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Masters Of The Air | Created by John Shiban and John Orioff
Streaming on AppleTV
Here's a fresh World War II miniseries along the lines of Band of Brothers and The Pacific, and similarly, based on a book. This time, the action is centered around the Americans in the 100th Bomb Group in the Eighth Air Force, stationed in east England, who fly a variety of heavy duty bombing runs over Europe. Of course, there are roguish pilots, devoted underlings, affectionate English ladies, and even a bevy of rosy cheeked local children who cheer the Yanks on.
But the true stars of the show are the Flying Fortresses, the fast and high-flying Boeing B-17s perfectly designed for devastatingly lethal long-distance daytime raids over vast swathes of Nazi Germany. Most episodes feature long, loving takes of the planes droning across the Channel in precise formation, or falling from the sky in flames, or landing safely back at the airbase to the whoops and cheers of all. The entire series is a loving ode to this magnificent aircraft and to the men who so bravely and capably flew them.
Like other miniseries in this genre, extended credits roll after the ninth and final episode to show us actual photos of the men on whom many of the characters were based, along with tidbits about their actual lives after the war. Today, more than ever before, we do well to remind ourselves of these men's dedication and sacrifice, as well as the many others who fell in battle, whose stories we don't recall. Let us remember them all and remind ourselves: never again.
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Though I was born 14 years after VE and VJ Days, World War II was very much a part of my childhood. My parents were teenagers during the years of the war, so neither they nor their parents served directly. But like most Americans of their day, my parents felt immensely proud of their country: still stunned by the brazen attack on Pearl Harbor, still dazzled by America's ability to rise to the challenge of this war, still horrified by the discovery of the concentration camps and the pure evil of the Third Reich's Final Solution. But proud of our nation's get-up-and-go, proud of our technological and military intelligence, proud of our boys in uniform.
My mom told us stories about the war quite often. Because even though my grandparents were too old to serve and my parents too young, my mother's mother, Clara, had a brood of younger brothers who were swept off into active duty.
Most of them came home. Uncle Dick was lost in some sort of piloting accident, but Ed, Bill, and Mickey all made it over and back in one piece each. I could never keep straight who did what, but apparently one served as a bodyguard for General Patton; another parachuted into France on D Day; a third spent time as a POW. Mom was always a bit short on facts because once they came home, my great uncles refused to talk at all about their wars.
I thought a lot about that.
I knew these uncles as towering giants - all the Belz men were well over six feet tall, huge tree trunks yet the most gentle of men. As a five-, six-, seven-year-old, I remember looking way, way up to see their faces, their sweet restrained smiles shining down on me. "She's one of Clara's," they would quietly remark to one another, and I felt a lovely sense of peace and protection.
It took some thinking for me to fully grasp that these very same men had been to war.
They had done unthinkably dangerous things.
They had held guns.
They had fired guns.
They had most certainly killed people.
And then they came home and softly laid their huge hands on top of my little head.
How could such gentle men fight in a war?
In time, I came to understand the menacing evil of Nazi Germany.
I understood that as much as we all hate the unthinkable act of killing other human beings, sometimes that is the only way to stop evil in its tracks.
During the dark days after Pearl Harbor, the United States - including my sweet great uncles - had no choice but to stand up and do what is unthinkable.
In order to protect what is good and true.
In order to protect me.
And if I should ever be so tested, I hope I will muster a tiny portion of the unthinkable courage and infinite gentleness that I saw in my great uncles.
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What I'm watching lately.
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