The early dawn of March 4 saw the latest combat incident where American fighting men fell on the battlefield, while their comrades did all in their power to support them and get them out. It began with the loss of Navy SEAL Petty Officer Neil Roberts, the latest to fall prey to our enemies. And, while his comrades tried to rescue him, his Islamic terrorist captors murdered him in cold blood.

So much for the Geneva Convention when dealing with these vermin.

In the attempt to rescue Roberts, six other Americans died. Since then, the cry has been heard, Why should other Americans go after fallen men on the battlefield? The answer is simple: Because it is expected.

I'm really getting tired of listening to the talking heads imply how easy it is to leave fallen comrades in the field in order to minimize the overall number of combat casualties. Order me to do so all you want, boss, but no one leaves a man in the field on my watch!

It sounds gung ho and crazy to say that you will recover a dead or wounded buddy from under enemy fire. However, he's out there waiting for you to come and get him - certainly not leave him to the murderous barbarians with whom we are currently engaged - whether he is dead or alive.

In the latest flap, many of the talking TV heads, including former officers from colonel on up - including one Medal of Honor winner whose life was saved by a young man who, in so doing, risked his own - have argued that retrieving fallen comrades is not a hard and fast rule. Their contention is that retrieving dead and wounded Americans depends on the circumstances because they don't want to put other Americans at risk.

But what does that do to a combat unit's morale if its members fear that they may be left to the whims of our enemies?

What about downed airmen? No one is suggesting leaving flyers on the field. No, a rescue team is dispatched as soon as the beacon alert is received. What about that rescue team? Aren't they being put at risk to retrieve the pilot?

It seems the higher the rank of the brass, the more cavalier the attitude as to who is worth saving and who is not. However, when they are asked what to do, most grunts from company grade on down who've been at the broken end of the bottle know: nobody gets left behind. That fallen man has got to know that he will be recovered and he will be brought home.

The father of Sgt. John Chapman, one of the men who went back to save Petty Officer Neil Roberts, knew well what is expected when he said, "It's a given. You do not leave your comrades behind."

In the Marine Corps, and in other elements of Special Forces, it's an unwritten law. You never, never, leave a downed man behind. When the Marines under Chesty Puller attacked in "the other direction" against the surrounding Chinese divisions in North Korea, it would have been easy and certainly more expedient, to leave their dead and wounded for the enemy to deal with. But they didn't do it. Everyone came out of that hell known as the Chosin Reservoir, including dead and wounded Army troops the Marines found abandoned along the way.

One of the first things I learned in boot camp as a green slimy maggot not fit to breath the same air as a Marine was never, never leave a fellow Marine behind - a message that was ingrained in subsequent years. It wasn't just bravado, it was fact. It was an oath taken. It was a bond between brothers. Wounded Marines knew their buddies would come and get them clear. The same runs true of Navy SEALs, Army Rangers and Army Special Forces - professionals all.

So where does the line of what we do in battle get drawn and by whom? Usually the policymakers who decide on the rules of engagement - what combat troops will and will not do - are pencil-necked geeks, probably lawyers, who have never spent time in the field, even on training exercises. What do they know about the realities of combat when the wounded and the dead stack up? When the man out there is a friend and brother?

Many efforts have been made by Hollywood to delve into the face of close combat, something all but impossible to capture on film. However, the motion picture, We Were Soldiers is one recent attempt that comes close, and it captured both sides of the question: Do you leave a man down under enemy fire? Do you risk the lives of other men to get them out? These are the quandaries of battlefield leadership.

As we saw in Mogadishu in 1993, we don't have a choice: The implications go far beyond the essential moral issue of military comrades protecting their own. When we left Americans in the field in that horrific urban battle, we also granted a gutless, savage enemy - trained by al Qaeda terrorists, in fact - a propaganda victory that was used effectively against the spineless Clinton administration decision-makers in Washington, who reacted to the sudden, violent eruption by ordering Central Command to pull out of Somalia entirely.

But the moral dimension remains critical: In leaving a man, we also break a faith that has bonded him to his peers since boot camp that no American will be left to the wiles of an enemy, whether to the relatively good treatment of a German POW camp in World War II, or to the vicious, inhuman antics of Islamic fanatics.

One of the few things besides each other that kept the American POWs at the Hanoi Hilton alive and together was their belief in each other and the knowledge that one day their country would get them out. It took longer than it should have, and many Americans are still missing in action. But it was a faith born out of trust in their fellows and in their country.

William Shakespeare is renown for cogent, prolific and astute thought. In Henry V, he seemed to understand the holy bond when he wrote a passage that is just as relevant today in Afghanistan as it was at on the fields of Agincourt, France in his time:

Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day ….

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

When a man takes an oath to defend the Constitution of the United States, that oath should work two ways - that while the young man defends and upholds the Constitution with threat to his life, the United States will do all in its power to ensure that he will not die in vain and that he will not be left to the savage, inhuman inclination of the barbarians - dead or alive.

Every American fighting man has to know that, regardless of the odds, his comrades will try to reach him and get him back. It is part of the pact we make as that band of brothers. Americans in general and American warriors in particular, are not to be wasted lightly. And American fighting men must have faith in their brothers.

Patrick Hayes is a contributing editor to DefenseWatch. He can be reached at Gyrene65@netscape.net