Until Tuesday by Bret Witter, Luis Carlos Montalván

leaves a comrade behind, but I was leaving behind Iraqi allies like Ali, Lt. Col. Emad, and Maher. They had trusted me. They were as brave as any American. They were as important to our success as my own platoon. They were my brothers in arms, and they were in a fragile position. They weren’t doing a tour in Iraq; they lived there. They had to be valued and protected. Without them, I reminded myself, you’d be dead. And you’re leaving them behind.
    My request was denied, and on March 15, 2004, I left Al-Waleed for the last time. Less than a month later, I was in Colorado Springs, Colorado. I stepped off the plane at Peterson Air Force Base, and I barely recognized my old world. I went to a restaurant and couldn’t believe the portion size. For six months, I’d eaten almost nothing but meager Iraqi food and Army rations. I drove around Fort Carson and was shocked by the buildings, so elegant and clean. For months, I’d seen nothing but concrete and mud hovels, leaning into a ferocious desert wind. For days, I couldn’t stop taking hot showers. I even called my mother to tell her how great they were. “Hot showers, Mamá! They’re amazing!” She must have thought I was crazy.
    In June, I was promoted to first lieutenant. I was also promoted in place, meaning I wasn’t just given a new rank but also a coveted assignment as a scout platoon leader. When I read my evaluation from that summer—“Carlos Montalván is the best tank commander in my troop . . .”; “Montalván is an outstanding officer and has proved he is a leader . . .”; “promote him rapidly and assign him to positions of greater authority . . . [he] has almost unlimited potential”—it is clear I was a junior officer on the rise. I had performed well in Iraq; I was being rewarded. And it felt great. At my promotion ceremony, I turned to my men and enthusiastically recited from memory the Army’s new Soldier’s Creed:
     
I am an American Soldier.
I am a Warrior and a member of a team.
I serve the people of the United States
    and live the Army Values.
I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I will never leave a fallen comrade.
I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough,
    trained and proficient in my warrior tasks and drills.
I always maintain my arms, my equipment and myself.
I am an expert and I am a professional.
I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies
    of the United States of America in close combat.
I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life.
I am an American Soldier.
    I didn’t just recite it. I shouted it in front of the whole troop. I barked it like I would bark “Yes sir!” if a colonel asked me if my unit was ready to fight.
    I added to the tattoo on my left arm. After September 11, I started having powerful dreams, all featuring a spiraling, burning sun. Before shipping to Iraq, I had the sun image tattooed on my left shoulder. At Al-Waleed, I dreamt of hawks. They were a constant in that miragelike world. They always flew above us on patrol, and every time I looked up they seemed to melt into the burning desert sun. So I had a hawk tattooed into the sun on my arm, for Al-Waleed, with an American flag draped around the edges for patriotism and honor. At that moment, I was the American soldier in that creed.
    But even then, as I was pounding ahead, my injuries were pulling me back. For the first month, I slept like a baby in my comfortable bed near Fort Carson—after six months on a cot and in a sleeping bag. I drove to New York City to visit my infant niece, who had been born in November while I was patrolling the Anbar desert. Holding Lucia, feeling the warmth and purity of a newborn baby and family member, was cathartic. In that instant, the war was washed away, as if God smiled through Lucia’s beautiful baby eyes. Afterward, I went home to Washington, D.C., where I gave a slide show presentation of my tour in Iraq to my