"Crazy" to some, yes. But not to a man who had returned home from the Vietnam war on an emergency leave to bury his family, victims of Mafia violence.

Bolan quickly discovered that those responsible for the deaths of his loved ones were in no danger of being dealt with by law enforcement agencies. The judicial tangle, he found, freely allowed the murderers of Bolan's family to laugh at him and his aching grief.

To soldier Bolan, the only option open to him had been to take justice into his own hands.

Bolan's combat skills, taught him by Uncle Sam and honed to a fine edge in the Asian hellgrounds, were brought home with a vengeance when he first took on the local Mafia family directly responsible for the deaths of his people.

As he became increasingly aware of the magnitude of his enemy...

one congressman having labeled the Mafia as America's invisible government...

this warrior continued to launch one successful campaign after another at the criminal organization that grew like a cancer on a great nation's guts.

They were bloody campaigns that had tested Bolan's spirit and sense of duty all the way.

During the course of these unsanctioned activities, the Executioner had murdered...

so the media termed it...

close to two thousand men since his return from Vietnam.

"I am not their judge or jury," Bolan had said. "I am their judgment."

The Mafia had an open contract of one million dollars, offered to anyone who could deliver Bolan's head.

The Executioner had brought that evil, widespread organization close to the brink of disaster, but hydra-like, another kill-hold was always in the process of being set up.

Like this one.

Tonight, in Chicago.

Bolan had brought his everlasting war to the Windy City to stop a young boss savage called David Parelli, who thought he had a future pipeline into the White House.