Tyson Mortensen didn't want anyone's help.

The military had already fixed Mortensen's broken back and crushed hand - both injured when his Humvee rolled over during a roadside bomb attack in Iraq's Anbar Province in 2005. That was enough for the battle-hardened Marine.

But it wasn't enough for Dan Murchie, a clinical substance abuse counselor charged with helping the nation's latest generation of veterans transition back into civilian life.

At the Veterans Affairs Salt Lake City Health Care System, Murchie prides himself on not taking no for an answer from recently returned vets. But Mortensen was proving to be a tough nut to crack.

"I didn't want the help. I didn't need the help, and I didn't want to talk to anyone," Mortensen recalled. "But he kept pressuring me, so finally I said, 'Fine, I'll come in and talk.'"

Murchie figures that's all he needs. With the smoothness of a military recruiter and the earnestness of a kindergarten teacher, he prods and pleads with veterans to get them in the door. After that, he figures, the VA sells itself.

From helping veterans access medical and mental health care to providing assistance with benefits, compensation, work and education, a new clinic at the Salt Lake VA is intended to serve as a one-stop shopping for any veteran of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

"Here's the new philosophy at the VA: If these guys need anything, and they're not getting it, it's my job to get it for them. Not just tell them where to get it, but take them by the hand and take them there and make sure they don't hear the word 'no,'" Murchie said, adding he's not above bending the rules and breaking through red tape to help his clients.

Murchie recognizes that philosophy flies in the face of stereotypes about the bureaucratic VA. He also understands there is some resentment, particularly among veterans of the Vietnam War, regarding the head-of-the-line treatment offered to those who have served in Iraq and Afghanistan.

"It creates a lot of heartburn with those who weren't given the same level of service and respect," Murchie said.

But Murchie said today's efforts are about not repeating the mistakes of the past. "We've learned that the overall health costs associated with not providing treatment immediately are much, much higher," he said.

Unit commanders are now required to brief their exiting members about available services -- and Mortensen recalls sitting through that lecture.

"But when you're sitting there, about to go home, you're not thinking about any of that," the former Marine said. "All you can see is the door. You just want to go home."

Now, Mortensen said, he's glad he listened to Murchie. He's a regular visitor to the clinic -- which facilitates services for more than 4,000 veterans throughout Utah, Colorado, Nevada and Idaho.

Danika Richins, who coordinates care for about 200 patients suffering multiple injuries, believes the new system is working to help reduce longer-term issues. "Now we're getting them early," Richins said. "And the earlier we get them, the better their lives will be."

That means not letting veterans slip through the cracks -- and making sure those who do enroll in the program are directed to every opportunity for available care.

Mental health case Manager Jeff Hunter helped design the clinic's assessment process -- and then went through the process himself upon returning from a reserve deployment to Iraq with the Utah-based 328th Combat Support Hospital.

"I got to see first hand that it was working," Hunter said. "And I'd say it's pretty comprehensive."

Andy Figorski agrees. The Iraq War veteran said being able to access a spectrum of VA services through just one set of doors has been important for him -- and he can tell that it has been important to others as well. "You can see the necessity on their faces," he said.

mlaplante@sltrib.com / blogs.sltrib.com/military