Congress needs to find out if any laws were broken and who is responsible.

IN EARLY 2008, WHILE COMMANDING a divisional task force in northern Iraq, I stood on a dusty outpost in Nineveh Province waiting for an old friend and one of my “bosses”—then–Lieutenant Gen. Marty Dempsey—to step off a helicopter. He and I had served together in Baghdad in 2003–04, but now he had just become the acting commander of U.S. Central Command after the resignation of Adm. Fox Fallon. Dempsey was making it a point to get out to units across the theater, but within minutes of dismounting the helicopter and returning my salute, it was clear he had topics beyond Iraq on his mind. He pulled me aside and told he was going to be nominated to take over the Army’s Training and Doctrine Command.

He told me he was going to ask the Army to make me his deputy, and he wanted me to oversee a review and reform of the Army’s basic training. “We need to focus on standards and discipline,” he told me, “and we need to restore our values. We’ve been at war a long time, our soldiers are tired, and we’re losing our moral compass. And it’s showing.”

He wasn’t wrong. When we served together in Baghdad a few years earlier, the Abu Ghraib abuses committed by another unit had exploded onto front pages worldwide. The damage done by a handful of soldiers was strategic in scale because it tarnished the American military’s claims to a moral high ground.

In the years that followed that terrible episode, we had confronted a series of additional painful, corrosive breaches of our professional ethic. One was the infamous “Black Hearts” case involving soldiers of Bravo Company, 1/502 Infantry, 101st Airborne Division, operating in the “Triangle of Death” south of Baghdad. The book of the same name describes how the breakdown of leadership, cohesion, and the moral compass of several soldiers culminated in the rape of a 14-year-old Iraqi girl and the murder of her family. In addition to the perpetrators, who were convicted of their crimes in military or civilian courts, leaders at multiple echelons were relieved of their duties or reprimanded, and senior commanders had to confront the deeper climate failures that permitted such a catastrophe.

The incident showed how ethical failure within a unit is rarely sudden. It is cumulative. It grows when leaders miss early warning signs, when exhaustion dulls judgment, when a small number of individuals lack a moral grounding—and when institutions become distracted or unmoored from their values.

During my time at the newly established Initial Military Training Command, we rewrote our basic training programs with the help of combat-savvy drill sergeants. We strengthened drill sergeant standards. We embedded character and ethical reasoning alongside marksmanship and first-aid training for recruits. We emphasized that discipline is proper judgment under pressure, and moral understanding is what keeps the young soldier of a democratic nation grounded when chaos, uncertainty, and danger close in.

THOSE YEARS TAUGHT ME A TRUTH I have carried ever since: Leaders are shaped by their experiences—and some experiences harden your reverence for standards, while others distort it.

Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth frequently cites two moments from his Iraq experience as forming his worldview on military justice and rules of engagement. The first is a 2005 rules-of-engagement briefing by a JAG officer that he attended and which he has repeatedly described as excessively restrictive—and, in his view, dangerous. The second is the May 2006 “Tharthar Island” incident in which several detainees were killed after being captured. Three soldiers of Hegseth’s former unit were later convicted, and the brigade commander received a formal reprimand for toxic leadership and command-climate failures.

All these events sparked deep professional debates throughout the Army at the time. For commanders across Iraq and those preparing to go to combat, the cases underscored that a leader, even just through the climate of their command, communicates to their unit the boundaries of lawful actions—and that accountability is essential. In the case of Hegseth’s old unit, others viewed the investigations as unfair or overly legalistic. Secretary Hegseth’s public statements over the past decade reflect a belief that military legal oversight constrains warfighters, that investigations burden troops, and that commanders should be freer—rather than more disciplined—in the use of force.

Hegseth appears to hold these views sincerely. But sincerity does not equal sound judgment. Nor does it excuse decisions that may place the force, and the nation, at moral risk.

THE WASHINGTON POST’S RECENT INVESTIGATION into U.S. operations in the Caribbean reveals a situation far removed from the grinding chaos of pre-surge Iraq and far more amenable to choice, direction, and accountability. According to the Post, Hegseth allegedly pressed U.S. military personnel to conduct a second strike against a small boat off the coast of Nicaragua—even after the initial strike had disabled it and left two wounded survivors clinging to the wreckage.

Navy officers on scene reportedly believed a second strike was unnecessary, potentially unlawful, and inconsistent with the mission. Yet the Post reports that senior civilian officials—including Secretary Hegseth—insisted they “kill everybody.”

If the Post report is accurate, this situation is grave. It suggests a senior civilian leader urged action that violated the law of armed conflict, basic proportionality, and the longstanding U.S. commitment to minimize harm to the defenseless. And it squeezes service members—who must refuse unlawful orders—between legal obligation, moral conscience, and the pressure of civilian authority.

Under the law of armed conflict, a wounded person clinging to debris is termed “hors de combat”—translated as “outside the fight”—and protected under the Geneva Conventions. Deliberately targeting such a person is not a tactical decision. It is a potential war crime. And if a senior official urged such a strike, then we are morally bound to ask some of the most serious questions any democracy can ask: Were unlawful orders issued or implied? Did service members feel pressured to act unlawfully? Were there attempts to suppress or alter reporting? What guidance was provided, and by whom?

These are not partisan questions. They are constitutional ones.

Last week’s debate over illegal orders, ignited after six members of Congress reminded troops of their duty to refuse them, is not about politics—it is about the oath. Every soldier is taught from week one of basic training that the Constitution outranks any individual. And they learn, early and often, that their duty includes refusing unlawful commands—even from senior officers, even from civilian officials. That is one of the key differences between a professional military and an armed faction of lawless thugs.

From all this, I’m reminded of the guidance I received back in 2008 from a soon-to-be boss: After long periods of war or political strain, the greatest danger is not the enemy. It is the erosion of the values that distinguish the U.S. military from armed groups it confronts.

When senior leaders disparage legal oversight, sideline JAG officers, impede the ability of the press to report, or treat accountability as the enemy, they do more than risk unlawful action. They weaken the moral foundation that makes our military credible in the eyes of the American people and the world. Because a military that abandons its legal and ethical foundations does not protect a nation—it endangers it. A military that trades the Constitution for personal loyalty ceases to be American. And a military that fails to investigate serious allegations of unlawful conduct invites tragedy—strategic, moral, and human.

Given the Post’s reporting and the stakes involved, the logical next step is an immediate, bipartisan investigation. As a commander, I would expect, and welcome, such an inquiry because the moral legitimacy of the force and the reputation of the institution is at stake. And if unlawful orders were issued—or if pressure was brought to bear on military personnel to violate the laws of war—then criminal liability must be considered for all individuals involved, regardless of civilian position or military rank. The American people can accept honest mistakes. They can accept fog-of-war judgment calls. What we as a nation should not accept is moral drift at the top of the chain of command.