Death found them in many ways, and many places—in a distant jungle, a frozen forest, and trapped in the flaming wreckage of a bomber blown from the sky. One died going over a fence during the greatest paratrooper assault in history. Another, in the biggest battle of World War II. Yet another, riddled with bullets in an audacious act of heroism during a decisive onslaught a world, and a war, away. They were eight men from a single street in a railroad town called Silvis, Ill., a tiny stretch of dirt barely a block-and-a-half long, and their acts of bravery gave it the name it’s known by today: Hero Street.