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The medics rushed from table to table, hanging bags of fluids, setting up sterile trays of shiny surgical instruments and laying out blankets to warm the wounded.
Fifty miles to the south, an Army truck had struck a land mine. Now the injured soldiers were being rushed to the U.S. military hospital at Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan.
The first reports had alerted the hospital's staff to expect four critically wounded patients. But just before the approaching evacuation helicopter started shaking the building's plywood walls, the radio crackled to life, and spoke of death.
There were no lives to save.
Medic Sarah Hjalmarson watched helplessly as the soldiers' corpses were brought into the hospital.
"One was just completely unrecognizable," she recalled. "If you hadn't known it was a person, you wouldn't have been able to tell. And the other three -- the other three were just lifeless bodies and distant eyes. It was almost like they were pleading for help."
Four years have passed, but Hjalmarson can still see those soldiers' eyes.
Like many other veterans, Hjalmarson suffers from post-traumatic stress from her wartime experiences. And she is prepared to shoulder that burden for the rest of her life.
She calls it a small sacrifice -- and she has asked for little in return.
All she wants is for her commander in chief to keep a promise.
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Growing impatient » Sixteen
But since 1993, thousands of service members have been discharged for allegedly failing to keep a tight enough lock on their personal lives. Critics, including President Barack Obama, say the policy costs the military the services of hundreds of well-trained service members each year. And, Obama has argued, it's cruel thanks for those who volunteer to serve in the military.
"We should not be punishing patriotic Americans who have stepped forward to serve this country," Obama told a gathering of thousands of gay rights advocates last month. "We should be celebrating their willingness to show such courage and selflessness on behalf of their fellow citizens -- especially when we're fighting two wars."
But Obama has not yet backed his words with action. And some gay-rights advocates are growing impatient.
Today, gay veterans will rally at the Utah state Capitol to honor one another's service and call for an end to the Don't Ask policy. At the rally, Rep. Christine Johnson, one of three openly gay state legislators in Utah, will introduce a resolution calling for a repeal of the federal policy.
Johnson said she understands that her resolution may be the most quixotic of all the bills offered in the next session, given the overwhelmingly conservative bent of the Utah Legislature. But the Salt Lake City Democrat and other supporters point to changing opinions about the policy throughout the United States and within the military, including a recent study by the government-funded RAND Corp. that found that gay and lesbian service members do not adversely impact unit cohesion or readiness. The study included a 2006 survey of Iraq and Afghanistan war veterans that found most service members are far more concerned with the quality of leadership, training and equipment within their units than whether a fellow soldier is gay.
But Iraq War veteran Dan Choi, an Army officer who has been flagged for discharge under Don't Ask, believes there is an even more powerful weapon in the fight against the policy. At a speech at the University of Utah last month, Choi called on gay veterans to share their stories, reasoning that it's easier for people to support discriminatory policies when they do not know people who have been affected. "It's our responsibility to tell," he said. "It is our responsibility to not accept silence."
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'Essential dishonesty' » Hjalmarson was just a few weeks into her yearlong tour of duty in Afghanistan when she was called on to step away from her duties as a medic to help prepare the bodies of the soldiers killed in the land mine attack. Rifling through the pockets of ripped, burned and bloodied uniforms in an effort to save any personal effects for the soldiers' next of kin, Hjalmarson came upon dog tags, wallets, wedding rings, photographs and letters.
"This isn't the sort of thing they prepare you for or that you could ever be prepared for," said the former soldier from Salt Lake City. "Coming that early into my time there, it just sort of took my breath away from the start and I wasn't sure if I'd ever get it back again."
In the next days, Hjalmarson and fellow medics were visited by supervisors who wanted to see how they were handling the first tragedy of their deployment. Among the questions asked: "What kind of support do you have?"
Hjalmarson couldn't answer. Revealing that she was in a long-term lesbian relationship with a woman back home would not have made her life any easier.
As she had grown adept at doing throughout her brief military career, Hjalmarson simply kept silent.
"That wasn't any different for me," she said. "I was silent about a lot of things. There were always things I would have liked to have been able to talk about but that I couldn't. Combat affects your relationships. You want to be able to talk about that with someone -- in fact, they tell you that you should -- but I couldn't."
Former Marine Jeff Key is incensed by stories like that.
Short of marriage, he says, the bonds forged between service members at war "are the strongest anyone could ever have with someone -- a contract that says, 'I will die for you and I know that you will die for me.' You share the highest highs and the lowest lows."
What Don't Ask imposes on those relationships, Key said, "is an essential dishonesty -- it expects you to lie."
Key, an Iraq war veteran who lives in Salt Lake City, hosts weekend retreats for fellow gay veterans through his nonprofit Mehadi Foundation. He said the programs are just a small way to thank veterans who have been told in other ways, "you're not good enough."
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'So exhausting' » James Pagan understood the rules: No one was supposed to ask. And he wasn't supposed to tell.
But in the company of people he was supposed to trust with his life, the Army soldier found it exhausting to try to maintain the façade.
One day, Pagan remembered, a fellow soldier came to him and asked, " 'I just want to know -- are you?' And I said, 'yes.' "
In spite of the vagueness of the conversation, an investigation was initiated into what Pagan meant when he said "yes." Pagan said he was questioned repeatedly about the meaning of the conversation and even subjected to a polygraph test.
Terrified and disenchanted, Pagan acknowledged he was gay and was soon discharged. In spite of his experiences, Pagan said he would like to serve again. "If they lifted the ban, I'd join back up," he said. "I love my country."
Pagan said he doesn't believe most people would find it possible to serve in the military without acknowledging their sexual orientation.
"The idea that you can nullify someone's sexuality, it's just very childish," said Pagan, who lives in West Valley City. "Anyone who says it can be done has never tried it. I mean, really, can you imagine having a spouse but having to keep that a secret? Keeping your entire dating life a secret? To not be able to talk about who you're dating, or who you've dated in the past? To not be able to talk about the movie stars you find attractive?"
Pagan, who worked in Army intelligence, figures the military lost a good soldier when it ran him off. But it's not just those whose sexual orientations are exposed that the military loses as a result of the Don't Ask policy.
Brianne and Amanda Blanchard met while training for their jobs as Korean linguists at the military's Defense Language Institute in California. For a few years, the couple tried to live undercover lives, Brianne said, but it ultimately proved impossible.
"It just becomes so exhausting," she said. "It's not good for your family, it's not good for anyone, so you make a choice to leave."
Key, the former Marine, also figures the Corps lost out when it discharged him under the Don't Ask policy. "Whether you believe it or not, my life experiences -- growing up gay in the South -- set me up for success as a Marine," Key said. "I had some experience overcoming challenges."
