Fate, on occasion, has grabbed me like a pair of Vise-Grips, locked me up and screwed me down and demanded that I pay attention -- just before it begged me to accept an invitation.

It happened in mid-September 2001, when a businessman from Omaha named Rob Quillen sent me an email detailing his Sept. 10 Denver-to-Newark flight alongside Jason Dahl, the man who the next day would pilot United Flight 93 and ultimately die in a Shanksville, Pa., field amid the most devastating terrorist attack ever on American soil.

Dahl's young son, Matt, had suffered from seizures and told his father he wanted to attend a NASCAR race and meet Jeff Gordon. Quillen and I worked with Gordon's foundation to facilitate the meeting at Kansas Speedway -- on a day when Gordon would ultimately win, no less.

At some layer my soul opened to a hunch. I took a flier, and the intuition proved correct. It felt right. And it was right. I felt that again this week, on a random Tuesday night on the shore around 10 or so. I was feeding my infant daughter and the room was pitch-black, save the flicker of the tube-television across the room and the scroll of the Twitter feed on my iPhone.

The first note aimed at me was a happy-birthday-retweet request. I obliged. Had it not been the first @-response in line, I might have missed it. Minutes later a new note popped in, in response to the birthday retweet, from a guy named Joey.

He said he admired my reporting and my style, and appreciates how I "beat to my own drum" and defend myself and don't pay undue mind to what anyone says about me, good or bad.

"I don't even need a RT," he wrote.

It piqued my interest. I checked his profile, which stated his name as Joey Jones and his occupation as a Marine bomb technician. I clicked his photograph. It would stop a train. The image was one of a young man in his 20s, seated, elbows on prosthetic knees, staring into the lens with blank intensity.

It was an image of defiance.

His expression, though stone-faced, screamed it: "Yeah, I got my legs blown off. Try me." The feet of his otherwise-exposed prosthetics were covered by sandy-hued combat boots. I needed to know this man's story. I asked him for it.

His reply was prompt: "Just got in a little tussle overseas. Came out nearly unscathed. Couldn't tell u about the other guy. He never showed his face."

Wow. I got his phone number and called him. He was two days shy of his 26th birthday. It is a conversation I will never forget.

Joey Jones has an indomitable spirit, the infectious kind that makes those he meets better people. He is an American hero of the highest order, a patriot and an inspiration on myriad levels.

Because of his heroism, he has a Purple Heart. And a Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medal with Combat Valor award. And a Combat Action Ribbon. He also has a Marine Corps Good Conduct Medal, second award, and a Military Outstanding Volunteer Service Medal.

And because of his heroism, he has no legs.

They were blown off by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan.

Jones admits that could have been the beginning of the end of his story. He could wallow in self-pity. He's seen it happen to his brethren. He chooses instead to lift others emotionally through his experience and improve lives with a mental and emotional fortitude that should give us pause.

Upon graduation from high school, Jones' best friend coaxed him into joining the Marines. He admits he needed to grow up a bit and said that of all the service branches, the Marines boasted the toughest boot camp and the highest expectations. He was accustomed to hard sledding. His old man was a brick mason, and Jones had worked for his father throughout high school.

"I used to joke and tell people I hadn't had a hard day's work since I joined the Marine Corps," he said, laughing. "Working for my dad definitely set me up for success in the Marines. It taught me to enjoy a hard task instead of resenting it, and to enjoy completing something with your own hands."

By August 2010, Jones' hands were steady and true, deconstructing multiple intricate bombs every week. He was a 24-year-old Marine Corps bomb expert serving in one of the most violent, dangerous parts of Afghanistan. It was his third tour overseas and second in the Middle East conflict and by far, he said, the most active. His first two deployments, in 2007 and 2008, were relatively calm by comparison.

Before his 2010 deployment Jones had never had a friend get killed in action. But in June 2010, he received word that a blast had killed one friend and taken both legs from another.

"It was an eye opener for me," he said. "This was just 20 miles away, and two of my buddies got rocked really hard. My next experience, I got rocked."

In early August 2010, Jones explained that he and his partner, Cpl. Daniel Greer, had defused some 40 bombs in five days' time. He was mentally fried, and on Aug. 6 accidentally stepped on a pressure plate that served as an ignition trigger, setting off a huge explosion that would cost Jones both legs just above the knee. Greer died.

"I woke up in a hospital, and it was a completely different world from the one I knew," he said. "It was my new reality. And it seemed like every month after that, a really good buddy of mine would lose his legs or his life."

It takes a year to complete explosive ordnance disposal training. The Marines live together in the same neighborhood, are mostly all the same age and same rank. It's a close-knit group. Those who complete EOD school believe they have one of the most important jobs in the Marine Corps.

"There's a lot of camaraderie in that," Jones said. "And it was guys from my school getting hurt or killed all the time -- every month. It took a long time for that to not affect my week. We put nine guys on the wall last year, and seven or eight more this year."

"On the wall" is EOD code for killed in action.

"There are only 500 guys, total, in the Marine Corps EOD field," he continued. "You either know these guys personally or know of them. That's the toughest part."

Only weeks after his own accident, Jones' best friend died covering the area for which Jones and his partner were responsible before they were hit.

Jones figures he has undergone more than two dozen surgeries. He has endured excruciating pain, including "phantom pains" that he said feel like his toes are being crushed by a grinder and the grueling sensation that his feet are being twisted around backward.

None of this has slowed him down. He snowboards. He's an extra in "Lincoln," the film starring Daniel Day-Lewis as the 16th president of the United States, due out in December. Day-Lewis is a method actor, meaning he stays in character for the entire filming process -- even when...