FROM GUNG-HO TO DISABLED, SOLDIER'S LIFE CHANGES IN A FLASH BUILDING A NEW REALITY.

Byline: Rachel Uranga Staff Writer

Until that day nearly a year ago, the fiercest enemy Sgt. Tom Krueger ever had faced lurked on the war-torn streets of Baghdad.

Then a 500-pound artillery round upended his Humvee, killing his crew mate and shattering his own feet.

Lying in his hospital bed wondering if he'd ever walk again, Krueger faced a new enemy - his own feelings.

``I remember getting really upset and thinking 'I can't play basketball with my son.' And I shot back at myself and I said, 'No, I am not going to be that,''' he recalled.

Monday marks the third anniversary of the beginning of the Iraq war, and Krueger is one of the many thousands of American servicemen and -women fighting to overcome the physical and emotional scars inflicted by the war. Since American troops rolled into Baghdad, more than 17,000 men and women have been wounded and 2,312 killed.

The cost of caring for these men and women - many with injuries so severe that treatment will last a lifetime - could run as high as $90 billion, according to some experts' projections. But the price, for these heroes and their families, goes far beyond money.

``It's been me against me,'' Krueger said. ``It's been me measuring myself, who I am against who I think I am.''

Once a self-proclaimed fashionista, Krueger looked more Hollywood hipster than soldier. He joined the Army in 1988 because he was enamored of the camaraderie and the sense of being a part of something larger than himself.

After serving in Operation Desert Storm in 1991, he became an emergency medical technician. Landing a job in Hollywood, he was treating A-list celebrities for headaches and heatstroke on movie sets.

Still drawn to the military structure, though, he decided to sign up for the National Guard so he could pursue his career and be with his family while getting another taste of the military.

Krueger got the call to active duty early last year, and soon found himself patrolling the streets of Baghdad - until the day the bomb went off, shattering his feet. After treatment at a military hospital, Krueger was sent home.

Now, he spends several hours a week at a spacious Burbank medical clinic filled with treadmills, 3-foot-diameter rubber balls and medical tables. Through a special Army program, he receives treatment close to home.

He is one of thousands of wounded who are readjusting to doing small tasks that now seem monumental.

``The Veterans Administration is very overwhelmed by the demand of the returning Iraq war veterans,'' said Linda Bilmes, a former assistant Secretary for Management and Budget at the U.S. Department of Commerce under the Clinton administration who recently co-authored a study on the cost of this war.

``About half of those wounded are seriously injured. And there are now thousands with injuries who need around-the-clock care.''

Krueger considers himself lucky.

He is mobile enough to operate the ROTC program at the University of Southern California. But at his doctor's office, it takes him nearly a minute to walk, heel-to-toe, across the room. Flexing his feet and lifting his toes pains him. And when the doctor slightly probes around his ankles, he winces.

Everything's a chore

Krueger hopes one day he will run again, but he knows it's unlikely.

Metal plates implanted into both heels hold broken bones together. But the muscles prove so frail that he cannot muster enough grip with his feet to balance himself on uneven surfaces.

He labors to walk up inclines and on sand or even grass. Parking in the hilly area around his Mount Washington home becomes a chore as he tries to unbuckle his child's safety seat.

The disability prevents him from returning to his EMT job with the six-figure salary. And no longer can Krueger just jump from his car and park himself on some sunny beach.

``It's slow,'' he said. ``It's kind of like hard to get around. It's frustrating to do simple things. But I don't feel sorry for myself. I don't feel like I am missing anything.''

Krueger, thoughtful and quick-witted, said his old life has now dissipated and much of the struggle brought on by the war stands behind him.

He wears frumpier clothes and doesn't go out for nights on the town like he used to. He also enjoys a slower pace, one that allows him to watch his son play in the park. It's something he might have overlooked before had an injury not forced him to pause.

For many injured soldiers - some amputees, others living with painful injuries - it is difficult to reconcile their new lives with their old ones, experts say. Many will battle lifelong handicaps and grapple to find a purposeful life, accepting the new, disabled them.

