Deaths from motor vehicle crashes have fallen dramatically throughout the military over the past decade, with one glaring exception: motorcycle accidents. Motorcycle crash deaths — which in 2003 represented just about one-quarter of all military motor vehicle crashes — are now nearly as numerous as auto and truck deaths.

That trend holds at Fort Hood, where non-motorcycle vehicle deaths fell from five to four in fiscal 2013, while motorcycle deaths rose from six to seven.

The persistently high number of motorcycle deaths has stumped military leaders, who require service members to enroll in safety courses. At Fort Hood, riders must take up to three training courses, participate in a mentorship coaching program and wear fluorescent vests, helmets and eye protection. And soldiers returning from deployments must take a refresher course before riding again.

“We at Fort Hood have a considerable number of soldiers who ride motorcycles and tragically are involved in fatal accidents at all times of the year,” said Fort Hood senior commander Maj. Gen. Anthony Ierardi. “The chain of command is keenly aware of this challenge and is committed to mitigating risk by focusing on education, training and awareness as part of our overall campaign to build readiness and resilience.”

The Armed Forces Health Surveillance Center concluded last month that the reason for the increase in motorcycle deaths remains unclear.

“By all appearances, the requisite policies and programs are in place,” officials said in their November Medical Surveillance Monthly Report. “Perhaps greater efforts need to be made to encourage those most at risk — young service members — to appreciate their own vulnerability.”

CLARKSVILLE, TENN. — There are four wounded, ill and injured warriors living in the Voris household. One of them is human; the other three are cats.

Aaron Voris treats the animals like soulmates. A former infantry soldier, he served with the "Red Currahees" of 1st Battalion, 506th Infantry Regiment, 4th Brigade Combat Team, 101st Airborne Division.

As a result of a particularly rough deployment in Afghanistan, he suffers from back and leg injuries, but even more from traumatic brain injury and severe post-traumatic stress disorder.

He's out of the Army now and working toward becoming a veterinary technician.

Together with his wife, Stephanie, and stepdaughter, Ally, he is getting some practice in as the caretaker of three formerly homeless cats — each damaged in its own way.

Aaron said that, like him, they carry the scars and hurts of hard experience.

Lucy, an undersized and sickly cat, has a type of herpes affecting the lungs. It is a permanent condition and expensive to treat, but Lucy is family, and the expense is borne.

China, nicknamed "Tripod," has three legs, which didn't get in the way of Ally falling in love and adopting her.

Harrison, a 12 year-old gray cat, is the most wounded of all. Blind in one eye and half-blind in the other, with one ear destroyed by mites, he was also emotionally scarred by abuse and neglect.

He languished for a long time at Cats Are Us on the top of Boot Hill, unloved except by the volunteers who cared for him. A frightened loner even among the other cats, he rarely moved from the spot he staked out for himself.

Volunteering at Cats Are Us as therapy for his own wounds, Aaron was struck by Harrison, who was skin and bones from not eating.

"We both looked at each other, and immediately, I think he understood what I was going through, and I understood what he was going through," Aaron said. "I think he has as much PTSD as I do."