Welcome back to *American Heroes*. I’m Nathan Weiss.

**Major Eugene Jackson Wyles**. wasn't just a leader; he was a specialist in the most dangerous ways to fight. He was a Master Parachutist, a Green Beret, and a world-class sniper who operated in the shadows before leading in the sun.

In the **Korean War**, Wyles served with the **82nd Airborne**. While many know the 82nd for their jumps into Normandy, their role in Korea was often on the ground, holding the line against human-wave attacks in sub-zero temperatures.

Wyles distinguished himself as a scout and a marksman. He was part of the generation that refined the art of long-range sniping in mountainous terrain. He learned how to lead men through the "Frozen Chosin" environment—not by shouting from the back, but by being the first one to crest the ridge. His deeds there earned him the respect of the "All-Americans" and set the stage for his transition into the elite.

By the 1960s, Wyles had donned the **Green Beret**. As a member of the **5th Special Forces Group**, he was sent to **Vietnam**. This is where the legend of the "Sniper Major" truly took hold.

Wyles didn't just command; he taught. He was instrumental in developing the sniper programs that would become the backbone of modern special operations. But he was also a man of action. While serving with the **173rd Airborne Brigade**—the legendary "Sky Soldiers"—Major Wyles led "Alpha" Company into the teeth of the Central Highlands.

In 1966, during Operation Attleboro, Wyles and his men were inserted into a hornet's nest of Viet Cong and NVA forces. This wasn't a clean fight. It was a close-quarters struggle in triple-canopy jungle. Wyles was cited for his "extraordinary heroism," moving through intense fire to direct his platoons. He was hit—multiple times—during his tours, earning the Purple Heart, but he refused to leave his men until the objective was secure.

One specific deed often whispered about in veteran circles was a long-range engagement where Wyles, acting as both commander and marksman, neutralized an NVA machine-gun nest that had pinned down an entire platoon. He didn't wait for air support. He adjusted his scope, held his breath, and cleared the way himself.

Major Eugene Jackson Wyles was the embodiment of the Special Forces motto: *De Oppresso Liber*. To liberate the oppressed. He did it with a parachute on his back, a beret on his head, and a rifle that never missed its mark.

He was the real deal. A warrior-philosopher who left a trail of excellence from the Yalu River to the Mekong Delta. I’m Nathan Weiss, and this has been *American Heroes*.

Oh, Major Wyles...

Master of the jump and sniper’s grace,

Left his mark on every frozen place.

From the eighty-second to the Sky Soldier’s call,

He was the one they'd follow through it all.

In the green hell, he zeroed in the fight,

A Green Beret who owned the darkest night.

Led from the front, that's how the legend grew,

A true American, red, white, and blue.

Welcome back to *American Heroes*. I’m your host, Nathan Weiss.

In the annals of World War II, we often hear about the paratroopers of the 101st or the Marines on Iwo Jima. But today, we’re looking at a soldier who fought a very different kind of war—one that bridged the gap between modern mechanized combat and the ancient traditions of the Great Plains.

This is the story of Joseph Medicine Crow.

In 1943, Joseph Medicine Crow joined the 103rd Infantry Division. He was a scout, a man known for his sharp eyes and steady nerves. But Joseph carried more than just an M1 Garand into the hedgerows of France. Beneath his olive-drab uniform, he wore yellow war paint, and tucked inside his helmet was a sacred eagle feather given to him by a Sun Dance priest.

You see, Joseph wasn't just fighting for Uncle Sam. He was on a quest to become a Crow War Chief. To earn that title, a warrior had to complete four specific ritual tasks in battle: touch a living enemy, take an enemy’s weapon, lead a successful war party, and steal an enemy's horse.

In the 20th century, that seemed impossible. Until it wasn't.

The first two requirements happened in a blurred moment of chaos in a French village. Joseph was ordered to head down an alley to scout a position. He ran headlong into a German soldier. Instead of firing, Joseph dropped his rifle and tackled the man. He knocked the German’s Luger away—taking his weapon—and grabbed the man by the throat. He had touched his enemy. He let the man live, taking him prisoner instead.

But it’s the fourth requirement that sounds like something out of a movie.

It was near the end of the war. Joseph and his platoon found a group of German officers retreating on horseback. In the dead of night, while the Germans slept, Joseph crawled past the sentries. He didn't use a grenade or a knife. He let out a low whistle, a traditional Crow horse-call.

The horses followed him.

As he led fifty head of German horses away from the camp, Joseph Medicine Crow did something no other G.I. in the European Theater did: he broke into a traditional Crow praise song, galloping into the dawn.

When Joseph returned to Montana, the elders listened to his stories. He had touched the enemy. He had taken their weapons. He had led his men. And he had captured the enemy's horses.

In a ceremony that echoed centuries of tradition, Joseph Medicine Crow was named the last traditional Plains War Chief. He went on to become a world-renowned anthropologist and was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2009.

He proved that being a hero isn't just about the uniform you wear—it’s about the spirit you carry into the fight.

I’m Nathan Weiss, and this has been *American Heroes*. Join us next time as we head to the Pacific. Until then, stand tall.