Jadick was looking forward to leading a comfortable life as what he called a "gentleman urologist." But because of an acute doctor shortage, Jadick, a senior medical officer, volunteered his services. In the summer of 2004, Commander Jadick shipped out for Fallujah. In Sunni territory west of Baghdad, the city seethed with insurgents. Jihadists had strung up the burned bodies of American contractors in the spring of 2004, and chaos had reigned ever since, writes Newsweek. On the plane, he sat behind a gunnery staff sergeant named Ryan P. Shane. A 250-pound weight-lifter, the massive Shane turned in his seat to look at Jadick. Slowly taking the measure of the 5'10, 200-pound Jadick, the gunnery sergeant said, "So you're our new surgeon. That's one job I wouldn't want to have with the place where we're going." That night, Jadick e-mailed his wife, "What have I gotten myself into?"

Jadick recalls peering out at the first real fire fight of his life. There were not two wounded men, but seven. Attending medical school on a Navy scholarship, he had never seen or experienced real war-the kind of urban combat that can leave 30 to 40 percent of a unit wounded or dead. "I can't tell you how scared I was," he tells Newsweek. "My legs wanted to stay in that vehicle, but I had to get off. I wanted to go back into that vehicle and lie under something and cry. I felt like a coward. I felt like it took me hours to make the decision to go."

Afraid of dying, more afraid of failing his comrades, he felt the need to get still closer to the battle. In effect, Jadick wanted to set up an emergency room in the middle of the battlefield (this was very rare for a doctor to be so far forward). Loading up two armored ambulances, he convoyed into the city in the dead of night to establish an aid station in the prayer room of an old government building. For 11 days, Jadick worked night and day at his forward aid station. The casualty runs began arriving in the morning, depositing their grisly cargoes. Kneeling over a wounded Marine, Jadick was startled to see a muzzle flash from a water tower about 50 yards away. He could clearly see a sniper, his face wrapped in cloth. For a moment, Jadick, the former Marine captain, replaced Jadick, the Navy doctor. A truckload of Marines had just pulled up. "Please go kill that guy," said Jadick, and their commander sent them out to silence the man. Jadick had a fleeting struggle with the Hippocratic Oath ("Do no harm") but thought, "at some point, it's either kill or be killed."

By mid-December, Fallujah was secured. It had been the worst urban fighting involving Americans since Vietnam. By mid-January, Jadick was home and was awarded a Bronze Star with a Combat V for valor. (The medal, pinned onto Jadick in January, is the only Combat V awarded a Navy doctor thus far in the Iraq war.) Jadick still owes the Navy a couple of years as a doctor. "Being a battalion surgeon is one of the greatest jobs there is," he says, in his low-key way. "So, sure, I would do it again, yeah."

Also as part of the cover package, General Editor Jonathan Darman, Pat Wingert, Los Angeles Correspondent Andrew Murr, and National Correspondent Martha Brant talk to four of the injured Marines treated by Jadick in Fallujah, update their progress and discuss what's next for them now that they've returned from Iraq. Ryan P. Shane, one of the Marines, tells Newsweek, "I was in the infantry. I knew what could happen... I decided that there were a lot of guys who were worse off than me, and I had a lot to be thankful for. Considering how badly I was hit, I feel great."

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