It's a cinematic image as familiar as John Wayne's face: a wagon train circling as a defensive maneuver against Indian attacks. This book examines actual and fictional wagon-train battles and compares them for realism. It also describes how fledgling Hollywood portrayed the concept of westward migration but, as the evolving industry became more accurate in historical detail, how filmmakers then lost sight of the big picture.

Most World War II submarine stories are glorifications of war written by submarine captains about their own boats. The USS Pampanito, however, was not a typical submarine. The sub and its crew caused plenty of destruction, but they found the pinnacle of their honor and fame in a dramatic sea rescue. Gregory F. Michno relates the experiences of the crewmen -- both enlisted men and officers -- who served on the USS Pampanito.

The Pampanito story begins with the boat's construction in 1943, continues through its six combat missions, and concludes with its decommissioning after the war in 1945. The heart of the book is the September 12, 1944, attack on a Japanese convoy carrying English and Australian POWs from the Burma-Siam Railway (of Bridge on the River Kwai fame) to prison camps in Japan. The Pampanito helped sink two of the prison ships, unwittingly killing hundreds of Allied soldiers, but then returned to rescue the victims. The crew picked a record seventy-three men from the sea.

Now available in paperback, Death on the Hellships chronicles the true dimensions of the Allied POW experience at sea. It is a disturbing story; many believe the Bataan Death March even pales by comparison. Survivors describe their ordeal in the Japanese hellships as the absolute worst experience of their captivity. Crammed by the thousands into the holds of the ships, moved from island to island and put to work, they endured all the horrors of the prison camps magnified tenfold. Gregory Michno draws on American, British, Australian, and Dutch POW accounts as well as Japanese convoy histories, declassified radio intelligence reports, and a wealth of archival sources to present a detailed picture of the horror.

The Trade and Intercourse Acts passed by Congress between 1796 and 1834 set up a system for individuals to receive monetary compensation from the federal government for property stolen or destroyed by American Indians. By the end of the Mexican-American War, both Anglo-Americans and Nuevomexicanos became experts in exploiting this system - and in using the army to collect on their often-fraudulent claims. As Gregory F. Michno reveals in Depredation and Deceit, their combined efforts created a precarious mix of false accusations, public greed, and fabricated fear that directly led to new wars in the American Southwest between 1849 and 1855. Tasked with responding to white settlers' depredation claims and gaining restitution directly from Indian groups, soldiers typically had no choice but to search out often-innocent Indians and demand compensation or the surrender of the guilty party, turning once-friendly bands into enemy groups whenever these tense encounters exploded in violence. As the situation became more volatile, citizens demanded a greater army presence in the region, and lucrative military contracts became yet another reason to encourage the continuation of frontier violence. Although the records are replete with officers questioning accusations and discovering civilians' deceit, more often than not the army was forced to act in direct counterpoint to its duties as a constabulary force. And whenever war broke out, the acquisition of more Indian land and wealth began the cycle of greed and violence all over again. The Trade and Intercourse Acts were manipulated by Anglo-Americans who ensured the continuation of the very conflicts that they claimed to abhor and that the acts were designed to prevent. In bringing these machinations to light, Michno's book deepens - and darkens - our understanding of the conquest of the American Southwest.