My first duty is to my men. I am theirs, and they are mine.
If I'm damaged, I cannot do my duties to my men -- so when I wake this morning covered in blood and half-dressed, it's only second nature to check myself for injuries.
I can't do that while clothed, so I stumble into the bathroom and undress. Dried blood sticks to my skin in sheets, but nothing hurts -- I still make an inspection with my hands. No lacerations or rough patches indicating scab.
The blood doesn't appear to be mine.
It follows, then, that I can tend to everyone else, see if they're injured.
I redress in a clean uniform (the blood crackles against my naked body under the cloth, but I'll wash later) and go in search of them.
I don't need to know their names -- I know my men by their skin, the warmth of their bodies, the different rates at which their hearts beat. Names are immaterial; I know them by entirely more personal criteria.
One of my first readable responses after all of the evil insane squee stuff: "I may not agree with everything you have to say, but you're still pretty cool!" or something like that. XD