WHEN HERC REMARKED: “IT IS WHAT IT IS BOSS.”

It was another day in Vietnam. We geared up for the new assignment — six or seven of us, depending on whether an officer participated. My mind was on the mission. The obstacles were clear. The weight of them, too.

Our commanding officer stood before us, giving one of his usual speeches. “Out of every hundred men, only ten will be good soldiers. You are better than good. I’m sure you’ll succeed.” He paused, then added, “But for you six, I consider you first-class warriors.”

It was a compliment I wouldn’t forget. One of the highest I’d ever get in the Army. Still, in 1968, we lost more than thirty-five boys a day: Marines, Airborne, and Special Forces. Good soldiers, all. Compliments didn’t mean much in that place.

Herc, the big guy, would later say it when the fire came. “It is what it is, Boss.” That was the truth of it.

We had no choice. Orders were orders. We swore to follow them, no matter the cost. Danger, injury, death — they were as much a part of us as breathing. They defined us. Still, I had this hope — foolish, I knew — that maybe, someday, I could live an everyday life — away from the war and the jungle.

We all thought about the U.S. now and then and home. But there was no room for doubt. Not in this life. Not when the time came to act. You didn’t get…