Imagine you’re 11 years old, and on your way to a new country. 

You don’t speak the language fluently. You don’t know many people. 

You spend months learning new customs, making new friends, and slowly building a life that begins to feel like home.

Then one morning, that home is attacked.

What would you do next?

For Florent “Flo” Groberg, the answer wasn’t made in a single moment. It was shaped over years—through family, loss, gratitude, and a growing sense of responsibility to the country and the people who had become his own.

“You are my Flo.”

Long before Groberg wore an Army uniform, he was a little boy fascinated by soldiers.

Born three months premature in Poissy, France, Groberg spent much of his childhood immersed in stories of World War II. His bedroom became a battlefield where green plastic soldiers stormed the beaches of Normandy—pillows standing in for bunkers—as he enthusiastically shouted orders and recited General Dwight D. Eisenhower’s famous message to Allied troops before D-Day.

To his mother, it was imaginative—if a little concerning—play. To Groberg, it was the start of a lifelong appreciation for leadership and military service.

Beyond play, some of his earliest memories centered on the uncle who encouraged his curiosity and helped shape the boy he would become. Abdou, one of Groberg’s mother’s eleven siblings, was only eighteen years old when he first held his infant nephew.

“I am your Uncle Abdou,” he whispered in Arabic while looking into the infant’s eyes. “You are my Flo.”

Though he had little experience caring for babies, Abdou cradled his nephew against his chest for hours that day. “You are my Flo,” he repeated. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

From then on, he became less like an uncle and more like an older brother. Whenever the family gathered, Groberg wanted to be wherever Abdou was.

Over the years, the two grew remarkably close. Groberg admired his uncle’s quiet confidence, generosity, and unwavering sense of responsibility toward others. Long before Abdou became an Algerian soldier, he modeled what it meant to protect the people you love.

It was a lesson Groberg would carry with him for the rest of his life—even if he didn’t yet realize it.

Finding His Voice

At age 11, Groberg left the familiarity of France for a new life in the United States. Together, his family settled first near Chicago before moving to Bethesda, Maryland.

Like many young immigrants, Groberg found himself navigating far more than a new language. Every day brought unfamiliar customs, different expectations, and the challenge of figuring out where he belonged.

His family had one simple rule: Inside the house, they spoke French. The moment they stepped outside, they spoke only English.

“When you don’t know much English, you feel like an outsider,” Groberg later wrote in his book, 8 Seconds of Courage. “Learning a new language was the biggest challenge of my youth.”

That challenge came to a head one day in high school when Groberg was cast as Romeo in a scene from Romeo and Juliet. Standing before his classmates, he struggled through Shakespeare in broken English as other students—even the girl playing Juliet—made little effort to hide their laughter.

Embarrassed and frustrated, he told his parents what had happened. His mother offered comfort. His father offered something different.

“Who the hell told you that life was easy?” he asked. Then he challenged his son to stay after school, ask for help, and keep working.

Groberg took the advice to heart. Rather than letting the experience define him—or letting his fists do the talking—he stayed after school for extra tutoring. Within two years, he had progressed from English as a Second Language classes to Honors English, sitting beside many of the same classmates who had once mocked him. It was another step toward finding his place in a country that was beginning to feel like home.

As Groberg settled into life in Maryland, events unfolding thousands of miles away would soon change the course of his family’s story—and forever reshape his own.

When Childhood Ended

While Groberg was learning to find his place in America, his Uncle Abdou was making a life-changing decision of his own.

Horrified by the violence unfolding in Algeria, where innocent civilians were being murdered by terrorists, Abdou volunteered to join the Algerian Army. It was not a decision driven by a desire for war, but by a determination to protect others from it.

For Groberg, the decision only deepened his admiration.

“Even though I was still a boy,” he later wrote, “my uncle’s courage was deeply inspirational. Not only was Uncle Abdou like a big brother, he had fulfilled my personal dream of becoming a soldier.”

After returning home from a school field trip in February 1996, Groberg noticed his mother was gone. His father sat him down and explained that she had traveled to Algeria for a funeral.

Abdou had been killed.

The details were almost unimaginable. Terrorists had murdered Groberg’s uncle and returned his remains to the family in a box. The man who had promised, “I won’t let anything happen to you,” was gone.

That evening, Groberg gathered his green plastic soldiers and carried them outside. One by one, he tossed them into a makeshift fire.

War was no longer a game.

The Call to Serve

More than five years passed before terrorism once again changed the course of Groberg’s life.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, he was a freshman at the University of North Carolina Wilmington when news of the attacks spread across campus. As he watched the World Trade Center burn, memories of his uncle’s death came rushing back.

Groberg immediately called his parents.

“The terrorists had done this to my family in 1996,” he later wrote, “and now to my adopted country. There was no way that I was going to stand on the sidelines and not be a part of the solution.”

Determined to enlist immediately, Groberg told his father he planned to leave college and become an Army Ranger. Once again, his father challenged him to think beyond the moment, urging him to complete his education first. Groberg eventually relented, and his path forward became remarkably clear: finish school and then join the military.

“Following the attacks of September 11, 2001, I was no longer a guy from France,” he wrote in his book. “From that day forward, I was an American.”

Learning to Lead Under Pressure

After graduating from college, Groberg joined the U.S. Army in 2008. He later attended Ranger School, an elite leadership course where sleep deprivation, hunger, physical exhaustion, and relentless field exercises are designed to test a soldier’s judgment, resilience, and ability to lead under extreme pressure.

