The Army claimed Goodrum was a deserter because when he was in the civilian psychiatric hospital in Knoxville he was absent from Fort Knox without permission. A spokeswoman for Fort Knox, Connie Shaffery, told me after the charges were filed that the situation is simple: "If a soldier is not at his or her duty station and is not in an authorized leave or pass status, he is absent without leave," Shaffery said. "When instructed to return and they do not comply, that is a violation."

But that seemingly straightforward answer ignores several critical facts. In fact, Army regulations state that when medical care is not available at a military facility, commanders should consider a soldier in a civilian hospital -- or a soldier under the care of a civilian doctor -- as "absent sick" and should not penalize him or her as a deserter. The civilian doctor has considerable authority to decide when a soldier is healthy enough to return to base. Treatment was obviously not available at Fort Knox earlier, when Goodrum was turned away. Although Goodrum's company commander ordered him to return to Fort Knox, it was only to sign forms granting him leave. Moreover, she insisted that he drive in the very next day at 7 a.m., although Goodrum was in no condition to drive. Goodrum's civilian psychiatrist stated that being treated at Fort Knox, where Army brass clearly had it in for him, was not in his medical interests. Finally, after Goodrum's company commander ordered him to come in, neither she nor anyone else in the Army informed either Goodrum or his civilian doctor that Goodrum was then being considered AWOL. Faxes sent by Goodrum's doctor clearly indicate that the doctor believed that Goodrum was not considered AWOL.

Under these circumstances, it is hard to escape the conclusion that the Army's charges of desertion were a vindictive "gotcha," payback for his speaking out. And even though the Army itself confirmed that Goodrum was suffering from PTSD, its actions throughout this sorry affair betray nothing but skepticism about that claim and a desire to punish him.

Indeed, Goodrum was ultimately found innocent of desertion, but his ordeal hasn't ended. As with Army chaplain James Yee, a Guantánamo prison chaplain originally charged with spying and later with adultery (all charges were eventually dropped), the Army then alleged that Goodrum had engaged in fraternization with a female sergeant. He was found guilty of fraternization, although not of having sexual relations. Goodrum is appealing the verdict, but even though an investigating officer decided that some of the evidence "may have been obtained by coercion" by a superior officer, according to records, Goodrum could still face punishment -- a deduction of $4,000 in pay and a letter of reprimand in his permanent officer-management file.

I met Goodrum in the fall of 2003 while working on a series of articles for UPI about long delays in obtaining appointments, a lack of high-quality medical treatment, and poor housing for Iraq vets in long-term outpatient care -- what the Army calls "medical hold." In my first story, which ran in October, I reported that some of the wounded and ill soldiers at Fort Stewart, Ga., were staying in sweltering cement barracks without running water. The story sparked public outrage, some hearings in Congress, and a bipartisan Senate investigation that confirmed my findings. I wrote a second, similar article a few days later about the conditions at Fort Knox.

A group of about 10 soldiers, including officers, had agreed to meet me at a Chinese restaurant off base to talk about the healthcare problems at Fort Knox. Goodrum, in a sharply pressed khaki uniform, was among those willing to go on the record.

I was going through soldiers' service records at the time -- a good way to measure whom one is talking to. Goodrum had been back from Iraq for about four months, and his service record to that point was impeccable. He had received a raft of decorations, and had been named the Army Reserve's 176th Maintenance Battalion's Officer of the Year in 2001. And he had gotten glowing reviews from his bosses going back to his service as a gunner's mate in the Navy on the USS Missouri during the first Gulf War.

Then, after 16 years of spotless service, Goodrum suddenly turned into a bad egg.

Goodrum was transferred to the 212th Transportation Company out of Camp Atterbury, Ind., prior to leaving for Iraq in April 2003. Transportation companies haul everything and anything around Iraq. They face the constant threat of ambush and roadside bombs. In Iraq, Goodrum had around 35 soldiers under his command, with 18 huge trucks for hauling.

Goodrum and his soldiers tried to fulfill their mission. But their equipment was wretchedly inadequate. The disgraceful state of the Army's equipment became clear in December 2004, when Army Spc. Thomas Wilson of the 278th Regimental Combat Team complained to Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld about the lack of armor plating on military combat vehicles. "Why do we soldiers have to dig through local landfills for pieces of scrap metal and compromised ballistic glass to up-armor our vehicles?" Wilson asked. Rumsfeld's cavalier answer was, "You have to go to war with the army you have, not the army you want." As late as August 2003, after Goodrum's combat service, only 15 armored Humvees were being produced each month.

On the ground in Iraq that spring, Goodrum and other soldiers have said, they drove unarmored vehicles, with no body armor, no maps, insufficient ammunition, and no medical kits if they did get hit. Goodrum kept his eyes glued to the side mirror of his lead Humvee counting headlights in his truck convoy -- because they had no radios. Goodrum was forced to improvise a makeshift roof of plywood and sandbags on his unarmored Humvee. And Goodrum and several other soldiers have claimed that they sometimes drove trucks that had been "deadlined" -- meaning the trucks should not have been on the road because of potential safety problems and the possibility of their breaking down in hostile territory.

Making runs was a grueling experience. The convoys faced sniper fire on every mission. At night, tracers would arc nearby, though the soldiers in Goodrum's platoon did not always know who was shooting. The enemy tossed grenades and satchel bombs. "There was a constant threat, 360 degrees," Goodrum said. Like many other transportation companies in the beginning of the war, they were told that Iraqi insurgents were slowing down convoys for attack by putting children in the road. Convoys were ordered to run them down, if necessary. Goodrum saw a British convoy run over a small girl. "There were convoys that would run right over children," Goodrum said. "We had orders to run right the fuck over them. You pray when you see kids. You say, 'Please, God. Please make that child move.' You are put in a serious ethical situation."

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