WASHINGTON -- As soon as he heard the hellish screech of incoming rounds descending on his remote outpost in Afghanistan, Army Sgt. Justin Lubash ordered his six-man team to run for the bunker.

He scrambled after them. He was just one step away from cover when an explosion lifted him off his feet and knocked him out as hot shards of jagged metal tore into the left side of his body. After five or 10 seconds, he came to, and instinct took over.

He had been a fighter long before he was a soldier. He had won two Golden Glove championships as a welterweight, following a boxing tradition set by his grandfather, father and two older brothers. He had also played on three Penguins Cup championship teams as a hockey player at Serra Catholic High School.

Getting up after being knocked down is part of his makeup.

"I sat up and started putting a tourniquet on before the medic arrived. I didn't even know if I had an arm. Everything went numb," Sgt. Lubash, 23, said from Walter Reed Army Medical Center. "You react the same way you do in any tough situation. I had it in my head I wasn't going to stay down. I just had to get back up and make it to the bunker. All I could think about was my two sons. I couldn't get them out of my mind."

One chunk of metal from a Russian-made, rocket-propelled grenade left an 8-inch gash in his left forearm and chewed up about 3 inches of bone. Another sliver sliced 3 inches deep into his left calf. The blast split open his Kevlar helmet, and shrapnel penetrated his skull, resulting in a traumatic brain injury.

During the Dec. 29 shelling -- in which two team members also were wounded, though less seriously than Sgt. Lubash -- two rounds landed directly on his living quarters. Everything he had was shredded -- the Xbox his wife had mailed as a Christmas present, snapshots of their sons, Jackson and Jonathan, pictures drawn in crayon by the boys, championship banners of the Steelers and Penguins, and his black-and-gold Sidney Crosby jersey.

"Everything I had over there is gone," the Munhall native said.

After a journey from a dusty, bloody battlefield through the Army medical system -- first aid station, a field hospital, a base hospital at Bagram Air Base, a military hospital in Germany and then on to Walter Reed -- he is home on convalescent leave. He was awarded a Purple Heart by the commanding general of the 82nd Airborne Division, which had operational control of his outpost. Other commendations are pending.

A titanium plate has replaced his forearm bone. Memory loss and lack of concentration go hand in glove with the traumatic brain injury. But all 35 stitches are out and his wounds are mending faster than expected. A full recovery is forecast in six to eight months, which means his fight isn't over.

Only a small percentage of Americans have taken up the burden of fighting wars in Afghanistan and Iraq since 2001. Defense Department casualty reports list more than 5,300 killed and more than 36,000 wounded. But flesh-and-blood stories involve America's sons and daughters, and the trials of families who support their soldiers even if they aren't in the public consciousness.

Even though he was in the ninth grade at the time, Justin Lubash was deeply affected by the events of Sept. 11, 2001. When it came time to enroll at Duquesne University, where he could receive financial aid and play club hockey if he kept up his grades, he believed in something bigger than himself and volunteered to join the Army. He took the step forward the day after his 19th birthday.

"I had to," he said. "I had a duty to do. It was something that needed to be done."

Before he left for a 14-month tour in Iraq with the 1st Cavalry Division, he married Heather Young, of Jefferson Hills. They met while working summer jobs on the Grand Prix amusement ride at Kennywood Park.

"I signed up for the Army when I said, 'I do,' " she said.

Their first son was born while his father was in Iraq in 2006-07.

When Sgt. Lubash returned to the United States, he fought his way to a spot on the Army boxing team. Then he left the team to volunteer for Afghanistan with the 4th Brigade Combat Team of the 4th Infantry Division.

His unit deployed in June, just before the Penguins won the Stanley Cup. His second son was born during the Afghanistan deployment, although Sgt. Lubash was able to return home on leave for the birth.

His grunt's-eye view of the war was from Outpost Korengal, located in what the soldiers call the Valley of Death in a mountainous region near the Pakistani border. It has no running water. It doesn't even have a road. The only way in or out is by Black Hawk or Chinook helicopter. Because of the risk of enemy fire, the pilots never land. The choppers hover just off the ground as men and supplies are off-loaded.

