http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A20666-2003Jul20.html?nav=hptop_tbA fat C-141 rumbles to a halt at Andrews Air Force Base. A gangplank is lowered from the belly of the plane, and the Army's latest casualties from Iraq hobble or are carried to a waiting white bus, their gear still covered with fine desert dust.
These medevac flights are now so routine that no cameras, no VIPs, await the wounded. Their welcome home happens at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, the nation's biggest military hospital, where doctors and nurses in camouflage fatigues wait at the curb to whisk the newest patients to the large exam room on the second floor. Here the soldiers are triaged with swift precision:
"I need 10 of morphine!" a doctor calls out.
"Are you weak in your right hand?" another asks.
"Where does it hurt you now?"
A 20-year-old private moans. In Baghdad, he camped out in a bathroom of Saddam Hussein's palace, stacking his Chips Ahoy on the shelves above the gold-ingot faucets. Now he lies on a gurney with shrapnel in his belly, beneath a balloon that says, "You're the Best!"