War like no other: America's wounded return with haunting memories. They come from all walks of life. Some soldiers never return and we mourn.

Byline: Jim Carney and David Knox

Jan. 28--Jessica Clements' boyfriend took her to a Green High School basketball game a few weeks ago so they could watch his brother play ball at their alma mater. Her fun night out was in dramatic contrast to the spring and summer of 2004, when signs bearing her smiling face dotted the community, asking for prayer. The Army staff sergeant was in a military hospital, where she was given a 2 percent chance of survival after a roadside attack on the way to Baghdad International Airport. She had severe brain injuries. Now enrolled at the University of Akron, it was a refreshing moment to climb into the car with her friend, Paul Ellis Jr., for the trip to her home near Canton after the ballgame. But on the dark road, she shuddered in terror and grabbed Ellis' arm. Ellis saw nothing, and asked what was wrong.

It was a combat flashback. There were no terrorists, and there was no bomb, but on Clements' road to recovery, there are haunting leftovers from her involvement in America's post 9/11 military action.

Clements, now 30, is representative of the dramatic change in the nation's casualties in this war, in comparison with Vietnam. Among the casualties -- defined as those either injured or killed -- the survival rate is much higher because of quicker medical attention on the battlefield and in combat hospitals, great improvements in medical care and technology, and superior …