Van of Valor

Lauren Wallace
Van of Valor

LAS VEGAS – In the terrifying, relentless crackle of gunfire, the training doesn’t fade, it takes over. 

This was tested Oct. 1, 2017, when a gunman open-fired on crowds at the Route 91 Harvest Festival.

While thousands of civilians at the festival froze in panic, a different instinct awakened in a select few. 

For U.S. military veterans scattered throughout the crowd, the “war zone,” as first responders would later call it, was a horrific but familiar chaos. Their mission, once again, was simple: protect and evacuate.

Their actions that night paint a powerful picture of a soldier’s heart, a truth deeply understood by men like Dr. Kevin Wallace, a Purple Heart and Bronze Star with Valor recipient who now leads the Van of Valor.

“You are trained to move to the sound of chaos, not away from it,” Wallace reflected, his own combat experience giving context to the heroes of that night. “When everyone else’s world is falling apart, a veteran’s training creates order. They don’t see victims; they see comrades they won’t leave behind.”

As bullets rained down from the 32nd floor of the Mandalay Bay, these veterans became an impromptu, life-saving force on the ground.

A Battlefield Evacuation

Marine Corps veteran Taylor Winston, 29, didn’t hesitate. After helping people escape over a fence, his mind, sharpened by a tour in Iraq, shifted to logistics. 

He located a truck with keys inside, stole the truck and transformed it into a makeshift ambulance. Making multiple trips through the chaos, he transported between 20 and 30 critically wounded people to the hospital, the vehicle becoming a bloody testament to the carnage.

Nearby, Army veteran Colin Donohue’s training also kicked in. He began ushering disoriented crowds, moving them out of the line of fire and toward relative safety. 

“We started taking care of those who are injured,” he said, his words echoing the Army’s core principle to never leave a fallen soldier.

Movement Under Fire

For Marine vet Scott Yarmer, the sound of the second burst of gunfire was the only order he needed. While others stood confused, he began “pushing people out, trying to get them to get up.” 

He led a group, moving tactically from cover to cover, waiting for breaks in the shooting — a skill honed on patrols in hostile territories.

Army veteran John Tampien, with deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, immediately sought hard cover for his wife and friends, turning over tables and creating a makeshift barricade.

His combat experience, however, couldn’t fully prepare him for the helplessness of being under an unseen threat with his family nearby on U.S. soil. 

“It’s a whole new feeling for me,” he admitted.

Improvised Aid on the Front Lines

Perhaps the most visceral image of battlefield medicine came from former Army Ranger Robert Ledbetter. 

After pushing his wife to safety, he got to work. 

With no medical kit, he used a passerby’s flannel shirt to fashion a tourniquet, applying life-saving pressure to wounds as bullets impacted around him. 

He operated with a Ranger’s grim calculus, saving those he could reach while knowing that to step into the open was certain death.

For Dr. Kevin Wallace and the Van of Valor, these stories are not just news headlines; they are a sacred validation of their mission. 

The van itself is a mobile symbol of the same ethos displayed that night: veterans stepping into the breach to help their own.

“These men — Winston, Donohue, Yarmer, Tampien, Ledbetter—they didn’t hang up their uniform and forget their duty,” Wallace said. 

“More than just clothes, the uniform is a state of mind,” Wallace continued. “That night, in a sea of terror, they were the immediate calm in chaos many people saw. They were a symbol of order, protection, and hope. And that is a service that never truly ends.”

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