War Against the Mafia

THE EXECUTIONER #001

War Against the Mafia Don Pendleton

The courage we desire and prize

is not the courage to die decently,

but to live manfully.

Thomas Carlyle

God will not look you over for

medals, degrees or diplomas, but

for scars.

Elbert Hubbard

You say that a good cause will

even sanctify war! I tell you,

it is the good war that sanctifies

every cause!

Friedrich Nietzsche

I am not their judge.

I am their judgment.

I am their executioner.

Mack Bolan

PROLOGUE

Mack Bolan was not born to kill, as many of his comrades and superiors secretly believed. He was not a mechanically functioning killer-robot, as his sniper-team partners openly proclaimed. He was not even a coldblooded and ruthless exterminator, as one leftist news correspondent tagged him. Mack was simply a man who could command himself. He was the personification of that ideal advanced by the army psychologist who screened and evaluated sniper-team candidates: 'A good sniper has to be a man who can kill methodically, unemotionally, and personally. Personally because it's an entirely different ball game when you can see even the color of your victim's eyes through the magnification of a sniper-scope, when you can see the look of surprise and fear when he realizes he's been shot. Most any good soldier can be a successful sniper once- it's the second or third time around, when the memories of personal killing are edged into the conscience, that the 'soldiers' are separated from the 'executioners.' Killing in this manner is closely akin to murder in the conscience of many men. Of course, we do not want mad dogs in this program, either. What we want, quite simply, is a man who can distinguish between murder and duty, and who can realize that a duty killing is not an act of murder. A man who is also cool and calm when he himself is in jeopardy completes the picture of our sniper ideal.'

Sergeant Mack Bolan was obviously such a man. A weapons specialist and skilled armorer, he also held marksman awards in every personal-weapon category. The sarge did not keep a personal record of his 'kills,' but the official accounting shows a verified total of 32 high-ranking officers of the North Vietnamese Regulars, including General Ngo An; 46 Viet Cong guerrilla leaders, and 17 VC village officials. This account of a typical sniping mission was recorded in a report filed by Sergeant Bolan's spotter, Corporal T. L. Minnegas, covering their final mission together:

Team arrived vicinity of Station B at 0435 hours. Pvt Thomas and Pvt Yancey reconned and reported back 'all- clear' at 0450 hours. Station B manned at 0500 hours and equipment set up. At 0630 hours village began to stir. VC recon party arrived at 0642 and checked out the village. At 0650 Tra Huong and escort arrived outside chief's house. Chief and unknown male came out to greet Huong party. Targets confirmed with Sgt. Bolan and RVNM guide. Sgt. Bolan's first round got Tra Huong (through the neck). Round two was through right temple of village chief, round three through back of Col. Huong's aide (unidentified). Departed Station B at approx. 0652 hours, all objectives accomplished. Arrived Base Camp at 0940 hours. No casualties Sniper Team Able.

Vietnam represented a new type of warfare for the American soldier. Many grim 'specialties' were developed there by American youth. And perhaps none more grim nor more specialized than the one personified in Sergeant Mack Bolan. Bolan had been a career soldier. At age 30 he was a 12-year veteran and on his second Vietnam tour. He had never married. His mother, Elsa, a youthful 47-year-old second-generation Polish-American, wrote him faithfully on Tuesdays and Fridays of each week and sent him a 'care' package twice monthly, each one filled with tangy Polish sausages, cookies, and a small cake or two. Her letters were always cheerful and uncomplaining, and she often enclosed snapshots of

Cindy, Mack's pretty 17-year-old sister, and of Johnny, the kid brother just turned 14. Sam Bolan, Mack's father, had been a steelworker since the age of 16. Mack always thought of Sam Bolan as being as dependable and as indestructible as the steel he made, and though Mack and Sam never corresponded directly, the letters between mother and son bore frequent messages between the Bolan men.

From one of Elsa's letters, for example: 'Pop wants to know if it's true what they say about Asian women. Ha!'

And the reply from Mack: 'Tell Pop there are a lot of truths about Asian women and I'm diligently seeking the full story. A-ha!'

Cindy Bolan, at the time of the tragedy, had only recently graduated from high school. Her big brother represented her ideal of masculine perfection. She wrote him each night, continuing the letter diary-fashion and mailing it weekly, often confiding her secret fears and problems in the rambling letters. Example: 'Mary Ann keeps trying to talk me into going to a pot party with her. Have you ever smoked pot? I hear it is used widely over there.'

Counselor Mack's reply from across the sea was: 'With friends like Mary Ann, you don't have much need of enemies, do you. As for myself, I have plenty enemies enough over here without adding pot to the list.'

In another exchange, Cindy remarked: 'It's always a problem. I mean, you know, how much is too much? I never had that problem with Steve, but Chuck keeps me shook up all the time. I mean, he has a hands problem. Know what I mean? I'm crazy about him but I don't know just how to handle this problem of his.'

The responding counsel from her brother was typical. 'Chuck doesn't have the problem, honey,' he wrote. 'You have it. You know how to handle it if you really want to handle it. Right?'

Cindy's reply to that also typified these personal exchanges between brother and sister: 'Oh, by the way, no more Chuck problem. How did I handle it? No more Chuck!!!'

In a letter from Mrs. Bolan dated in late spring, she told her son: 'Now that the worst is past I suppose I should tell you that Pop has been having a bit of a rough time. He had a light heart attack in January, and the