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In that dreadful December, every day brought bloodshed, every week hundreds of attacks on Americans and Iraqis.

Car bombings. Drive-by shootings. Kidnappings. Torture. Bullet-riddled bodies. Sectarian fighting. It was a horrible end to a horrible year in the Iraq war.

And for two young soldiers, December 2006 was the month that changed everything, forever.

The sky was clear on Dec. 2 when Sgt. John Kriesel’s armored Humvee rolled out to check a report of suspicious activity: people digging on a dirt road near Fallujah.

His Humvee was turning a corner when the left front tire ran over something. Riding shotgun in the vehicle, Kriesel heard a metallic plink — like a rock striking a 55-gallon drum.

Then: BOOOM!

The Humvee flew into the air, its doors blowing open, the gunner shooting out of the turret like a Roman candle before the vehicle crashed down on its side.

Kriesel’s helmet and glasses flew off as he was thrown to the ground. Rocks rained down in a concrete storm, and Kriesel heard the screeching of twisted metal, then moans, groans, screams.

Strangely, he was calm. He saw the underside of the Humvee; the axle was blown off.

Then he looked down.

His left leg was nearly severed, still tucked in his pants leg, hanging by a piece of skin. His left thigh was split open like a baked potato, with a bone jutting out and blood oozing.

His right leg, from about six inches below the knee, was badly mangled, as if it had gotten stuck in a wood chipper.

“I’m going to die,” he told himself. “This is how it ends.”