War

But once our ancestors escaped the eternal present by learning to speak, they could repeat stories that would make individuals accountable for their actions — or rewarded for them. That would create a strong incentive not to turn and flee while others fought off the enemy.

The glory heaped upon heroes in almost all societies might explain why young men are so eager to send themselves to war — or, if sent, to fight bravely. That would only work in a species that is capable of language, however; acts of bravery can’t follow a chimp home from the battlefield any more than acts of cowardice. Without language, courage just becomes suicidal foolishness.

Many such groups formed a tribe, and tribes either fought each other or formed confederacies against other tribes. The basic dichotomy of “us” versus “them” happened at the tribal level and was reinforced by differences in language and culture.

That bond is the core experience of combat and the only thing you can absolutely count on. The Army might screw you and your girlfriend might dump you and the enemy might kill you, but the shared commitment to safeguard one another’s lives is unnegotiable and only deepens with time. The willingness to die for another person is a form of love that even religions fail to inspire, and the experience of it changes a person profoundly.

Civilians balk at recognizing that one of the most traumatic things about combat is having to give it up. War is so obviously evil and wrong that the idea there could be anything good to it almost feels like a profanity. And yet throughout history, men like Mac and Rice and O’Byrne have come home to find themselves desperately missing what should have been the worst experience of their lives.

Public affairs will tell you that the Taliban are getting more brutal because they’re losing the war, but pretty much everyone else will tell you they started out brutal and aren’t losing shit.

The reason First Platoon did not get wiped out had nothing to do with the Apaches flying overhead or the 155s at Blessing; it was because the men reacted not as individuals but as a unit.

In some ways the anticipation feels worse than whatever may be waiting for them down in Yaka Chine or up on the Abas Ghar, and every man gets through it in his own quietly miserable way.

I’d lie awake at night amazed by the idea that everything could change — could, in fact, end — at any moment. And even after I went to sleep those thoughts would just continue on as dreams, full-blown combat sequences that I wallowed through like a bad action movie. In those dreams the enemy was relentless and everywhere at once and I didn’t have a chance.

One day Cortez got so bored that he ate a pack on purpose, hoping to bring on a firefight, but nothing happened.