During his first deployment, Groberg led soldiers through the Pech River Valley, one of the most dangerous regions of the war, gaining firsthand experience in the responsibilities—and realities—of combat leadership.

By the summer of 2012, Groberg had returned to Afghanistan for a second deployment, serving as commander of a personal security detail responsible for protecting senior U.S. and Afghan military leaders. On the morning of August 8, he set out on what appeared to be a routine mission.

Eight Seconds

The mission unraveled quickly.

After landing at Forward Operating Base Fiaz, Groberg realized the expected security support was not there. Instead of the usual team of 15 perimeter guards assigned to help secure the route, only two US soldiers, an American contractor, and five Afghan National Army soldiers remained to protect the formation as it moved toward the governor’s compound.

Groberg later compared the feeling to a quarterback walking into a game without an offensive line.

As the formation moved toward the governor’s compound, the warning signs began to multiply. A suspicious vehicle approached from behind before speeding away. Moments later, two motorcycles raced toward the patrol, their riders abandoning the bikes and fleeing on foot after being challenged by Afghan soldiers.

Then Groberg saw him.

A young man emerged from a nearby building, walking backward alongside the formation before suddenly turning and heading directly toward its center—toward the senior military leaders Groberg had been assigned to protect.

Without the additional security perimeter, there was no one else to intercept him. Groberg broke from the formation and sprinted forward.

The eight seconds it took him to reach the suspect felt like “a silent eternity.” When his hands struck the man’s chest, they found the unmistakable outline of a suicide vest.

In that instant, Groberg accepted the inevitable: he was going to die.

“But I had to complete the job I had been trained to do,” he later wrote. “There was no time left for thinking…only actions would make a difference now.”

Grabbing hold of the bomber’s vest, Groberg forcibly pushed him away from the formation as Sergeant Andrew Mahoney rushed forward to help.

The vest detonated.

The Worst Day 

Groberg’s actions saved the lives of several fellow service members, Afghan partners, and senior military leaders. Investigators later determined that by forcing the bomber away from the formation, he also caused a second coordinated explosive device to detonate before it could reach its intended target, saving numerous others.

Yet when Groberg speaks about August 8, 2012, he rarely begins with the lives that were saved. He begins with the four who never came home—and the families that continue to miss them.

• Command Sergeant Major Kevin Griffin had become one of Groberg’s closest mentors during the deployment. Nicknamed “The Hawk” for his unmatched attention to detail, Griffin had been on six combat deployments to four different warzones. He was known for his quiet confidence, unwavering standards, and genuine care for every soldier around him. That morning, despite having no obligation to do so, Griffin volunteered to move to the back of the formation—”I’m staying back here”—choosing to face the greatest risk so others could focus on the mission.
• Major Thomas “TK” Kennedy had been in Afghanistan for less than two weeks. A West Point graduate, Army hockey player, husband, and father of two-year-old twins, Kennedy had volunteered for the mission simply to learn more about the security challenges in Kunar Province. Groberg remembered a leader whose enthusiasm for serving his country was matched only by his devotion to his young family.
• Major David Gray, an Air Force tactical air control officer, was known for his quiet humor, deep faith, and relentless work ethic. After surviving a near-fatal training accident years earlier, the phrase “Finish Strong” became his personal motto. Gray volunteered for the mission alongside Kennedy, determined to learn everything he could while helping those around him succeed.
• USAID Foreign Service Officer Ragaei Abdelfattah was not a soldier. An Egyptian immigrant who had built a life in the United States, he volunteered to serve in Afghanistan because he believed people deserved opportunity, safety, and hope. An architect by training, he was helping bring electricity to rural communities and planning schools for Afghan girls. To Groberg, Abdelfattah embodied the same spirit of service as every person in uniform walking beside him.

Groberg has spent the years since making sure their names are remembered. For him, the Medal has never been about one man’s actions. It has become a platform to honor four lives, four families, and the countless others whose service is remembered through them.

“I carry it in my heart. I carry it on my body. I carry it in my soul every single day,” he said during his Hall of Heroes remarks. “I understand that my responsibility in this world is to now live through them and live for them and their families—and to be better.”

Carrying the Medal

Following the attack, Groberg endured more than 30 surgeries and years of rehabilitation. He suffered a traumatic brain injury, permanent hearing loss in one ear, and devastating injuries to his left leg. Faced with the option of amputation, he chose instead to endure a long and difficult recovery.

On November 12, 2015, President Barack Obama presented Groberg with the Medal of Honor during a White House ceremony.

“On his very worst day,” President Obama said, “he managed to summon his very best.”

For Groberg, however, the Medal has never represented a single act of courage.

Instead, he has come to see it as a daily responsibility.

Today, Groberg continues to honor the men who never returned from Afghanistan by sharing their stories, supporting Gold Star families, and speaking about leadership, service, and resilience. Whether mentoring veterans, advising organizations, or helping advance the mission of the National Medal of Honor Museum, he sees every opportunity as a chance to honor those who can no longer speak for themselves.

"The concept of this Museum was to tell the stories of Medal of Honor Recipients, but really it's to tell the story about America as warriors,” he said in a recent video. “We remind people of the legacy of this country—the men and women who wear the uniform and the sacrifices made—and that we should never forget. It's a good reminder of who we are and what we stand for."