The details vary from war to war, but no matter the epoch, the camaraderie remains. It's a closeness no civilian will ever really understand. - David Bellavia

They name me the first living recipient to earn the Medal of Honor for bravery in the Iraq War. A coworker of mine reads about the award. "Hey, some guy with your name is getting the Medal of Honor. Isn't that weird? How many David Bellavias are out there?" "I know, right? It's so weird," I say. It's surreal and unnatural to get credit when you've lived your entire life to be about the team. It's never about the individual. I'm not here to celebrate me.
I decide to be the first guy to bring his entire unit to the ceremony. If I'm going to go through with this, I'm going to go with the guys that I did it with fifteen years ago. So I get the whole crew in. I bring thirty-two service members to the ceremony in the East Room at the White House in June 2019, including the twelve who were there with me on that night in 2004, plus five Gold Star families, the interpreter, and Mick Ware.

The area around us suddenly erupts with grenades and machine-gun fire. Those shells landed near some Marines, who have finally reached our area. It is about time they get on-line with us. Then again, it is a mixed blessing to have them around. They don't take kindly to the 25mm incoming. Their response sends us diving for cover behind our tracks as .50-caliber machine-gun fire stitches across our street. Rodriguez gets on the radio. The Marines are not apologetic. We are told that they will return any and all incoming fire, friendly or otherwise.

I was always told that this wasn't my role. I was too smart. We worked so hard so that you could become a dentist. Well, I thought, you worked so hard so that I could have a choice.