Brian Doyne, a 1997 graduate of Fayette County High School, freely admits he knew the risk of his job with the U.S. Army as an explosive ordinance disposal specialist.

He could have been killed, or severely maimed.

"Even if we do our job right, we could still come home in a body bag, or come home maimed like I did," Doyne said.

Doyne, 26, was gravely injured Feb. 24 when two bombs blew up while he investigated a bombing in Tikrit that severely damaged an M-1 tank and injured its driver.

After sweeping the area for more explosive devices, Doyne and his team leader began looking for clues that would help soldiers protect themselves and Iraqi citizens from similar explosives in the future.

A second wave of bombs then exploded, sending Doyne 30 feet in the air and killing Daniel Gene Gresham of Chicago, who was Doyne's best friend and team leader.

Doyne remembers being in a fog right after the blast, looking at his severely damaged left arm and thinking to himself, "This really sucks." Both his lower legs were shattered in several places and he knew he couldn't move. He couldn't even use his right hand to get a bandage, as it too was severely injured.

He had lost so much blood on scene that medics couldn't start an IV until he was in surgery.

Bomb fragments littered his body, and 80 pieces were taken out of his face alone before his first surgery at the hospital in Tikrit, which was a lengthy ordeal just to get him stabilized.

For a few minutes, on the medic helicopter after the explosion, Doyne thought about giving up, particularly after learning of the extensive damage to his left eye. But it didn't take him long to figure out that would be the coward's way, and he would have none of it.

"My attitude about all of this is there's no point in me getting upset about what happened because I can't change it," Doyne said. "Do I wish I had my arm back? Heck yeah. Do I wish I could see out of my left eye? Heck yeah, but I can't change that fact so why get upset about it or dwell on it?"

That way of thinking would serve him well in coming months, as he progressed from being bedridden while his legs healed in traction. Doctors said it would be six months before Doyne would walk, and he'd always have a limp.

That didn't sit well with Doyne and he pushed the medical staff to let him walk sooner than they wanted, particularly after progress he made on his own while recuperating at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington.

Encouraged by his ability to stand on his own, one day he wanted a bottle of juice that was literally four steps away. He gingerly put weight on his legs and walked to get the bottle.

It was the first step in a long recovery. There have been plenty of "bad days" while recovering, Doyne admitted. He reacts with distaste as he recalls being bound to a wheelchair.

Learning to walk again was difficult, as he used muscles that had been dormant for months.

But every time he thought about quitting, Doyne convinced himself to "wait until tomorrow" to quit. He recalled a sign he had seen in EOD training: "The only easy day was yesterday."

Armed with that spirit, he pushed himself harder than the medical staff at Walter Reed wanted. Instead of stopping where they wanted him to in physical therapy sessions, he stopped when the pain became too intense.

Doyne is now an outpatient at Walter Reed and he's gotten the hang of his prosthetic arm, which allows him to do much more than he ever envisioned. He recently came home to Fayetteville for a visit with his parents, William G. Doyne and Linda Doyne. Mrs. Doyne has been staying in Washington with her son as there are still a few things he can't do yet, he said.

And if the younger Doyne gets his way, after three or maybe four more surgeries, he'll be pronounced fit enough to go