Seventeen members of the 101st won the Medal of Honor in Vietnam. Many thought

Puller Sr. should have made it eighteen, including every man who had served

under him.

 

Yet he never had.

 

Despite this, he had risen through the ranks swiftly. As a two-star he had gone

on to command the illustrious 101st. He had left a mark bone deep on that

fighting division that had stood the test of time. He had earned his third and

final star and the rank of lieutenant general before his sixtieth birthday.

 

He was remembered as a soldier’s general. He took care of his men but drove them

as relentlessly as he drove himself.

 

As relentlessly as he drove his sons, thought Puller.

 

His men loved and feared him. Perhaps more fear than love, now that Puller

thought about it.

 

And maybe that was just as true for the sons as the men under his father’s

command.

 

And now he lay sleeping in his bed at the VA. His world of command was gone, his

sphere of influence nonexistent, his allotted time on earth winding down.