In a quiet corner of Iowa, heartbreak has found its way into the home of a police chief — a reminder that no community, no matter how far from the battlefield, is immune to the cost of war.
On Saturday, in the ancient Syrian city of Palmyra, a lone ISIS gunman ambushed U.S. personnel. Two Iowa Army National Guard soldiers were killed, along with a U.S. civilian interpreter. One of those soldiers was Sgt. Nate Howard, the son of Meskwaki Nation Police Chief Jeffrey Bunn.
This was not just another headline. This was personal — a father receiving that visit no parent ever wants: Army Commanders at the door with the news that his son would not be coming home.
Chief Bunn’s message, shared on Facebook, was both raw and resolute. He spoke of his son’s character, his commitment, and his love for the job he had chosen. “He would be the first in and last out, no one left behind,” Bunn wrote. That’s not just military lingo. That’s who Nate Howard was — the embodiment of duty, the type of man who does the hard things so others don’t have to.
Howard’s story paints a portrait of service woven into everyday life. A laser engraving specialist at a local manufacturer. A fan of shooting, woodworking, and gaming. A man who, like so many Guardsmen, balanced civilian work with military readiness — a dual life of quiet dedication, rarely celebrated until tragedy strikes.
And now, his community mourns. From the sheriff’s department to local nonprofits, the messages pouring in are more than symbolic. They reflect the sobering truth Sheriff Casey Schmidt voiced so clearly: “These losses are not headlines. They are families, coworkers, and communities left carrying the weight.”
It’s easy in a 24-hour news cycle to glance past stories like these — to scroll by, to click away. But this one should stop us in our tracks. Nate Howard didn’t die in a moment of political theater or a policy misstep. He died in a fight against evil — the same evil that the world has watched burn and behead its way through the Middle East. ISIS hasn’t disappeared. The threat hasn’t vanished. And it is young men like Howard who stand between that chaos and the rest of us.
He was just 11 years into what he hoped would be a 20-year career. Inspired by his grandfather, he joined as the first servicemember from his father’s side of the family. That legacy has now been paid in full — with a weight no parent should have to bear.
But Chief Bunn and his wife Misty have made clear: Nate’s sacrifice wasn’t meaningless. It was made in the hope of a safer world — for strangers, for neighbors, for future generations. That kind of service, that kind of loss, must not be forgotten.