``This really goes into the core of who they are,'' said Leslie Martin, director of the Post Traumatic Stress Outpatient Services for Veterans Affairs in Los Angeles. ``What you are really talking about is loss. You are talking about your self-perception.''

Soldiers spend weeks on end training to become peak fighters - doing grueling sets of push-ups and long runs. They enter a combat zone, physically trained and armed.

Even though they know better, they feel invincible.

Getting wounded punctures that perception, Martin said.

``When there is some deficit in their sense of being so powerful, the loss is greater,'' she said. ``It's much more acute.''

A recent military study found that one out of five returning veterans faced mental health problems. The emotional effects sometimes take years to emerge and can lead to destructive behavior, high divorce rates and substance abuse.

Surprise blast

On April 5, 2005, Krueger had been in the last vehicle in a four-vehicle caravan patrolling the mud-caked roads of Baghdad. Normally, units leading morning patrols through the crowded city streets would hit pockets of resistance, taking fire from different directions.

But that day was quiet.

The patrol returned from checking vandalized fences near a palm tree farm. And though the mood in the Humvee was still tense, the men had relaxed a little. Krueger and another soldier were chatting about their sons, both named Diego.

Then an ear-piercing blast shot out of a parked car. The pressure was so intense that it sent the Humvee tumbling and blew out windows three blocks away.

Unaware of his own injuries, Krueger, the company medic, emerged to find his patrol mate, Cpl. Glenn Watkins, lying in the street with massive injuries. Krueger dragged his then-useless legs over to resuscitate him. He was sure Watkins was alive.

But his buddy had died, and other medics were trying to get Krueger treatment.

Had the treatment not been so swift, doctors later told him, his legs might have had to be amputated.

What followed was a whirlwind of medevacs, hospitals and surgeries. Three days after the explosion, Krueger found himself lying in a roomful of wounded soldiers at William Beaumont Army Medical Center in El Paso, Texas.

Reality of disability

Like many veterans returning with multiple injuries, he was grateful to be alive, saved by speedy wartime medicine.

After weeks sitting in the hospital immobilized, the chain of events seemed to still swirl around him but never quite sank in. He laughed with other wounded soldiers about jokes they made in Iraq and the curse-worthy pain they endured.

He went to therapy and discussed his fear about returning home, but he never confronted reality.

``I hadn't grappled with the fact - and I still probably haven't grappled with the fact - that this is permanent. I thought, this is just a temporary setback. I thought, you break your arm, you break your feet. It didn't strike me that my life was forever changed.

``Nobody can 'get' me anymore. I can't expect them to understand me when they are in this American bubble,'' he said. ``A veteran comes back and has to construct this whole civilian side. He can't wear the war on his sleeve and expect to interact with the civilian world.''

Then Krueger took his first trip out of the hospital. His wife picked him up and, in moments, he was curled up in the back seat of their car, wailing like a baby.

He was crashing. And it won't be the last time.

``I had to come to terms with fate and faith,'' Krueger said. ``There is this sense that I survived - what are the odds? - I have to make the best out of my life.''

Rachel Uranga, [phone]

rachel.uranga(at)dailynews.com

CAPTION(S):

3 photos, chart

Photo:

(1 -- color) Sgt. Thomas Krueger's feet were shattered in Iraq when a bomb exploded next to the Humvee he was riding in. After surgery, he is relearning to walk and building his strength with the help of physical therapist Dr. Robert Kroop, left.

(2 -- color) Dr. Robert Kroop, right, manipulates Sgt. Thomas Krueger's rebuilt feet to build strength and mobility in his calves and feet. Krueger's feet were shattered in a blast in Iraq.

David Sprague/Staff Photographer

(3 -- color) no caption (tank)

Chart:

U.S. casualties

SOURCE: Defense Dept., Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Daily News research

Gregg Miller/Staff Artist