‘WHEN CAN I RETURN TO MY UNIT?’
I. THE UNKNOWN INFANTRYMAN
The room had that sterile smell you expect in hospitals: a mixture of alcohol, cold air, and fear. I had stopped at the nurses’ station to gown up. The area I was entering was a clean room, which required all visitors to put on a full white overgarment, a mask, rubber gloves, and blue booties.
It was May 2007 in Landstuhl, Germany, home of the military’s premier hospital complex in Europe. I was a two-star admiral in charge of all the special operations forces in Europe and Africa. As such, I often traveled from my headquarters in Stuttgart to visit the wounded soldiers returning from combat in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Most of these soldiers had severe injuries. So severe that a stop in Landstuhl was required to ensure they were stable enough to make the final journey back to the States.
In addition to seeing the wounded special operations soldiers, I usually stopped by to visit whoever was in ICU.
“What’s this guy’s story, Doc?” I said, pulling the strap of my mask a little tighter.
“Sir, all I know is that his unit was hit by a large IED. As you will see, he sustained significant blast injuries.”
“What’s the prognosis?”
“He’ll live, but it’s going to be a very long recovery.”
The doctor paused. “We have a no-contact rule in the clean room. So please don’t reach out and touch him, even if he offers to shake hands.”
“Roger, understand.”
The doctor nodded, and I pushed the door open and entered.
Lying on the bed, completely naked, was a young soldier not more than 25 years old. His body was swollen from the impact of the blast. Burns covered the upper half of his torso, and below his waist he had lost half of one leg and
