FORT HOOD, Texas  Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan, the Army psychiatrist who allegedly went on a murderous shooting spree here Thursday, confessed to his local mosque elder months ago that he was conflicted between his devotion to Islam and his allegiance to the U.S. military. "If soldiers come to me and have problems fighting other Muslims, what do I tell them?" Osman Danquah, co-founder of the Islamic Community of Greater Killeen, said Hasan asked him in August. 'FRESH START': Suspect had trouble elsewhere POST TRAGEDY: FBI will re-enact massacre VICTIMS: Families say soldiers heard yelling, then gunfire Hasan also asked about soldiers changing their minds after joining the military and inquired about other members of the congregation, Danquah said. His line of questioning sounded so disjointed, however, that Danquah said Saturday he suspected Hasan might be a federal agent trying to infiltrate the mosque. "I told him, 'There's something wrong with you, and if you're here to gather information, we're not here to do anything against the government. We're here to worship,'" Danquah said. In his radio address Saturday President Obama asked for patience while officials piece together what happened. "We cannot fully know what leads a man to do such a thing," Obama said. "But what we do know is that our thoughts are with every one of the men and women who were injured at Fort Hood. Our thoughts are with all the families who've lost a loved one in this national tragedy." On Tuesday, the president and first lady will travel to Fort Hood for a memorial service. On Thursday, Hasan jumped on a desk and hollered "Allahu Akbar!" — God is great! — inside Fort Hood's Soldier Readiness Center before firing at soldiers and civilians gathered there, military and hospital officials said. Twelve soldiers and one civilian were killed and 30 others were wounded, some seriously, Fort Hood spokesman Col. John Rossi said. Authorities are calling it the deadliest shooting spree ever inside an American military installation. Hasan used a pair of non-military-issued handguns purchased locally to fire more than 100 rounds inside the center before being shot and subdued by two Fort Hood Police officers, Rossi said. Hasan was transferred Friday to Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, about 150 miles southwest of Fort Hood. He was alive but unable to speak, he said. "It's a kick in the gut, no doubt," Army Chief of Staff Gen. George Casey told reporters after arriving Friday at Fort Hood. Doctors on Saturday detailed how soldiers wounded in the rampage continued to mend. Of the 10 brought to Scott and White Memorial Hospital, four have been released and one may go home Saturday, said Roy Smythe, head of surgery at the hospital. Four of the six victims in intensive care have been moved out of that unit and into regular patient rooms, he said. Rehabilitation to repair the limbs and torsos torn by bullets may be a long road, Smythe said at at a press conference Saturday that included Texas Gov. Rick Perry and other state officials. "There's a possibility that some of these patients will be affected physically the rest of their lives and there's a good chance that they'll have psychological damage the rest of their lives," Smythe said. Perry said he visited the wounded patients and their families, telling them that he and people across the state are wishing them a speedy recovery. Perry earlier also visited with Fort Hood Police Sgt. Kimberly Munley, who is credited with shooting Hasan and ending his massacre. Munley is recovering at another hospital from gunshot wounds received in the exchange with Hasan. "I told them there are 24 million Texans praying for them and wishing them well," Perry said and praised Munley as a "classic public servant." Perry said Thursday's incident still cast a pall over the community. "It's been almost two days now since this tragic event and I don't think anything's happened to dull our feelings about this incident," he said. State Rep. Sid Miller added: "Last Thursday was one of the darkest hours and darkest days I've seen here at Fort Hood. We will study it and make sure something like this never happens again." On Friday, soldiers and their families gathered in prayer vigils and counseling sessions, grappling with how one of their own could create such a calamity. Hundreds of soldiers and their families gathered Friday night at a football field on Fort Hood to light candles, sing hymns and say prayers for the victims of the attack. Staff Sgt. Eric Mullins, 25, of the 1st Calvary, said he had been in the readiness center where the attack occurred just last week. "Feels like it's not real yet," said Mullins, who attended the vigil with his wife, Trisha, and 2-year-old daughter, Lily. "It's crazy for soldiers to do this to other soldiers." Earlier that day, in another corner of the Army post, 13 flag-draped coffins containing the slain victims were rolled, one by one, into the belly of a C-17 plane in a solemn tradition known as a "ramp ceremony," said Rossi, the Fort Hood spokesman. About 300 soldiers in dress uniforms gathered to see them off, including one of the wounded soldiers who had been shot in the leg, he said. "It's important to observe this tradition," Rossi said. This is a town that's used to sudden death: More than 500 servicemen and women based at Fort Hood, a sprawling 340-square-mile installation, have died in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. But having soldiers die at home from repeated gunshots from another soldier is numbing, said Dena McClain, a Fort Hood resident whose husband, Richard, is currently in Iraq with the Army's 1st Calvary Division. "If you're at home, you want to feel safe," McClain said. "And now, suddenly, you're not." Doctors and surgeons at Metroplex Adventist Hospital in Killeen, where Fort Hood is located, treated seven of the shooting victims, including one who was pronounced dead on arrival. Doctors scrambled to mend legs, arms, chests and heads shredded by gunshot wounds. One soldier, hit by several gunshots, kept yelling, "Call my wife!" One woman was brought in, untouched by gunshots, but pale as a bed sheet and unable to stop shaking, hospital officials said. Over and over, she asked: "Why?" Kelly Matlock, an anesthesiologist, treated four of the patients, all of them soldiers. "It was like someone shot someone in your family," she said. "It was very personal." Guidelines: You share in the USA TODAY community, so please keep your comments smart and civil. Don't attack other readers personally, and keep your language decent. Use the "Report Abuse" button to make a difference. You share in the USA TODAY community, so please keep your comments smart and civil. 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