Anxiety seizes his body and sometimes he has to pull his car over and catch his breath. The memories are too much. Even if they weren't, his weakened lungs are a constant reminder.

On Sept. 15, 1999, Bosley and 48 other construction workers suddenly became violently ill as they worked on a chemical weapons incinerator at the Army's Umatilla storage site.

Bosley, who lives in Milton-Freewater, says he has lived with reactive airway syndrome and post-traumatic stress disorder ever since.

In February, U.S. District Court Judge Dennis Hubel ruled the Army was negligent for not getting the stricken workers medical help until hours later.

Now the case returns to federal court. On Tuesday, the workers' attorney will try to prove his clients were exposed to sarin and mustard chemical weapons.

The workers blame Army negligence.

"We wouldn't be as sick as we are if we had been decontaminated immediately," said Brian Zasso, another worker who is suing the Army.

Zasso, of Pasco, and the other workers are convinced the Army has lied about what caused their injuries.

The Army denies that any of the 7.4 million pounds of deadly nerve gas and mustard agent stored at the depot afflicted the workers.

Army spokeswoman Mary Binder said the Army, Raytheon, the Occupational Safety and Health Administration and the state each independently investigated the accident.

"They all concluded it was not the chemical agents stored at the depot," she said. "The Army stands not only behind our report, but the other reports that were completed."

Raytheon, the contractor building the incinerator for the Army, originally was named as a defendant in the lawsuit, but settled out of court last year with the workers. Details were not made public, but workers say the amount they received from the company, now known as Washington Demilitarization Co., was small.

"We paid a few bills and bought a washer and dryer," Bosley said.

He and other workers say they've had a tough time since the accident.

Bosley filed for bankruptcy after racking up more than $200,000 in medical bills. Six others have lost their homes. Two dozen have decreased lung capacity or have been diagnosed with reactive airway disease.

Many haven't worked a day since the incident.

Bosley said his physical injuries are easier to deal with than his unstable emotions. The tall, even-tempered preacher is more accustomed to helping others deal with their problems than asking for help himself.

He wants the Army to take responsibility for his ailments. That, he says, will help him regain his pride and help restore the life he and his family lost.

"It's like he died that day and someone else came home," said Jessi Bosley, his daughter.

Bosley, 41, and his wife, Tresa, 37, have eight children: Morgan, 12; Jessi, 17; Ashleigh, 18; Dave, 18; Ron, 19; Shannon, 20; Jessica, 22; and Philip, 24. Four of them are adopted.

At the time of the incident, the tight-knit family lived in Prosser, where Tresa home-schooled the kids and Dave preached at Lighthouse Baptist Church.

On weekends, the family went boating or hiked in the Horse Heaven Hills.

Bosley's family called him Superman.

"He could do anything," Tresa Bosley said. "He was smart, funny and everybody that knew him loved him. He was determined to accomplish anything he put his mind to."

Bosley had worked as a millwright at the depot for nearly a month when the accident happened. He was 4 feet off the ground on an elevator shaft inside the plant when a searing, burning pain shot through his lungs and nose. He couldn't breathe. Others around him coughed and vomited as they stumbled outside.

Bosley said he recognized the symptoms of nerve agent exposure from an orientation film he'd watched when he started the job.

"I was sure I was going to die. You could see terror in every man's face," he said.

He struggled to make it outside, then realized his partner, Matt Greenup, wasn't with him -- so he went back to get him.

"I don't remember it, but he says I saved his life," Bosley said.

Bosley, Zasso and the other workers gathered outside the nearby first aid building, anxious to get help. Bosley was given an oxygen mask, but others were told they "just needed some fresh air," Zasso said.

It was nearly two hours before the workers were taken to Good Shepherd Medical Center in Hermiston.

Most were treated and released. Three, including Bosley, were admitted.

It was 10 days before Bosley came home. He had trouble breathing and his memory was affected.

"I can't remember getting married or the birth of my children," he said.

He struggles each day with the guilt of not providing for his family and for leaning too much on his children, most of whom are now grown.

"The mental and emotional problems have surpassed the physical," he said.

Although some of the workers, like Zasso, have qualified for disability, Bosley refuses to take the benefits and is struggling to find a new career.

Tresa Bosley said they've discussed it, but disability payments wouldn't be enough to take care of the large family. And for her husband, it would be a symbol of giving up.

"I'm smart enough to do something else," he said.

He moved the family to California, where he got his real estate license. He was doing pretty well, he said, "until it all fell apart."

The family returned to the Northwest earlier this year.

Bosley and his family members carry inhalers in case he has an asthma attack, but there's nothing they can tuck into a pocket to help him when he breaks down mentally.

He's tried to commit suicide three times, and the anxiety attacks have become more frequent, Tresa Bosley said.

It's worse when he's alone. He dwells on the pressure he's put on his kids, who have gone to work to pay the rent and buy groceries.

"I stole their high school years, when they could have been saving for a car or college," he said.

He said it hasn't helped that some people think the workers are faking their injuries to get a big cash settlement.

"Their character has been put on trial," his wife said.

It would be easier, she said, if he had a disease or illness evident to those passing him on the street.

"People would have compassion, kindness and understanding," she said. "They can't see the effects of the chemicals, or don't understand post-traumatic stress disorder. Lives and relationships have been lost. You can't compensate for that."

Zasso also has battled depression. He said he didn't get out of bed for three months or take a bath. The dark months were filled with anger at the Army.

"I finally realized it was making me sicker than I had to be," he said. "I've come to terms with it."

Bosley just started a new job, driving a delivery truck. It's a new start and the family can use the money. But the fear lingers.

"This morning I made him breakfast, packed his lunch and kissed him goodbye," Tresa Bosley said. "But there was this little voice that said, 'What if he doesn't come home?' "