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of Sgt. Collins to find out—if he
could. He found out more than he wanted to know.
    After filling the lieutenant in on Crown, the
sergeant concluded, “So you see, Lieutenant, Crown is a one-man
death squad. Corporal is only his pay grade, not his rank. He’s
been offered field commissions several times, but has always turned
them down. He doesn’t like leading men to their deaths, so he works
alone a lot. There’s no better man to watch your flank, though, or
take the point on patrol. You have to understand, sir, that this
war is like no other. It’s a big political exercise: started by the
CIA, and run by the CIA. Crown’s daddy is a big shot in the CIA.
Remember that. In this fucking war, we take territory, Charlie
takes it back. The only way the brass can measure our progress is
by using body counts—ours and theirs. The problem is, Charlie has
an endless supply of bodies to contribute, and an infinite
patience. We have neither. Anyway, the daily/weekly/monthly body
counts are very important. Crazy Horse keeps this platoon—and
company—at the top of the achievement list. We leave him the fuck
alone!”
    “But, the ears . . .”
    “Some units—because of the pressure to
produce high body counts—have been known to fabricate them, inflate
them. Nobody can accuse Crown of fabrication. He doesn’t even
collect ears from all his kills—only the convenient ones. And only
left ears. Last count, there were over 180 notches on his totem.
Try and match that, Lieutenant. The actual count is probably three
times that. We get rid of the ears as soon as we can. It appears as
if someone fucked up here.”
    “I would agree. How many tours has he
done?”
    “This is the beginning of his third. He won’t
stay away.”
    “How old is he?”
    “Twenty going on forty.”
    “Why do you call him ‘Crazy Horse’?” asked
the lieutenant.
    “See that sign nailed to his totem? ‘A good
day to fight; a good day to die’? Crazy Horse, the Indian chief,
supposedly said that when he went into battle. So does Crown. And
Crown sometimes wears a cowboy hat with feathers stuck in the band,
twin six-shooters, and snakeskin cowboy boots. He’s been tagged
with the name ‘Apache’ by the VC, even though Crazy Horse was a
Sioux. I guess Apaches are the most well-known vicious
Indians.”
    “He is crazy then?” asked Lt. Manley.
    “Not in the clinical sense. He got this
way after he saw a village that the VC had ravaged. They had raped
all the women, then slaughtered everyone  old people, women, children. He decided that
they needed punishing. Now they really fear him.”
    “And the Corps condones this behavior? And .
. .”
    “Don’t go there, sir.”
    “You’re right. The CO made that clear.”
    “All I know is when we take the field, I want
Crown on point.”
    “OK, Sergeant. The major said you’d teach me
how to run this platoon. What do we do next?”
    “Have you ever killed anyone?”
    “No.”
    “Well, that’s high on the list to get under
your belt. Maybe tomorrow. We’re going out at 0500. There could be
a fire-fight. Now listen up, sir. There’s a lot you need to
know.”
     

Chapter 4
     
    February 1973
    South Vietnam
     
    Many rumors came out of the Vietnam War. Some
were true, some were not. The real truth will probably never be
known about some reported incidents. No hard documentation existed
for these, of course. For example, the existence of a U.S. Marine
called the “Apache” who cut off his victims’ left ears. That was
just one of the oral legends that came out of that war. Nothing was
documented to support it.
    The incident that got Sam Crown the Medal of
Honor was documented by Lt. Manley, but there were several
unofficial versions that were not. Lt. Manley’s official account
said that Corporal Samuel Crown put his life on the line—and was
critically wounded while so doing—saving Lt. Manley’s platoon from
being annihilated in an ambush by the Viet Cong. That much was
certainly