“Charge!” the first lieutenant ordered. Eighteen men stood; six were mowed down without leaving.

The hell that was No Man’s Land erupted as artillery shells detonated all around—three more fell. Machine gun fire was heavy as the remainder crawled through the mud, wiggling their way under barbed wire. The man next to him, his friend, took a bullet right between the eyes. Casualties were heavy on both sides.

Standing on the brink of the enemy trench, Hank saw the bodies of a dozen dead Germans. His bayonet was ready to take out a quivering German—no more than a boy. Hank froze, unable to kill, as he had done more times than he cared to remember.

Then he saw it: the unmissable pin of a Boy Scout on the young man’s chest. Hank raised his rifle and gave the three-fingered Scout salute. The enemy soldier raised his hands in surrender, and Hank took him prisoner.

Years later, they met again. This time as friends. Friends for life.