U.S. Army Sergeant First Class Noah Tietjens of Bellevue, who was killed in Kuwait while supporting Operation Epic Fury, was honored at Dover Air Force Base last weekend. I spoke about him on the Senate floor last week and then stood on the tarmac alongside President Trump and Vice President Vance for the dignified transfer of Sergeant Tietjens’ remains upon his final return to the United States.
We also honored the other service members killed in action during this operation: Maj. Jeffrey O’Brien of Indianola, Iowa; Capt. Cody Khork of Winter Haven, Florida; Chief Warrant Officer 3 Robert Marzan of Sacramento, California; Sgt. 1st Class Nicole Amor of White Bear Lake, Minnesota; and Sgt. Declan Coady of West Des Moines, Iowa, posthumously promoted from specialist. Each of them left behind communities, families, and futures cut short in service to our nation. These soldiers answered the most profound call a citizen can receive. Their sacrifice deserves gratitude, remembrance, and reflection.
Witnessing a dignified transfer is an emotional event. When the transfer case, draped in the American flag, is carried from a military aircraft by a team of service members, the silence around it feels different. It is weighted and intentional. The tradition ensures that every service member who dies in service to the United States is returned home with the same honor, regardless of rank or circumstance. A senior officer presides. The carry team moves with precision.
The same principle governs the Old Guard at Arlington National Cemetery. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, which began as the grave of one unidentified service member from World War I and now holds three, has grown into something larger than any individual burial. It has become a promise that no matter how long ago the battle, this country has not forgotten.
To keep the promise, soldiers have stood guard over the Tomb since March 25, 1926. Select soldiers from the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment, which comprise the Tomb Guard, have stood continuous watch every hour of every day since 1948. Those chosen for this post undergo rigorous training and demanding examinations before they are trusted with it. That selectivity reflects how seriously this duty is taken.
The changing of the guard is precise to an impressive degree. The relief commander conducts a white-glove inspection of the rifle. The outgoing sentinel passes orders to the incoming sentinel the same way, in the same place, for decades. The new sentinel then walks exactly 21 steps, pauses two times for exactly 21 seconds each, and repeats — the number 21 a deliberate reference to the 21-gun salute, the highest military honor we can render. The weapon rests on the shoulder closest to the visitors, a posture that signifies: I stand between the fallen and any possible threats.
There is something extraordinary about a country that builds these rituals and then maintains them. I am proud and humbled to be a citizen of a nation that still honors its fallen with this kind of careful, purposeful devotion.
Thank you for participating in the democratic process. I look forward to visiting with you again next week.