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He recounts his tense arrival in Iraq, being met by a Special Forces soldier who told him, "You'll be lucky to get out of here alive." He tells how his first convoy traveled the same route where a previous convoy had been ambushed. How a five-ton truck in their convoy broke down for five hours in the middle of what a highway veteran told Pogany was "Indian country." How he was driving a Land Rover the last leg after dark with a Special Forces medic who developed a strange tic, chanting Dr. Seuss rhymes from the front seat, each of them holding their M-4s on their laps, muzzles out the window. "He goes into Rain Man mode and starts reciting 'Green Eggs and Ham,'" recalls Pogany, incredulous at the surreal memory. He shut the medic up with a cigarette, and they drove through the darkness to an undisclosed location, "which was definitely not a Club Med." The compound had been attacked the previous week, and there was evidence of small-arms fire and mortar shells pocking the building where Pogany was told to bunk down. Late at night, a patrol came in after a firefight, jubilant over dead and captured Iraqis.

That's when Pogany saw the mutilated Iraqi body peeking out from a body bag. Twenty minutes later he was puking his guts out.

After being ordered out of Iraq, Pogany was flown back to Ft. Carson, spread-eagled and frisked, and separated from other soldiers. Special Forces personnel confiscated his belongings, including his laptop and satellite phone. They even took his personal gun from his home and put him on a suicide watch even though every psychiatric evaluation he had undergone specifically said that he was not a risk to himself or others. He was charged with violating Article 99 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, "cowardly conduct as a result of fear." The military dropped the cowardice charge on Nov. 6, 2003, and downgraded the charge to willful dereliction of duty.


Meanwhile, Pogany felt vilified. In a notable low point, he was watching Paula Zahn on CNN and saw a split-screen television news program that placed Pvt. Jessica Lynch on one side of the TV with the word "Hero." On the other side was a picture of him emblazoned with "Coward."

Then, on Dec. 18, the military dropped the charge of willful dereliction of duty, which would have required a court-martial, and tried to get Pogany on what is called an "Article 15 non-judicial punishment," a military procedure that allows a commanding officer to control the proceedings, including what evidence can and cannot be presented and whether Pogany could even have a lawyer present. A negative outcome would have effectively ruined Pogany's reputation and career.

Pogany declined. "I said, 'Court-martial me, then.'" In a court-martial, he'd be able to call witnesses and produce evidence, including psychologists' and psychiatrists' reports, both civilian and military, attesting to the diagnosis of combat stress and the subsequent trauma inflicted by the military's legal proceedings against him. (Pogany's diagnosis was upgraded to chronic post-traumatic stress disorder, according to a Report of Mental Status Evaluation dated Jan. 7, 2004. The report, co-signed by a civilian psychologist and an Army psychiatrist, stated, "This soldier has undergone a great deal of legal stress, which has taken a toll psychiatrically.")

As of early June, Pogany's legal case was still on hold, pending the military's next move. Rich Travis, Pogany's attorney and a former military prosecutor, says that when he inquired recently about what that next move would be, he was told, "The statute of limitations is five years." Travis suspects the military is trying to delay and goad his client to do something that will help them build a case that Pogany was a nut-bag to begin with -- since otherwise they don't have a case. "I think they're backed in a corner," Travis says. "I don't think they have many options left but to wear him down. I've never seen a soldier treated this way."

In mid-May, Pogany traveled for psychological and other medical treatment at the Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington. Then, last week, Pogany was diagnosed by a military doctor in California with "likely Lariam toxicity," according to medical records from the Naval Medical Center in San Diego. Pogany's records indicate that he suffered brain-stem damage (it isn't yet clear if the damage is permanent or not), and the diagnosis lends credence to the possibility that his panic attack may have been related to the antimalarial drug. (Panic attacks are known possible side effects and are listed on the drug manufacturer's warnings.) The Lariam issue is bound to grow, as more soldiers become aware of the range of possible reactions to the drug, from disorientation to loss of balance to suicide. A two-year investigation by UPI documents dozens of soldiers who appear to be suffering serious psychological side effects from Lariam. Separately, the Department of Veterans Affairs and the DoD have launched independent investigations into the drug's long-term effect on troops.

What remains abundantly clear is that the military's judicial proceedings against Pogany have delayed his receiving timely medical and psychological help. He is cautiously optimistic that, with last week's diagnosis of likely Lariam/ mefloquine toxicity, the military will now begin to help him and other soldiers recover from the psychological and pharmacological odyssey they've experienced in service of their country.

From his vantage point in Texas after finishing his hitch, former Combat Stress Control Team member Forsythe worries that Pogany's case sends a message that "your career is screwed" if you seek mental-health help, even from forward-deployed stress teams like his. What makes this especially maddening to Forsythe is that the Army's policies are totally inconsistent. He says he's helped many soldiers just like Pogany. "There's a whole population that uses us and gets on with their lives. Why are we out there with the tip of the spear if they can't come and see us? What are we there for?" The low-key Forsythe gets more animated as he considers the implications. "We're going to have a lot of people coming back who are messed up," he says. "This was a very simple case. It just got screwed up for no other reason than somebody was out to get this guy from the beginning. It shocked me."