My greatest regret has always been leaving the service I so dearly loved. I tried to make it work at home, but but the pull of the battlefield was to… - David Bellavia

In 2004 in Fallujah, we were involved in so many direct fire engagements. We made eye contact with the enemy. And we lost guys. That was a totally different experience, losing someone that way. You automatically had to address Okay, not only did that just happen, but someone made this happen. That person is still here. House fighting, especially in an urban environment, the sense you most rely on- hearing- is gone. You devolve into an almost animalistic being. Like, I'm smelling this guy. I see a pristine drinking cup on the counter and everything else is covered in dust and grime. A piece of cheese sits on a plate. There's a person here. You become a wolf- just sniffing the air and smelling. Everything stops. Your whole body freezes. You don't breathe. You don't think. All you do is become a single, focused thought: There's a threat here and it needs to be put down.

"Into the Hot Zone," the article Mick Ware writes about that night, is Time magazine's cover story less than two weeks later. I earn a Silver Star. But all I hear for ten years is, "Bullshit. I don't believe it. That didn't happen." Then I get a call from the military paper Stars and Stripes. "Hey, you're nominated for the Medal of Honor, did you know that? I hear there's a videotape. Do you have a comment? I'm immediately on the defensive. No one who's served in Iraq has received the US Armed Forces' highest military decoration, except posthumously. "What's on the tape? How did you find out?" The Army's trying to tell me that I'm getting the Medal of Honor, and I'm acting like they're trying to put me in jail. Turns out Ware sold a documentary to HBO. He filmed the entire firefight. Honestly, Ware's anti-war and pro-freedom for the press to tell the truth, but he's got the biggest balls of anyone I've ever met in my life. He was right there the whole time. Because of Michael Ware, everything is corroborated. He was recording the fight the entire time.

If I don't go in, they'll have won. How many times have we heard that American soldiers rely on firepower and technology because they lack courage? How many times has our enemy said that man-for-man, they can beat us? That's nothing new. The Germans and Japanese said the same thing in World War II. Inside that house, I surrendered my honor and mny manhood. Now I have to take both back, or live with the fact that they are right about me. That is unacceptable. I rant and swear with abandon. Down the street, I see Sergeant Knapp taking care of my men like they are his little brothers. I want to cry I am so proud. I love these kids in a way I will never be able to express. I see their faces. One by one. John Ruiz, Lucas Abernathy, Piotr Sucholas, Alex Stuckert, Victor Santos, Brett Pulley, Tristan Maxfield- they deserve more from me. I stop pacing and let out a deep, rattling sigh. Only Ware remains near me on the street. Everyone else has moved away. Perhaps my display has convinced them I've gone mad. But Ware is still here. The journalist. Our platoon's unofficial intel officer. We stare intently at each other. "Fuck it," I say. "Fuck it," agrees Ware. That settles it. I'm going back in.