience and refused to let him fall into despair. The Marine Corps brotherhood also remained close. Fellow Marines visited him, reminding him that his service had not ended, it had only changed form. The same discipline that carried him through boot camp and battle now guided him through recovery.

The process of healing opened a new understanding of strength. Physical power had carried him through the battlefield, but mental resilience would carry him through recovery. Marcus learned to focus on what he could do instead of what he had lost. Each day brought small victories, from standing unassisted for the first time to mastering prosthetic mobility. The Marine inside him never quit. He learned that courage is not just running toward danger, but facing life after loss with the same determination. In finding peace with his injuries, Marcus discovered that his mission in life was far from over.

Carrying the Torch – Purpose Beyond the Uniform

Recovery gave Marcus a new lens through which to view life. Once he accepted that his military career had ended, he began to understand that service does not stop when the uniform comes off. The values that defined him as a Marine, discipline, accountability, and teamwork, were not left behind in Afghanistan. They were now tools for rebuilding his future. He wanted to continue serving, but this time his mission was different. It was about helping others heal, finding new purpose, and showing that strength is not measured by what you have lost, but by what you do with what remains.

After surviving the blast, he fought to return to full duty by turning recovery into a daily campaign of therapy, training, and testing. The first year brought a wheelchair, more than a dozen surgeries, and the shock of learning to stand again, then walk, with a prosthetic. A turning point came when he saw a photo of another amputee back in theater, which helped him fix on a clear goal. From there he lived in the prosthetics and therapy rooms, working to restore function in his injured arm and to master balance, gait, and coordination, often staying after sessions to repeat drills. Because there were no clear standards for amputees, he asked to be held to the same expectations as everyone else and trained to pass the physical fitness test, swim requirements, and leadership courses with one leg. The formal path back required a board in Washington, a full medical and psychological clearance, and proof he could function cognitively and physically. He also toured potential duty stations and chose an assignment that would challenge him and keep him close to his care team. Step by step, he earned his way back to active duty.

As his physical recovery progressed, Marcus turned his attention to his mental and emotional well-being. The invisible wounds of war lingered long after the surgeries ended. There were nights when sleep was interrupted by flashbacks, and days when motivation seemed distant. Yet, instead of hiding from the struggle, Marcus began to talk about it openly. He found that sharing his story helped him process his experiences and connected him with others facing their own battles. Speaking about trauma, resilience, and identity became another form of therapy. In time, it also became his new calling.

Marcus started working with veterans, focusing on those who were struggling to adapt to civilian life. He understood their frustration, the loss of direction, and the fear of not belonging anywhere outside the military. He shared his journey not as a motivational slogan, but as a living example of what recovery and reinvention look like. He encouraged veterans to use the same discipline they once applied to missions, training, and operations toward building their next chapter. Through mentorship, community engagement, and public speaking, Marcus turned his pain into purpose.

After earning his way back to active duty, he served at Miramar where he trained, led, and continued advancing through professional courses, even graduating near the top of his sergeant’s course class. Although proud of what he accomplished after returning from such severe injuries, the rhythm of military life began to shift for him. His focus had always been on combat readiness and leadership in the field, but over time he felt that operational intensity had faded and that his personal priorities were changing. His children were growing, and family demands increased, creating a pull he could no longer ignore. He realized he had achieved everything he set out to prove on active duty and sensed it was time to explore life beyond the military. On June 29, 2016, after twelve years of service, he made the difficult decision to step away, driven by the desire to preserve his family life and seek new purpose outside the institution that had shaped him

After retiring, he first took a project manager role, and got fired for being too much Marine. He worked with a hazmat company, then worked a string of jobs while searching for purpose and stability, including time at a zoo, the San Diego Convention Center, a pharma tech company doing urinalysis testing, and even driving for Uber. During COVID, he returned to school at UEI College to train as an electronics technician, which led to networking work at the convention center and then a sales role with SCO Advanced Components in fiber optics and telecom; after a post-COVID downsizing, he moved into the defense sector with Fisher Connectors, providing connectivity solutions for military and aerospace customers. Today he remains in that defense industry role, drawing on both technical learning and lived experience to support communications and protection systems in the field. Looking ahead, he plans to return to college for an electrical engineering degree so he can speak at depth with the engineers he partners with and better serve complex programs.

The lessons of his journey continue to shape his message. He tells those preparing to transition out of the military that purpose is not something you lose when you leave—it is something you carry and redefine. He reminds first responders and service members that strength lies not in denying hardship, but in confronting it. Marcus’s story is not about what was taken from him, but about what he rebuilt. His life stands as a testament to resilience, community, and the unbreakable spirit of service. He may have left the battlefield, but his mission—to lead, to serve, and to inspire—continues every single day.

Closing 

Marcus Chischilly’s life is proof that service extends far beyond a military career. His journey from a young Navajo boy to a Marine, and then to a mentor and advocate, reflects the power of purpose that never fades. Through hardship and recovery, he has shown that courage is not the absence of fear but the willingness to face it with conviction. His story is not only one of sacrifice, but of rebirth—a reminder that the warrior spirit endures in every act of service, in every life rebuilt, and in every person who chooses to keep moving forward.

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