Spencer dodges the standard pitying narratives of the Vietnam War to deliver a blast of raw, profane, USMC machismo. Always a tough kid, Spencer moved from Hawaii into the Marines, where he learned the basics of command before being sent to Vietnam in late spring, 1967. The battered Marine units up along the DMZ desperately needed officers, and First Lieutenant Spencer got command of a company, usually a captain's slot.

The book is a series of brief essays, roughly organized by topic and chronology. The main topic is toughness, the bone-deep endurance that it takes for a man to suffer danger, abuse, and pain, and then spit in the face of death. Macho is six months of combat patrols, going to an Air Force club on leave, and getting blackout drunk. Macho is macabre jokes as friends die. Macho is humping through miles of triple canopy jungle. Macho is running towards the sounds of the guns. Real Marines are macho. Charlie is an enemy to be respected. And the doggies in the Army (not my Army!) can go to hell. Second only to macho in Spencer's world is pussy. Unloading an M-16 on full auto in a close ambush-pussy. Well-worn jungle boots-pussy. R&R in Bangkok-yeah, you better believe that pussy.

Spencer's memoir walks through battles around Hill 881 South, and then the Siege of Khe Sanh, where he was evacuated and hospitalized for Tropical Fevers of Unknown Origin, and then search and destroy along the coast. Spencer is one of the few who thrive in combat, and this book captures what a gung ho Marine circa 1967 would have thought about his war.