It is Taliban territory, and it is dangerous.

"You have to be alert all the time, even when you sleep," Sgt. Lubash said.

While on foot patrols, his team's mission was to draw enemy fire. When those positions were fixed, the Americans responded with firepower from Apache helicopters or Air Force jets.

"We were looking to get shot at. We were bait," Sgt. Lubash said. "We talked among ourselves that it was dumb, but there was no other way to get them to fight."

At night, the Taliban crept close enough to cut the wires on the Claymore mines outside their outpost. They left messages that said, in essence, to come out and fight. In return, U.S. soldiers crept up on enemy positions and left messages of their own, but the invitation to fight went unanswered.

"We'd plant a flag and wait for hours, but they never came out," Sgt. Lubash said.

He had a premonition right after Christmas.

"Our helicopters had come under fire. I told my team that I thought we were going to get hit," he said. "I just had a feeling that something wasn't right."

Sure enough, about 4:20 p.m. Afghanistan time on Dec. 29, rounds fell from the sky.

Soldiers have a tradition of carrying a lucky charm or a talisman inside their combat helmets. Sgt. Lubash had a St. Christopher medal tucked inside his headgear. Although he didn't make it to the bunker unharmed, he did make it home.

"Something was protecting me," he said. "If we had not got out and run to the bunker, we would have taken a direct hit, and I wouldn't be talking to you right now."

Back home, the phone calls from an Army officer in Afghanistan provided the first word.

"My heart just sank," said his father, James, an over-the-road trucker. "I didn't want my boys to box, but if they wanted it, I had to be there for support and training. I didn't want Justin to pass up the chance to go to Duquesne either, but I'm proud of him. A fighter has something deep inside. A lot of that is his heart."

Heather Lubash, a pharmacist tech at CVS, was saying the rosary in church for the father of a friend. She missed the initial call. Then it was her turn to hear the news.

"It's always in the back of your mind that something can happen," she said. "I was in shock at first. It sank in when I heard his voice."

As Sgt. Lubash recuperated at Walter Reed, where amputees and thousand-yard stares are too abundant, demonstrators sometimes gathered outside the fence to protest the wars.

"I understand why people question Iraq because it had nothing to do with 9/11, but Afghanistan is where it all started. We will prevail," Sgt. Lubash said. "But then again, I fought to protect freedom of speech, too."

In an incident at a restaurant near the hospital, echoes of Vietnam were apparent. He and a wounded comrade in a wheelchair went to dinner, only to have the hostess laugh at them.

"I couldn't understand what was so funny. It's not like we got hurt in a skiing accident," he said. "Suffice it to say, I won't be going back there. I mean, I have seven friends who are buried at Arlington."

A much different tone envelops him on his convalescent leave at his in-laws' home in Jefferson Hills.

Feeling well enough to see some hockey games last week, he was overwhelmed that his friends and family had arranged for a "Welcome Home" message to be posted Tuesday on the big screen at Mellon Arena, something the Penguins promote as a salute to those who serve.

"I didn't have the words to express my gratitude," Sgt. Lubash said.

When the Penguins heard his story, they invited him and his family to be their guests Thursday at the morning skate and the game against Ottawa. The day will include the presentation of a new Sidney Crosby jersey, almost one month to the day after the old one was shredded.

"We can't replace everything you lost, but we will replace what we can," Penguins Vice President Tom McMillan told him.

The experience is different for everybody who serves, but for Justin Lubash, it was life-altering. Part of Afghanistan is still with him, and part of him is still in Afghanistan. Whether he will box again is uncertain, but he has a more important fight to focus on at the moment.

"I've had my eyes opened. I know I am meant to be here for someone or something," he said.

"I know I'm not invulnerable. I don't take anything for granted anymore. I appreciate each day, even if it's something as simple as holding my sons or taking a walk with Heather," he said. "It feels like getting a second chance, like being reborn."

Looking for more from the Post-Gazette? Join PG+, our members-only web site. You'll get exclusive sports content, opinion, financial information, discounts from retailers and restaurants, and more. Our introduction to PG+ gives you all the details.